At fourteen, I learned how to hide hunger. Every day at school, I pretended I had simply forgotten my lunch because admitting I could not afford one felt more embarrassing than going without food. Most people never noticed, but one teacher quietly did. Without asking questions or drawing attention to me, she began bringing an extra sandwich, an apple, or whatever she could spare. She never treated it like charity. She simply made sure I ate.

Then, one day, she disappeared. No goodbye, no explanation—she was simply gone. Life moved on, and ten years later I had become a lawyer. One afternoon, my assistant told me my next client had arrived. I glanced at the appointment list, walked into the meeting room, and immediately froze. Sitting across from me was the teacher who had once fed me, though she looked far more tired than I remembered.