Kelly
The morning is cold, the kind of D.C winter chill that seeps through the layers of your clothes and lingers deep in your bones. I clutch my coffee cup tighter, trying to soak in the warmth as I step out of the café. The city is alive as always, cars honking, people hurrying past, lost in their own worlds.
And then I see her.
At first, I didn't recognize the figure crouched near the side of the building, wrapped in an oversized hoodie, the fabric frayed at the edges. Her hair is tangled, falling over a gaunt face. Her fingers, red from the cold, clutch a small cardboard sign.
‘Hungry. Please help.’
My breath catches. Kate.
She’s thinner than I remember. A shell of the woman she once was. She sits with her knees pulled close, gaze darting to every passerby, but no one s
