I was seven months pregnant, broke, and barely holding it together when I saw him at the grocery store.
An old man in a faded flannel shirt. A little terrier at his feet. And a handful of crumpled bills that clearly weren’t going to stretch far enough.
He kept pulling food off the belt—milk, bread, eggs—until only one thing stayed.
Dog food.
So I spent my last $20 to help him.
I thought it was a simple moment of kindness.
I had no idea what was coming to my door the next morning.
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