His eyes didn’t meet mine. They didn’t focus at all.
He reached out slowly… searching the air until his fingers brushed the bag.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t know. I can’t see.”
Everything in me dropped.
“I’m blind,” he continued. “My neighbor set up the app before she moved away. I don’t know how the tipping works.”
Just like that, my anger collapsed into something heavy and cold.
Guilt.
He invited me inside for water.
The house was spotless… and completely silent.
On the table sat a mountain of unopened mail—bills, warnings, final notices.
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