Milk
was Lucia.
She was wearing sweatpants, an oversized jacket, and her hair was haphazardly pulled back. The baby was asleep, wrapped in a gray blanket.
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When she asked for help, Alberto didn’t even ask what had happened.
He just looked her up and down and decided he knew her whole life.
After I handed her the money, Lucia looked at me in surprise.
—Ma’am, I don’t need that much.
—Buy what you need for the child.
—I can give you back the rest.
—It’s not necessary.
Then he did something I still remember.
He took a pen out of his backpack and wrote something on the back of a receipt.
—At least give me your phone number.
I denied it.
—You don’t need to give me anything back.
