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After moving back to my hometown to embrace the slow life, I opened a small convenience store right across from the elementary school—and one Tuesday afternoon, an eight-year-old walked through my door already thinking about breaking both my legs.

Chapter 2 / 7

Chapter 2

Adrian came inside with the careful posture of a man entering hostile territory. Graham immediately positioned himself between his father and the roller grill, apparently prepared to defend the hot dogs with his life.

“I’m Adrian Hale,” he said.

“Tegan Brooks.”

“I understand my son has been coming here frequently.”

“Every school day.”

Adrian pulled out his wallet. “Then I’d like to pay for everything he’s eaten.”

Graham’s eyes widened.

*No. If rich people pay, free snacks disappear. This is how economics destroys childhood.*

“Put your wallet away,” I said.

“I insist.”

I opened the little notebook beneath the register. “Let’s see. Hot dogs, chips, ramen snacks, orange soda, two emergency candy bars after a math test, and one grape soda he claimed had medicinal properties.”

Adrian looked at his son. “Medicinal?”

“It fixed my attitude,” Graham muttered.

I closed the notebook. “Most of it would’ve gone in the trash.”

Adrian’s expression changed. “Why was he eating leftovers?”

Graham went still.

At last, the voice in his head wasn’t funny.

*Don’t say it. Dad will think I’m spoiled.*

I answered for him. “That’s what I’d like to know.”

Graham stared at the floor. “Maxine says snacks make me greedy.”

“Who is Maxine?” I asked.

“A family friend,” Adrian said.

Graham’s thoughts whispered, *She says she’s practically my future mother.*

My stomach tightened.

Adrian’s phone rang.

The screen showed MAXINE.

He answered, and a polished woman’s voice filled the store. “Adrian, your driver said Graham went back to that shop. You really shouldn’t encourage this behavior. Processed food makes him impulsive.”

I leaned toward the phone. “Hello. Processed food speaking.”

Silence.

.

Then a delicate laugh. “You must be Tegan.”

“And you must be Maxine.”

“I’ve heard you’re very kind to Graham.”

The word *kind* came coated in something poisonous.

“I’ve heard about your livestreams,” I said.

Adrian looked sharply at me.

Maxine paused. “People online care about Graham. He’s had a difficult family situation. Sometimes community support helps.”

Graham’s fingers began shaking.

*Dad didn’t know?*

That thought was colder than anything Maxine said.

After Adrian took Graham home, I searched her name.

Maxine Cole had more than two million followers. Her page was a polished parade of candles, designer kitchens, parenting advice, charity dinners, and soft-voiced lectures about raising “emotionally resilient children.”

Then I found Graham.

Not always his whole face. Sometimes just his hands, his backpack, or the side of his head. But he was there.

In one clip, Maxine sat beside him on a couch reading comments aloud.

.

*”Rich children need strict boundaries.”*

*”He’ll become unbearable if Adrian remarries badly.”*

*”A stepmother will always prefer her own children.”*

Maxine smiled toward the camera. “See, Graham? People worry because they care.”

Graham sat beside her, rigid and silent.

Another video showed him in the back seat of a car outside my store.

Maxine laughed. “Maybe Adrian should marry the snack-shop woman. Graham would certainly approve of unlimited junk food.”

The comments beneath it were vicious. Viewers called me a gold digger before they’d ever met me. They warned Graham that a woman like me would steal his father, take his inheritance, send him away, or abuse him.

Suddenly every bizarre thought I’d heard from that child made sense.

An adult had taken his deepest insecurity and handed it to strangers for entertainment.

Worse, donation links appeared under several videos.

*”Support Graham’s healing journey.”*

*”Help us create safe family content.”*

I sat alone in my store after midnight, surrounded by cereal boxes and humming refrigerators, staring at the screen until anger became something colder and more useful.

Maxine had made one mistake.

She believed nobody had been paying attention to Graham except her audience.

Disclaimer: This story is fictional and created for entertainment purposes only. Any names, characters, places, or events are fictitious or used fictitiously. No real person or organization is intended to be portrayed.

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