The rain hammered against the glass of my clinic, a rhythmic, lonely sound that matched the shivering boy standing in my doorway

The rain hammered against the glass of my clinic, a rhythmic, lonely sound that matched the shivering boy standing in my doorway. He was barely five, his oversized shirt clinging to his ribs, his sneakers split at the toes. In his small, trembling hands, he clutched a plastic grocery bag filled with sticky coins and crushed soda bottles. He looked up at me with eyes that were hauntingly familiar, whispering a plea that shattered my composure as he began to recount his pathetic, meager savings… Continue reading…