PART 1 — TWO CANS OF FORMULA

Eight-year-old Ivy Sterling stood barefoot at the checkout counter, rainwater dripping from the hem of her thin dress onto the polished floor.

Mud streaked both legs.

Her hair clung to her cheeks.

She was shivering so hard that the two cans of baby formula in her arms rattled against each other.

Everything around her made her look smaller.

The marble floor.

The glass displays.

The expensive fruit arranged as though each apple had been polished individually.

People in pressed coats and designer shoes pushing carts filled with imported cheese, flowers, and bottles of wine.

Ivy had three handfuls of coins.

They were wet.

She placed them carefully on the counter.

The cashier counted.

Then counted again.

Not because the amount was close.

Because she seemed unsure what to do.

Ivy looked up.

“Please.”