It started like any other Tuesday at the office. The hum of the fluorescent lights overhead, the quiet chatter of my colleagues a comforting background noise. I was in the middle of reviewing the quarterly financial reports at my desk when a soft tap on the glass door caught my attention. There she stood, a young girl, no older than ten, with wide, pleading eyes. Her clothes were worn, her hair tied in a messy ponytail. In her hand was a crumpled envelope, the number $2.50 scribbled hastily across it.
She asked if she could come in, and despite the awkwardness of the situation, I nodded. She stepped inside, clutching the envelope tightly. « It’s for my brother, » she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.
I glanced around the office, my colleagues either oblivious or pretending to be. « What do you need? » I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
Her eyes darted to the vending machine in the corner, and then back to me. « Just… just a box of milk. »
I felt the room shift slightly, as if the air had thickened. The envelope crinkled in her hand, a small but powerful reminder of her desperation.
« I… let me see what I can do, » I replied, standing up and walking over to the vending machine. The soft hum of the machine filled the silence as I fumbled for change. My mind raced with questions, but I kept them to myself.
As the milk dropped into the retrieval door, I handed it to her, watching as her face lit up with a relieved smile. « Thank you, » she said, her voice stronger now.
She turned to leave, but I felt a tug at my conscience. « Wait, » I said, my voice steadier than I felt. « Do you want to sit for a moment? Get warm? »
She hesitated, her eyes flickering with a mixture of hope and caution. « Okay, » she nodded, and I gestured to the chair by my desk.
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