“How can that be, baby?” the old woman muttered in confusion, sorting through the coins again. “I counted at home. I counted everything.”

Behind me, someone sighed in annoyance. The line was growing, and people were in a hurry to get home out of the bad weather. I looked at the shrunken figure of the old woman, at her hands red from the cold, at her cheap groceries, and something tugged inside me. How many times had I walked past someone else’s grief, pretending not to notice? How many times had I turned away so as not to see someone else’s need? But today, something made me step forward.

“Candace, ring it up with mine,” I said, handing a twenty-dollar bill over the old woman’s shoulder. “I will pay for it.”

“Oh, honey, really, you do not have to,” the old woman flustered, turning around. “I will just put something back.”

“Do not worry about it, ma’am.” I smiled warmly. “It is nothing, not even worth mentioning.”