Chauncy’s throat tightened. He could feel people watching now—not openly, but enough. A glance here. A pause there. Too many eyes.
“I—I was just seeing if anyone needed help,” he said, correcting himself. “Carrying groceries. I do it outside sometimes.”
The manager took a step closer. Not aggressive. But close enough. “I saw you,” he said. “Dropped something.” Chauncy’s stomach dropped. “And picked it up real fast.” The words landed heavy. “And what’s in your pockets?”
Now the question hit harder. Not just suspicion. Evidence. Chauncy’s hand moved slightly on instinct—too late to stop it. The manager noticed. Of course he did.
“Go ahead,” he said. “Take it out.”
For a second, Chauncy didn’t move. Then slowly—he reached into his pocket. And pulled them out. Two candy bars. One small snack. Crinkled from being held too tight.
“I didn’t steal them.” The words came out fast. Too fast. “They were given to me—outside. I was just—”
“Those are from this store.” The manager cut him off. Flat. Certain.
Chauncy blinked. “No—they’re not, I mean—they are, but I didn’t take them. Someone gave them to me, I swear.”
The manager stepped closer, his voice lowering. “Do you know how that looked?” Chauncy’s chest tightened. “You drop it,” the manager continued, “then grab it like you don’t want anyone to see.”
“I panicked,” Chauncy said. “I just—”
“And you kept going,” the manager said. “Stuffing your pockets.” Like a verdict.
“I didn’t steal anything,” Chauncy said again. But this time it didn’t sound strong.
