“Milo,” she gasped, panic twisting her voice. “What did you do? Did you touch that money?”
“I only helped him,” Milo said timidly.
Before Brianna could pull the coat off Malcolm’s legs, he groaned and sat upright. She nearly dropped to her knees in fright.
“I am sorry, sir,” Brianna pleaded. “I can leave with my son at once. Please give me another chance.”
Malcolm tapped the envelope and called Milo forward. The boy stepped up, shaking.
“Why did you put your jacket on me?” Malcolm asked.
“You looked cold,” Milo whispered. “Cold is cold. Mom says you help people when they are cold.”
Malcolm exhaled slowly. This truth was so simple that it pierced him. He leaned back and considered the velvet where the wet jacket had rested. A faint spot marked the fabric.
“That chair is expensive,” Malcolm grumbled. “It will cost five hundred dollars to repair.”
Brianna broke down. “Take it from my pay. I will work as long as it takes. Please do not be angry with my son.”
“What about you,” Malcolm said to Milo. “What will you offer?”
Milo reached into his pocket and revealed a tiny metal car with chipped paint. It was old and missing a wheel, yet he held it with love.