“Ma’am?” I called, unsure if I should come closer.
She lifted her head slowly. Her gray hair was tied back loosely, her face pale and drawn. When she spoke, her voice barely carried.
“Sweetheart… could you help me?”
I didn’t think about danger. I didn’t think about rules. I crouched down and started gathering her groceries, brushing dirt off cans with my sleeve, stacking them carefully in my arms.
“My name is Charlotte,” she said, breathing unevenly. “I’m fifty. I was walking home when I suddenly felt weak. The hill… I lost my balance.”
“Are you hurt?” I asked.
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