I looked inside.
Apples, canned soup, pasta, a whole rotisserie chicken, crackers, juice boxes, and even a pack of those little dinosaur fruit snacks Ben always begged for in the store.
Real food.
I don’t remember crying. One second, I was staring into that bag like it was a miracle, and the next, I was sobbing — loud, ugly sobs that ripped out of me before I could stop them. Everything I’d been holding in for months came pouring out.
I reached out and grabbed the officer’s arm. “Thank you. You don’t understand what this means to us.”
Ben hugged his leg, still sniffling. “You’re a hero,” he whispered.
The officer’s name tag read Daniel. He cleared his throat, clearly overwhelmed. “I’m not a hero, kid. Just doing what anyone should do.”
But he was wrong because in this world? Almost no one does.
The next evening, I was wiping down the counter near the window booths when I spotted him.
Same uniform, same calm expression. Except now I noticed things I hadn’t before — the tired eyes, the way he scanned the room like he couldn’t help himself. The way he relaxed a little when he saw me.
He slid into a corner booth and ordered a burger and fries, like he wasn’t expecting anything different. But I had something in my apron pocket that said otherwise.
I waited until he was halfway through his meal, then approached him slowly, nervously twisting the hem of my apron in one hand.
“Hey,” I said quietly.
He looked up and smiled. “Hey.”
“My son Ben asked me to give you this.”
I placed the small, folded piece of paper on the table and took a step back. He looked puzzled for a second, then picked it up and unfolded it carefully as if it were something fragile. Sacred.
Crayon. Wobbly letters. Child handwriting.
Inside, it read: “I want to be you when I grow up.”
And under the words, a drawing of stick figures, but instantly recognizable. A little boy holding hands with a tall police officer. Daniel stared at it for a long time. He didn’t speak or blink, and his jaw twitched like he was trying not to get choked up.
Finally, he whispered, “Your son… he’s amazing.”
“He thinks the world of you,” I said softly.
Only God knows what came over me as I added, “And so do I.”
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