It was still warm.
For a moment, he imagined taking it home, cutting two thick slices, and placing them beside his mother’s bed.
He imagined seeing her eat.
He imagined hearing her say that she felt stronger.
Then he looked at the price tag.
Three dollars and fifty cents.
Adam swallowed.
His fingers tightened around the loaf.
He glanced toward the counter.
Mr. Collins was talking to a delivery driver.
Adam knew what he was about to do was wrong.
His mother had taught him that honesty mattered even when nobody was watching.
But he also knew that she had not eaten properly in days.
His hands shook as he slipped the bread into his backpack.
Then he turned toward the exit.
“Hey! Stop right there!”
Adam froze.
Mr. Collins was staring directly at him.
“Open your bag.”
The boy’s face drained of color.
“Sir, I can explain.”
“Open it.”
