They walked out of the supermarket together. Ethan completely forgot about the driver waiting in the climate-controlled car. He felt an urgent need to understand where that light came from in a world he’d always believed was cold and transactional.
“Can I walk you home? Just to make sure you get there safe with your groceries?” he asked.
The girl nodded, happy for the company.
They walked a few blocks, leaving the shopping strip behind and entering a neighborhood Ethan had only seen in headlines or through tinted windows. Cracked sidewalks. Peeling paint. The constant air of struggle.
But the girl skipped along, unfazed, chatting about school and her imaginary dog.
They reached a small house with a sagging porch and windows spilling warm yellow light. Inside, the smell of simple stew filled Ethan’s nose. A young mother—face marked with exhaustion but eyes kind—folded laundry while watching an old pot simmer.
She was surprised to see a man in a suit worth thousands standing in her living room, but there was no fear in her gaze—only curiosity.
The girl ran to her.
“Mom! I helped a friend today!”