Mike gave an irritated sign. “Sandra, you are too soft.”
She ignored that and moved straight to the man on the ground. Up close, she saw what distance had hidden. His face looked older than it should have. His lips were dry. There was a faint bruise on one cheek, as if life had struck him and left the mark behind.
“Sir,” she said softly, crouching beside him, “can you stand?”
He tried. His legs failed him halfway. Without hesitation, Sandra took his arm and helped him up, carefully, respectfully, the way one might help a sick relative. For a second, the man looked started by her touch, as if kindness had become unfamiliar.
Mike closer stepped again, his tone colder now. “Next time I see you here, I’ll call the police.”
The man gave a small, silent nod. No agreement. Surrender.
Sandra stayed beside him a moment longer, almost as if her presence alone might shield him from the ugliness of the world. When he finally shuffled away down the street, he didn’t look back. He just kept moving, like stopping for even one second might make him fall apart. Sandra stood at the entrance of the shop and watched him until he turned the corner and disappeared.
She didn’t know it yet, but something had already begun that morning—something bigger than pity, bigger than coincidence. By the time the sun rose properly over the town, a story that would change several lives had already taken its first breath.
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