It was late afternoon when I saw them—a woman and a little girl sitting on a piece of cardboard outside a grocery store. The woman looked exhausted, her arms wrapped around the child as if she could shield her from the cold. The girl, maybe five or six, clutched a stuffed bunny with one missing eye. A small paper cup sat in front of them, mostly empty.
I had just bought some groceries, and something about them made me stop. I hesitated for a moment before walking over.
“Hey,” I said gently. “Would you like something to eat? I have some food in my bag.”
The woman looked up at me, her tired eyes wary. “That would be really kind of you,” she said softly.
I reached into my bag and pulled out a sandwich, an apple, and a bottle of juice. The woman took them gratefully, but it was the little girl who caught my attention.
She wasn’t reaching for the food. Instead, she stared at me with wide, curious eyes. Then, in a small voice, she asked, “Are you rich?”
The question caught me off guard. I glanced down at my clothes—just jeans and a sweater, nothing fancy. “No, not really,” I said. “Why do you ask?”
She pointed at the grocery bag. “You bought all that without thinking.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond. Before I could say anything, she continued, “Mommy says we have to think before we buy anything. Like, if we get food, we might not have enough for the bus. If we get the bus, we might not eat today.”
My chest tightened.
Her mother let out a small sigh. “She’s smart,” she said, stroking the girl’s hair. “Too smart for her own good.”
I crouched down to the little girl’s level. “What’s your name?”
“Lena,” she said.
I smiled. “Lena, do you like oranges?”
Her face lit up. “I love them!”
I pulled an orange from my bag and handed it to her. She held it like it was the most special thing in the world. “Mommy makes orange tea,” she said proudly. “When we had a kitchen.”
I swallowed hard. “That sounds really nice.”
The mother shifted uncomfortably. “I—I don’t want to ask too much, but if you know of any shelters… we’ve been struggling to find a safe place to stay.”
I nodded immediately. “I can look it up for you.” I pulled out my phone, searching for nearby shelters. After a few calls, I found one that still had space for families. “There’s a shelter about ten minutes from here. They have a spot for you, and they serve dinner.”
The woman exhaled in relief. “Thank you. Really.”
“I can drive you there if you’d like.”
She hesitated, then nodded. “That would mean a lot.”
We gathered their few belongings, and they climbed into my car. As I drove, Lena chatted about all the foods she wanted to eat once they had a kitchen again. “Mac and cheese, pancakes, spaghetti, and Mommy’s orange tea.”
Her mother smiled sadly. “One day, baby.”
When we arrived at the shelter, the staff welcomed them warmly. Before heading inside, Lena turned to me, gripping her orange.
“I’m gonna save this,” she said. “For when we have a kitchen again.”
Tears burned my eyes. I nodded. “I think that’s a great idea.”
As I drove home, I realized something: to me, an orange was just a snack. To Lena, it was hope.
And I hoped, with everything in me, that she’d get to make her orange tea again someday.
