“I took the bus,” she said proudly, pointing toward the window. “Mommy taught me the stops. I used the coins from my piggy bank. I went under the security gate because the guard was on his phone.”
Robert crouched down to her level. Up close, he could see the fear hidden behind her bravery.
This wasn’t mischief.
This was survival.
“Does your mom know you’re here?” he asked.
Amy looked down for the first time.
“No… The ambulance took her. The neighbor called. I… I hid and came here. I don’t want Mommy to be sad about money.”
Before Robert could respond, Amy marched toward a low bookshelf.
“I’ll start here,” she said. “Mommy says dust hides where nobody looks.”
Robert watched her tiny hands wipe at an invisible spot on his shelf.
He could’ve called security.
He could’ve called social services.
But instead, he felt something he hadn’t felt in years.
Humility.
“Wait,” he said.
Amy froze.
“Am I doing it wrong? Please don’t fire me.”
“No—no,” Robert said quickly, throat tight. “It’s just… good workers need fuel. Do you like apple juice?”
Her eyes lit up.