Walter’s gaze landed on a basket of day-old loaves.
One, slightly crushed at the corner, still warm.
He slipped it into his coat. His hands trembled—not from fear, but weakness.
“Hey! Stop right there!” Mr. Morrelli’s voice sliced through the air. He had seen everything in the new mirror he’d just installed above the counter. “I’m calling the cops!”
Walter froze.
He didn’t run.
He simply turned and said softly, “I just needed strength to live one more day.”
The police arrived within minutes—two officers, one young, one middle-aged. The younger one, Officer Jenkins, seemed uneasy as he tightened the cuffs around Walter’s thin wrists.
“You really a vet?” Jenkins asked, spotting the dog tags under the old man’s coat.
“I was,” Walter said. “Used to be someone useful.”
“Sir, the owner’s pressing charges,” Jenkins said quietly. “Says you’ve been caught before.”
