It was a scorching afternoon, and the AC at McDonald’s felt like heaven. I was working the front counter during the lunch rush—kids yelling, fries everywhere, and the ice cream machine barely hanging on.

Around 2:30, things slowed down. I noticed an elderly man in a wheelchair, slouched over a melted soft-serve cone. No one paid him any mind. Something made me grab some napkins and go over. “Need a hand?” I asked. He nodded silently. I cleaned up the mess and helped him eat another cone without it dripping. It took ten minutes of my break.

But when I stood to leave, people stared. A woman whispered to her friend. My manager Luis gave me a weird look. Before clocking out, Luis told me, “Keep things like that outside work hours.”

I didn’t get it—until a woman outside asked for me. She warned me, “Be careful around him. His name’s Alfred. He’s been around for years. Trouble follows him.”

I stayed polite but felt more curious than scared.

The next day, Alfred returned. Despite Luis’s warning, I sat with him. That’s when he looked at me and said, “You remind me of my son…”