The weight of the woman's departure still lingered in the air as you turned back to the counter. Your fingers moved automatically, measuring out extra flour and yeast for another batch of dough. The ledger's red numbers flashed in your mind—this wasn't prudent, not with bills piling up—but the image of her shaking shoulders beneath the awning stuck with you. The radio continued its storm warnings as you kneaded, the rhythmic push and fold of the dough mirroring the churn of your thoughts.

By mid-afternoon, the bakery filled with the rich, earthy scent of fresh whole wheat bread. You boxed up two dozen loaves, their crusts crackling as they cooled. The rain had eased to a drizzle when you loaded them into your delivery bike's cargo basket, the cardboard growing damp despite the wax paper wrapping. Pedaling through the slick streets, you passed boarded-up storefronts and overflowing storm drains, the neighborhood showing the wear of hard times.

The community pantry stood in the basement of the old Methodist church, its fluorescent lights buzzing against the gray afternoon. Ms. Henderson, the volunteer coordinator, gasped when you carried in the boxes. 'Bless you,' she said, her hands fluttering over the warm loaves. 'We had three families new to the pantry just this morning.' As you arranged the bread next to cans of donated soup, a child with rain-damp curls peered over the table edge, eyes wide at the steaming loaves. You broke off a crust corner and offered it silently. Her grin, as she nibbled, made the ledger numbers blur in your memory.

Riding back through the drizzle, you noticed the woman from earlier huddled under a bus stop awning, her coat collar turned up against the damp. She was studying something on her phone—perhaps another job listing—when she glanced up and recognized you. For a heartbeat, neither of you moved. Then, hesitantly, she raised her hand in something between a wave and a salute. The bakery's awning came into view, its weathered green fabric sagging with rainwater. Beneath it stood an unfamiliar figure—a man in a suit studying the storefront with a clipboard, tapping his pen against what looked ominously like an official document.