“Well,” he said slowly, “I think I ordered too much. Would you mind keeping it?”
Maya shook her head. “You don’t have to—”
“I want to.”
He glanced at the display cases. “What time do you close?”
“In an hour.”
“And whatever doesn’t sell?”
“We donate when we can. Or keep what’s left.”
Michael didn’t hesitate. “I’ll buy everything.”
Maya stared. “Everything?”
“Yes. And you should close early. Go home with your son.”
Tears streamed down her face. “Why would you do this?”
“Because your son asked a brave question,” Michael said quietly. “And because I know what it’s like to skip meals so your child won’t.”
He told her, briefly, about Laura. About grief. About drowning.
They packed the bakery together. Michael paid for everything and insisted on a generous tip. Emma and Noah shared the croissant, laughing easily.
Maya confessed she was months behind on rent, struggling since a chain bakery opened nearby.
“How much would help you breathe?” Michael asked.
She whispered, “Twenty thousand.”
“I can do that,” he said simply. “But one condition. When you can, you help someone else.”
“I promise,” she sobbed.