Every morning, Emily hurried to work through the same underground pedestrian tunnel. She was four months pregnant now, and thankfully the morning sickness had eased up, so she could still put in a full day. The one thing she still battled was bone-deep exhaustion. Getting out of a warm bed felt like an act of will, and most mornings she ended up racing to work half-awake.
The tunnel was always noisy, full of footsteps and people in a rush. Near the street exit, the usual group of homeless men gathered every day: Frank, whom everyone called Lazy Eye, old Mr. Miller, and four or five others stood there with paper cups or outstretched hands. Emily simply couldn’t walk past them with a hard heart. She felt for them. Whenever she could spare it, she’d buy them hot coffee and a muffin or a breakfast roll.
The men always thanked her with real warmth. The women working at the flower stand nearby, though, would just exchange looks and tap their temples.
— That girl’s got to be out of her mind. You can tell by her clothes she’s no rich lady. She’s pregnant, too, and still handing money to those guys.
— Anybody could do that, just stand around with a hand out, — the vendors would mutter. — Let them try earning a paycheck. Let them stand on their feet all day like the rest of us. And if she gives them cash, they’ll just spend it on booze anyway.
What those women didn’t understand was how deeply Emily felt other people’s pain. She knew firsthand what it meant to be hungry, desperate, and without a safe place to sleep.
Sure, she knew some people on the street drank too much. But she also understood why. Cold, loneliness, and hopelessness wear a person down. They stood in those drafts all day watching other people hurry home, knowing someone was waiting for them somewhere warm.
A homeless man had no one waiting. No place to go. In that way, Emily understood them better than most.
She waved to the men she knew and suddenly noticed a new face among them. He was fairly young, maybe around thirty, leaning on crutches, with long, dirty curls hanging over his forehead. He wasn’t calling out to anyone or asking for money. He just stood there quietly, staring off into space.
At his feet sat an old baseball cap with a few coins in it. Something in Emily’s chest tightened at the sight of him.
Good Lord. And here I am feeling sorry for myself. This man’s standing here missing a leg, and he’s still getting through the day.
On impulse, she bought a jelly donut and a hot tea and held them out to him.
— Here. Please take this. I hope it helps.
The man looked startled, then deeply embarrassed. When he looked up at her, his gratitude was plain as day.
