I’m severely allergic to dairy, so I bring my own oat milk to work. It’s labeled. Still, it kept disappearing, and I had to go without my daily coffee.So, I got petty and filled a carton with toothpaste and baking soda. The next day, I heard gagging in the break room. To my horror, it wasn’t some faceless “milk thief” I had pictured—it was Clara, the new hire. Her face turned crimson as she rushed to the sink, and I immediately felt my stomach drop.
Everyone in the office knew Clara was struggling. She’d taken on the job to support her younger brother, and whispered rumors floated around about her skipping meals to save money. I had been so focused on my frustration—on feeling wronged—that I never thought the culprit might be someone desperate rather than careless.
