Slowly, Adam unzipped the backpack.
The loaf of bread was visible inside.
The store owner shook his head.
“Stealing from my store? Do you know how many times this happens?”
“I’m sorry,” Adam whispered.
“Sorry doesn’t pay for stolen merchandise.”
“Please, sir. My mother is sick. I just wanted—”
“Everyone has a story.”
Mr. Collins reached for the telephone.
Adam felt panic rising.
“Please don’t call the police. I’ll bring it back. I haven’t eaten any of it.”
But the call had already been made.
Within minutes, a police officer arrived.
Adam stood beside the counter, trembling.
When the officer asked why he had stolen the bread, he lowered his eyes.
“My mother hasn’t eaten,” he said quietly.
The officer looked at the loaf, then at the frightened boy.
He seemed to hesitate.
But the store owner insisted on making a formal complaint.
And so, on a cold October afternoon, a fifteen-year-old boy was taken away over a loaf of bread.
