ADVERTISEMENT
I worked late at a flower shop when a girl slipped a bouquet into her backpack. It was a Tuesday evening in a quiet suburb of Manchester, and the rain was drumming a steady beat against the shop window. I was the only one on duty, busy trimming the stems of some wilting lilies, when I saw the movement in the corner of my eye. She was small, maybe ten years old, with a coat that looked a size too big and hair that had been windswept by the autumn chill. She thought I wasn’t looking, but the mirror behind the counter caught the flash of bright yellow sunflowers disappearing into her nylon bag. My breath hitched; in this neighborhood, even a ten-year-old stealing meant trouble, and I knew how quickly the shadows outside could swallow a child whole.
