Before we left, we asked the woman to stop by our table.
Her name was Martha.
Up close, her composure returned, but there was still a trace of what had happened lingering in her expression. She thanked us more than once, her voice steady but warm.
As we spoke, she shared a little about her life. She had been working there for years, she said, helping support her granddaughter, who was studying nursing. There was no complaint in her tone, no bitterness—just a matter-of-fact explanation of responsibility, of doing what needed to be done.
The more she spoke, the clearer it became that her life was built on quiet resilience.
Before we left, David handed her a small envelope and his card. It wasn’t presented as charity. There was no pity in the gesture. Just respect, offered without making it into something larger than it needed to be.
She hesitated, then accepted it with a soft thank you.
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