Then she heard a small, careful voice, hesitant but clear.

“Ma’am, could we have some of your leftover food?”

She glanced up, her mind still on profit margins and supply chain logistics, ready to politely decline—and the world tilted on its axis.

Two skinny boys stood there, maybe ten or eleven years old, their clothes too big, their sneakers torn at the toes. Their hair was a messy tangle of brown curls, their faces streaked with the kind of city dust that never fully washes away.