His voice was small. Careful. I looked at the tray again. Then at the trash can. And for the first time, the rule didn’t feel like policy. It felt like a choice.
“Go ahead,” my supervisor said under her breath, nodding toward the trash. “We don’t make exceptions.”
I didn’t move.
The cafeteria noise seemed to fade, like everything else was happening somewhere far away. All I could see was that tray, still warm, still untouched, and the kid holding onto it like it was already his.
“It’s already made,” I said quietly. “We’re just going to throw it away?”
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