The moment was so small you could almost miss it. No tragedy, no headlines, just a fragile woman, a box of cereal, and a carton of milk. Yet something in the way she smiled, the way she insisted I go ahead, cracked something open in me. I paid for her groceries, she tried to refuse, and in that quiet tug-of-war over a few dollars, the air shifted. Outside, under a soft, ordinary sky, her hand on my arm felt like a blessing and a question: would I really carry this forward, or would this just become another nice story I once told myself befo… Continues…