Angela walked quickly that morning, clutching a small brown envelope to her chest. That day mattered. She had an interview for a househelp job, and she had been praying since dawn that she would be chosen. She wanted only one thing: to help her sick mother and keep a roof over their heads.
As she neared the bus stop, she saw an old man sitting by the roadside under a weak patch of shade. His clothes were worn, his shoulders bent, and his hands trembled as he lifted them slightly.
“My child,” he said, voice dry and tired, “please… do you have any money or food? I have not eaten since yesterday.”
Angela stopped.
Her heart squeezed painfully.
She opened her purse again even though she already knew what was inside. One small note. Her transport money. If she gave it away, she would have to walk for more than thirty minutes under the hot sun.
She sighed and looked at him.
“Papa, this is my last money. I’m going for a job interview. It’s meant for my transport.”
She took a step away, but her feet felt heavy. Something inside her would not let her go.
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