He reached into his pocket.
Mara shook her head immediately. “No, sweetheart,” she said quickly, panic rising in her chest. “You don’t have to do that.”
But he was already pulling out folded bills, smoothing them with careful fingers like he had done this before, like money meant something specific to him, something earned or protected.
He placed the bills on the counter.
“My dad says,” the boy said quietly, his voice steady, “that if you can help someone and you choose not to, then that stays with you longer than losing the money.”
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