The winter wind swept through the streets of Portland, carrying flakes of snow that glistened under the streetlights. Inside a small grocery store at the corner of Maple Avenue, a thin twelve-year-old girl named Lucy Warren stood motionless near the dairy section. Her hands trembled slightly as she clutched the sleeve of her old brown coat.
Lucy’s eyes followed a single carton of milk on the shelf. Her younger siblings, twins only seven years old, were waiting at home. They had not eaten since yesterday, and their mother was still at work at the diner. Since Lucy’s father had died the previous year, the family had been struggling to keep their apartment and put food on the table.
She looked around to make sure no one was watching. The store was quiet except for the humming refrigerator and the faint sound of the radio behind the counter. With a deep breath, Lucy slipped the milk into her coat pocket and headed toward the door.
“Stop right there!” a man’s voice rang out.
Lucy froze. It was Mr. Callahan, the owner of the store, known for his strictness and short temper. He reached out, pulled the milk from her coat, and frowned deeply.