“Are you okay?” I’d asked.
She smiled and nodded, but her eyes widened like she wasn’t used to anyone noticing her pain.
“God bless you,” she’d whispered, and went back to work.
Now, in the aisle, the woman sneered at Ruth.
“You should watch where you put that filthy mop,” she snapped. “You nearly ruined my bag.”
“I’m… I’m so sorry, ma’am,” Ruth said, voice thin and trembling. “I didn’t—”
Before Ruth could finish, the woman nudged the bucket with her heel.
Dirty water sloshed out and spread across the floor like a slow humiliation.
Ruth gasped.
She stared at the puddle like it had betrayed her personally.
And the shame on her face—how fast it bloomed—made my stomach twist.
I left my cart where it was and walked straight toward them.
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