This wasn’t new to her. This was routine.
Her oversized shirt slid off one shoulder, revealing how thin she really was.
The baby stirred, letting out a faint sound before pressing closer into her chest. Michael noticed the cracked lips, the flushed cheeks, the way her body leaned slightly forward to protect the baby from the wind. This wasn’t just poverty.
This was abandonment.
She didn’t see him at first. Her eyes scanned the ground, searching for anything worth a few cents.
When she finally looked up and noticed the uniform, her entire body stiffened. Fear slammed into her expression.
Her brown eyes darted over him—badge, radio, holster—and her grip tightened on the bag.
Michael recognized that look immediately. It wasn’t fear of a stranger. It was fear of authority.
