The scent of warm bread filled the air, bringing comfort to the dusty street. It wafted from a small stand behind a rusty gate, once a bright green but now faded and peeling, telling stories of neglect. A young woman, maybe eighteen, stood there with quiet strength. Her dark hair swayed in the breeze, and her kind eyes sparkled as she handed a loaf to a woman in worn clothes. Next to her, a small boy, no more than five, beamed at the warm bread his mother bought.
"Fresh bread and homemade cookies!" the young woman called, her voice bright and clear. A tattered umbrella shielded her from the hot Missouri sun. Behind her, an older woman sat weaving a cap, her face pale and etched with age. She coughed harshly now and then. A seven-year-old boy sat beside her, absorbed in a book, as if searching for a way out.
The mother and son left with grateful smiles, which the vendor returned with a gentle grin. Moments later, a heavyset man appeared from the gate, dressed simply in a tank top and shorts. He approached with a forced smile. The young woman's demeanor shifted; warmth faded into caution.
"Freshly baked," he tried to sound cheerful.
"Can I get two of those?" he pointed at the biggest loaves.
"Seven bucks," she replied, extending her hand. Her voice was firm, eyes steady.
"Pretty Sophie," he teased, grinning. "Even Aphrodite would be jealous."
A loud cough from the older woman nearly toppled her from her chair. The boy next to her quickly handed her a water bottle, concern etched on his face.
Sophie looked at the older woman with pity, then focused back on the man.
"Please," he pleaded, voice shaky. "I'll pay you next week. My kids are starving."
"You owe me twenty-five dollars," she said softly but firmly. She gestured to the elderly woman. "I need money for her medicine."
Just then, the gate creaked open, sounding almost like a cry. A barefoot boy, around nine, walked in carrying a toddler, both without shirts, their shorts dirty and torn. The toddler pointed at a cookie, while the older boy eyed the bread hungrily. Sophie watched them quietly. Then, without a word, she wrapped two loaves and handed them to the older boy.
"Here," she said gently. "Take them."
The man's face brightened with relief. "Forget the payment, Professor Zeus," Sophie added, "but please... try to pay me the twenty-five dollars soon."
"When I'm back at Harvard, which I believe will happen sooner" he replied, his voice shaky, "I'll make it up to you." Professor Zeus turned and ushered his kids inside. As the gate closed behind them, its rusty hinges creaked again, echoing the weight of promises, poverty, and a flicker of hope.
A Mercedes-Benz sped down the dusty road, kicking up dirt and creating a thick haze. The loud engine startled the quiet town of Fox Hollow, where such a car was a rare sight. People stopped in their tracks, squinting through the dust. Small groups formed, murmuring in awe.
Sophie stood at her bread stand, eyes glued to the sleek vehicle. Her seven-year-old brother, John was lost in his book, completely unaffected. Her grandmother beside them kept weaving, unfazed by the noise.
Time seemed to stretch. As the dust began to settle, some spectators drifted off. But a few curious kids stayed, wide-eyed and barefoot in the street. Suddenly, the car door swung open. A man in his forties climbed out, followed by another in his thirties. The driver rushed to the back, opening the door as if expecting royalty.
Inside, a young man, not older than nineteen, curly hair, lounged with earphones in, absorbed in his oversized phone, grinning to himself. He ignored the opened door and the driver standing beside him. Sophie remained transfixed, unable to call out for customers. Eventually, the young man looked up, casting a cold glance at the driver. The driver stepped aside, and the young man exited, surveying the area with disdain.
The children rushed forward, eager to touch the car, but were quickly shooed away by the second man. He pointed towards Sophie's bread stand. With an arrogant stride, the young man approached the rusted gate, his expression twisted in disgust and irritation. Their eyes locked.
Finally, Sophie broke the silence. "Freshly baked bread and homemade cookies," she said firmly.
The young man sneered. Her grandmother watched, while her brother stayed engrossed in his book. The stranger poked a loaf of bread with a finger, inspecting it as if it were beneath him.
Then, without warning, he swiped same finger across the elderly driver's white shirt. "I should eat this?" he said, irritation clear in his voice.
"What's wrong?" Sophie's grandmother coughed, alarmed. Her brother handed her a bottle of water, now attentive.
"Do you live here?" He asked Sophie.
"Yes," she replied.
"I'm Ridge," he said, scanning the area disdainfully.
"I'm Sophie," she answered calmly. Their eyes met again.
"How long have you lived here?" he asked.
"Twelve years."
"How many people live here?"
Sophie hesitated. "Thirty-six."
Ridge scoffed. "What a dump."
Sophie's tone sharpened. "What do you want here?"
Ridge stared, then laughed mockingly. "This is my property now. I want everyone out by next week."
The words hit hard. "What?" Sophie gasped, dropping her water bottle.
Her grandmother struggled to stand. "What's wrong?" she asked, worried. Her brother rushed to help her. Ridge didn't care.
He extended his hand toward the second man, still glaring at Sophie. When nothing happened, he turned in anger. The second man, now alert, rushed to the car.
"Idiot," Ridge muttered.
Moments later, he returned with an envelope and handed it to Ridge, who tossed it at Sophie.
"Proof of ownership and eviction notice. You're all evicted. One week," he said coldly, turning back to the car.
The men followed, and the driver quickly opened the door. The car roared to life, kicking up dust as the Mercedes vanished from sight.