“Ma’am,” one officer said gently, lowering his voice, “you know you’re not allowed to sell goods here.”
The woman nodded slowly, her shoulders sagging.
“I know, son,” she murmured. “But my boy is sick. He needs medicine every day. I don’t have anyone else. These came from my own garden… I swear I didn’t steal anything.”
Her hands shook as she spoke.
The officers exchanged glances. This wasn’t the criminal they’d expected. Just another grandmother trying to survive.
“Alright,” the senior officer said after a pause. “We’ll let you go this time. But you can’t keep doing this. Others won’t be as forgiving.”
Relief flooded her face too quickly.
“Yes… yes, of course,” she said, nodding again and again. “I won’t come back.”
One of the younger officers smiled.
“Well, since we’re here, let us buy something. At least let us help.”
Her reaction was instant — too instant.
“No! Please,” she said sharply, then forced a nervous laugh. “I’ve already sold plenty today.”
The officer frowned.
“Plenty? There’s no one around.”
“They come early,” she said quickly. “You just missed them.”
Her eyes flicked toward the street. Then back to the box. Then away again.
Something felt wrong.
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