It started as just another long night on the job.
Cold air, quiet streets, and a scooter that sounded like it had seen better days. Delivery after delivery, door after door—nothing unusual, nothing memorable.
Until one stop changed everything.
When the door opened, the woman standing there barely spoke. Her eyes were red, like she’d been crying for hours. Behind her, two children peeked out silently, focused on the small pizza box in my hand—not with excitement, but with hunger.
I glanced at the receipt.
One pizza. Three people.
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