On Maple Street, there lived an old woman. To most, she was invisible—just another forgotten soul tucked away in the corners of life. She had no family nearby, no friends to lean on, and no roof that truly felt like home.
Each day, she sat quietly on the curb, her eyes reflecting both the weight of her years and the emptiness of her plate. People passed her by, some with pity, others with indifference, but no one stopped. No one, except me.I was just a neighbor—an ordinary person living an ordinary life. But something about her loneliness unsettled me. I began bringing her food.