I’m severely allergic to dairy, so I bring labeled oat milk to work—but it kept disappearing.

Frustrated, I filled a carton with toothpaste. The next day, I heard gagging. It was Clara, the new hire. Mortified, I learned she was skipping meals to support her brother.

“I didn’t think a splash would matter,” she said. My petty revenge, born from inconvenience, clashed with her quiet struggle for survival. I bought her lunch.

It became routine. Continues…