I wasn’t sure what drew my eyes to her that day. Maybe it was the designer stroller, the kind I could never afford, or maybe it was the haunted look in her eyes. But nothing could’ve prepared me for what she left behind by the dumpster.

I’m not one to stare at strangers, but that day, I couldn’t help it. The woman pushing the fancy stroller was hard tomiss.

The material was a rich, dark coffee color, the kind that looked buttery soft to the touch. It wasn’t bulky or clunky like most strollers you see. No, this was something straight out of a high-end boutique, the kind of thing celebrities get for their kids when they’re making a statement.

She walked past me, her designer heels clicking against the pavement with that kind of sound that just makes you feel… poor.

Her coat was tailored to perfection, a deep brown that looked like it cost more than my entire wardrobe. But none of that mattered; what caught my attention was her face. She looked like she hadn’t slept in weeks. Her eyes were sunken, distant like she was lost in a nightmare she couldn’t wake up from.

I shifted Anne’s weight in my arms, pressing her small body closer to mine as I tried to shake off the moment. My baby girl, barely four months old, squirmed, letting out a tiny cry.

“Shh, it’s okay,” I whispered, trying to comfort both of us. I couldn’t afford to daydream about other people’s problems. Mine were already too much to handle.

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