It was Noah.Sensing someone was watching, he spun around.Our eyes met. In the murky, vacant gaze, a flicker of recognition appeared, followed by shame, then pure terror.He snatched a half-dry piece of bread from the trash, didn’t even brush off the filth on himself, and bolted. One shoe flew off. He didn’t look back, stumbling, disappearing into the night.I didn’t chase or call out. I stood quietly, watching him vanish.My daughter tugged my sleeve, looking up curiously. “Mom, what’s wrong with that man? Why did he run?”I kneeled, stroked her hair gently, voice soft as I said, “He’s lost, sweetheart. Can’t find his way home.”“Will he ever get home?”“Probably not.”I said it without a flicker of emotion.After his company collapsed, Noah’s wife left him with their child, taking the last of his money. He was burdened by massive debt and blacklisted. Barred from trains and planes, he was unable to find work.They said he’d tried to end his life, failed, and became homele
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