I looked inside.
Apples, canned soup, pasta, a whole rotisserie chicken, crackers, juice boxes, and even a pack of those little dinosaur fruit snacks Ben always begged for in the store.
Real food.
I don’t remember crying. One second, I was staring into that bag like it was a miracle, and the next, I was sobbing — loud, ugly sobs that ripped out of me before I could stop them. Everything I’d been holding in for months came pouring out.
I reached out and grabbed the officer’s arm. “Thank you. You don’t understand what this means to us.”
Ben hugged his leg, still sniffling. “You’re a hero,” he whispered.
The officer’s name tag read Daniel. He cleared his throat, clearly overwhelmed. “I’m not a hero, kid. Just doing what anyone should do.”
But he was wrong because in this world? Almost no one does.
The next evening, I was wiping down the counter near the window booths when I spotted him.
Same uniform, same calm expression. Except now I noticed things I hadn’t before — the tired eyes, the way he scanned the room like he couldn’t help himself. The way he relaxed a little when he saw me.
