Marta sat alone in the dimly lit apartment, the thin walls doing little to block the sounds of the city beyond. The hum of traffic, the distant shouts of children playing, the occasional wail of a siren—all of it felt like a world away. She stared at the small pile of bills on the table in front of her, their numbers swimming before her eyes, overwhelming her.

Her hands trembled as she reached for the envelope on top. Inside was a notice from the electric company, its tone more threatening than the last. Another few days and the lights would go out for good. The others were from the landlord and the hospital, each demanding payment she didn’t have. She could barely afford food, let alone everything else.

She leaned back in the rickety chair and closed her eyes, trying to calm the rising tide of panic. But the only thing that filled her mind was the image of her son, David, asleep in the next room. His little body curled up under the thin blanket, his face pale with hunger.

She hadn’t been able to buy groceries for days. The refrigerator was nearly empty, the cupboards bare. Every day, it became harder to stretch what little food they had left. Marta’s stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since yesterday, but she ignored it. Whatever was left had to go to David.

She had tried everything she could think of to make ends meet. Two jobs, both barely above minimum wage, hadn’t been enough. Selling whatever she could spare hadn’t helped. And now, she was out of options.

Except one.

Marta opened her eyes and glanced at the small, crumpled bag on the table beside the bills. It was stuffed with items from the grocery store—the very same store where she worked as a cashier.

She had never stolen anything before. Not once in her life. But last night, as she was closing up, something inside her had snapped. She was counting the money in the register, as she did every night, when her eyes drifted to the food aisles. The sight of all that food, piled high and out of reach, had been too much. The gnawing hunger, the mounting pressure, the thought of David going to bed hungry again—it all came crashing down on her at once.

Before she knew it, she was stuffing a few items into her bag. A loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter, a couple of apples. Nothing big, nothing that would be missed. She had told herself it was just to get through the weekend, just enough to keep David fed until she could figure something else out.

But now, as she sat in the quiet of her apartment, guilt gnawed at her. She couldn’t stop replaying the moment in her mind, the way she had slipped past the security cameras, the way she had avoided making eye contact with the manager as she left. The shame was like a weight on her chest, pressing down until she could hardly breathe.

She thought of her parents, the way they had raised her to be honest, to work hard, to never take what wasn’t hers. They had struggled too, but they had never stooped to theft. They had found a way to get by without crossing that line. And now here she was, sitting in the dark, with stolen food in front of her.

She buried her face in her hands, the tears finally spilling over. “What have I done?” she whispered to the empty room.

But even as the guilt washed over her, a part of her fought back, trying to justify what she had done. “What choice did I have?” she argued with herself, her voice trembling. “I’m not a thief. I’m a mother. I’m trying to take care of my son.”

Marta wiped her eyes and sat up straight, trying to regain control of her emotions. “It was just a few things,” she reasoned. “The store won’t even notice they’re missing. And it’s not like I did it for myself. I did it for David. He needs to eat. What kind of mother would I be if I let him starve?”

But the justifications felt hollow, even as she clung to them. She knew that stealing was wrong, that no amount of excuses could change that. And yet, when she thought of her son’s face, so small and fragile, her resolve faltered. How could it be wrong to do whatever it took to keep him safe, to keep him fed?

She looked down at her hands, clenched in her lap, and let out a long, shaky breath. The fear, the guilt, the shame—they were all still there, but so was the cold, hard reality of her situation.

Marta had tried to do things the right way, to play by the rules. But the rules had left her in a place where she couldn’t feed her son, where the only option left was one she had never imagined taking. And now that she had crossed that line, there was no going back.

She stood up slowly, her legs unsteady beneath her, and walked over to David’s room. Pushing the door open, she saw him still asleep, his breathing soft and even. She watched him for a moment, her heart aching with love and fear. Then, she turned and walked back to the kitchen.

She took the stolen food out of the bag and set it on the table. It wasn’t much, but it was something. Enough to get them through the next couple of days, enough to keep her son from going hungry.

Marta knew that what she had done was wrong. But she also knew that, in a world where everything was stacked against her, she had done what she needed to survive. And if that meant bending the rules, even breaking them, she would do it again in a heartbeat.

Because when the world left you with nothing, you had to find your own way to survive.