The sun was setting as I stepped into the stairwell, the faint echo of my footsteps filling the space. I’d just come back from work, ready to unwind with a cup of coffee and some peace. But then I saw her.

She was standing on the landing between the second and third floors, surrounded by grocery bags. Her arms hung at her sides, and she was stretching, clearly exhausted.

I paused, leaning slightly against the railing. She always had this air about her—independent, determined, like she didn’t need anyone’s help. Yet here she was, struggling to haul what looked like half a store’s worth of groceries up to her apartment.

Without thinking twice, I started walking toward her.

She didn’t notice me until I crouched down to pick up one of her bags. “Let’s go,” I said, lifting them easily and standing up.