Inside, the shop was still quiet, filled with the low hum of the freezer, the faint scent of detergent, dry goods, and fresh bread. Sandra had barely stepped behind the counter when Doris emerged from the back room, already frowning. Doris Adami was her business partner and closest friend, practical to the bone, always thinking ahead, especially when money was involved. Life had taught Doris to trust caution more than emotion.
“So, you did it again,” Doris said, dropping a small notebook onto the counter.
Sandra kept her tone calm. “Doris, please don’t start.”
“How will I not start?” Doris folded her arms. “If you feed him, he’ll come back every day. Everybody has a sad story, Sandra. You can’t carry all of them.”
Sandra said nothing. She simply went to the small corner where they kept cups, a kettle, and food for before the shop fully opened. She took out a small loaf of bread, some left over stew, and a cup of water.
Doris followed her outside, still talking. “Tomorrow he’ll be here. Next day, he’ll be here. It becomes routine. You are too emotional.”
The man had not gone far. He stood by the side of the building, looking like he did not know where else to go. Sandra approached slowly and held out the food.
“Take it, sir.”
For a brief moment, he didn’t move. Then he accepted it with both hands as if it were something precious. He sat down on the edge of the pavement and ate carefully, not greedily, but like someone who had been hungry for too long and knew how easily blessings disappeared. Sandra stayed nearby, not hovering, not making a show of charity, simply making sure no one disturbed him while he ate.
Doris shook her head. “What next? Should we start calling you Mother Teresa?”
Sandra looked at her, tired but steady. “Don’t mock me.”
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