When their eyes met, Emma looked away instantly, adjusted her bag, and walked off faster than usual. Michael remained still, feeling something unfamiliar tighten in his chest.
That night, numbers and emails couldn’t drown out the image of trembling hands around a coffee cup and the sadness in Emma’s eyes. Before dawn, he made a decision he didn’t fully understand.
The next morning, he arrived early and waited.
Emma came, handed over the coffee, lingered longer than usual, then slipped a white envelope into the woman’s hand. Michael crossed the street once Emma left.
“Good morning,” he said.
The woman looked up, unsurprised.
“You again.”
“The woman who brings you coffee—do you know her?”
“I do. And?”
“I’m her employer.”
She laughed dryly. “That gives you no claim on her kindness.”
“Why does she come every day?”
“Ask her.”
Michael left frustrated but shaken.
That afternoon, he called Emma into his office.
“I saw you this morning,” he said.
“I was on my way to work.”
“You bring coffee to that woman every day. Why?”
Emma raised her eyes, pain and pride mixed together.
“Because I can.”
That night, Michael didn’t sleep. He realized he didn’t want answers bought with money. He wanted to understand.
