When George finally spoke, the truth came out slowly and painfully. His pension barely covered rent and bills, leaving little for food or medicine. Pride kept him silent; shame pushed him to desperation. “I never wanted to steal,” he whispered. “I just didn’t know what else to do.”
My anger faded into empathy. I saw not a thief, but a man cornered by life, someone who had once given much yet had no one left to help him. I told him I wanted to help. Together, we made a plan — George would help around the store a few hours each week in exchange for groceries. It wasn’t charity, but partnership.