My mother was eighty-six and still refused to let anyone else buy her groceries.

That Saturday, the store was crowded. She had only five things, but her hands were shaking, and her wallet had disappeared somewhere inside her bag.

The woman behind us sighed loudly.

“Come on.”

Then she pushed her loaded trolley forward.

“If she’s too old to manage shopping, maybe she should stay home.”

People turned.

When I objected, she rolled her eyes.

“I’m only saying what everyone is thinking.”

My mother finally found her wallet and held out her card.

The woman laughed.

“Are we really all standing here for this?”

The cashier suddenly looked up.

She was around fifty-five, and something about my mother’s face made her stop completely.

“What is your name?” she asked.

“Adeline.”

The cashier stared at her.

Then the register clicked shut.

The conveyor belt stopped.

“Nobody leaves,” she said.

She called the manager and whispered something to him.

A moment later, he returned carrying a cardboard box.