Emma shook her head, her voice soft but firm. “I know what it’s like. To feel invisible, abandoned, and hopeless. Let me help. Please.” She pulled out her last dollars and paid for his groceries. It was a small act—bread, canned soup, and milk—but it meant more than she could ever imagine. The man’s hands trembled as he accepted the bag. “Thank you,” he whispered, clutching it to his chest. “You don’t know what this means.” “I do,” Emma replied gently. “Sometimes a small kindness can remind someone they’re not alone.” They exchanged no names that night, only a shared understanding born from pain.
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