I watched a married woman sell the last thing she owned so her little boy could breathe that night. Ten minutes later 

I approached carefully and extended the pharmacy bag.

“My name is Marcus Vale. You forgot something at the pawn shop.”

Her eyes lowered to the bag.

She made no move to take it.

Smart.

“I didn’t leave anything there,” she said.

“Then think of this as being returned anyway.”

The boy doubled over with a harsh cough, a sound so rough it bent his small frame forward. Emily instantly dropped beside him, panic lighting up her face. AdoptionServices

“Oliver, breathe. Sweetheart, look at me. In through your nose—”

“He needs this,” I said.