Poor Black Teen Carried a Sick Old Man's Groceries Home — He Had No Idea Who the Man Was
Chapter 8
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Across the city, Jamal Carter finally reached home. The walk back felt twice as long. Rainwater soaked through his shoes. His stomach growled constantly. Streetlights reflected off puddles like broken mirrors.By the time he reached West Marlo Towers, his shoulders ached. The building looked even worse at night: cracked brick, rust-stained windows, a flickering security light above the entrance. Half the letters on the sign had burned out years ago. Most people wouldn't have called it a home. Jamal did, because Gloria lived there. And wherever Gloria was, that was home.He climbed the four flights of stairs because the elevator had been broken for nearly three months again. The landlord kept promising repairs; nothing ever happened. The hallway smelled faintly of mildew and old cooking oil.When Jamal reached apartment 4B, he unlocked the door and stepped inside. Warm yellow light greeted him, along with a familiar voice:"There you are."Gloria Carter sat beside the window in her favorite chair. A blanket covered her legs; an oxygen monitor sat nearby. Her silver hair framed a tired but kind face. She smiled the moment she saw him. "There he is," she said softly.Jamal smiled back, the tension in his shoulders easing instantly. "Sorry I'm late.""I noticed.""You always do."She laughed—a small laugh, a fragile laugh, the kind that worried him more than coughing ever could. "You got caught in the rain.""A little.""A little?" she teased. "You look like you swam home."Jamal chuckled. For a moment, things felt normal, safe.Then Gloria noticed the exhaustion in his eyes. The smile faded. "Tough day?"Jamal hesitated. He never liked worrying her, but lying to Gloria was almost impossible. "A guy needed help.""What kind of help?""He dropped his groceries.""In the rain?""Yep."Gloria nodded approvingly. "Did you help him?"Jamal smiled. "You know I did."Her eyes softened. "I know." She reached over and squeezed his hand. The skin on her fingers felt thinner than it used to. Jamal noticed; he always noticed. "You did the right thing."The words warmed him more than any heater could have, because when Gloria said he had done the right thing, he believed it, no matter what anyone else thought.She studied him carefully. "What aren't you telling me?"Jamal laughed nervously. "There it is.""What?""That face.""What face?""The face you make when you're carrying the weight of the world."He looked away toward the kitchen, toward the stack of unpaid bills sitting beside the microwave, toward realities he wished he could hide forever. "I'm okay, Jamal."