My husband, Tyler, and I were scraping by after he had been laid off from his construction job. I was working part-time at a call center, but the hours weren’t enough, and between rent, utilities, and preparing for the baby, we were drowning.

I remember standing in the store aisle staring at a pack of diapers, calculating and recalculating whether I could afford them if I skipped out on the jar of peanut butter or the loaf of bread. That’s when I noticed him at the register.

The old man looked out of place among the busy shoppers rushing through the line. His clothes were worn thin, his coat frayed at the edges, and his hands trembled as he fumbled with a pile of coins and crumpled bills.