I’m typing this on my phone, 2 AM, because my brain won't shut up. I keep seeing their faces, those poor kids. It’s like a movie reel, playing over and over. I feel… like a bad person, but what could I even do? What could anyone do, really. It’s a mess, a proper mess. So, I’m a social worker. Been doing it for, what, twenty-odd years now. Seen it all, I thought. But this one… this one just sits heavy in my stomach. There’s this family, the Millers. Good people, just down on their luck. Dad lost his job, mom works two part-time gigs, but it’s barely enough for ramen noodles and the electric bill. They’re teetering, you know? Like a Jenga tower, every single day, every day. We got them into this government housing program, essential for them, it really is. Kept a roof over their heads when they had nothing. Then I get a call. Anonymous tip. Someone in the neighborhood says a local business owner – a sweet little old lady, runs a bakery – has been slipping the Millers cash. Not just a few bucks here and there, apparently. Enough to make a difference. Enough for new shoes for the kids, maybe a proper meal. Sounds nice, right? Generous, even. But here's the kicker. That kind of outside financial help? It technically disqualifies them from the housing subsidy. It’s in the fine print, all that legalese no one reads. It’s INCOME. I feel my stomach just DROP when I read the report. Disqualified. Gone. My first thought, honestly? It was this little, almost funny thought – if it wasn't so tragic – about how the universe has this twisted sense of humor. Like, here’s a good deed, a genuine act of kindness, and it’s going to SCREW them over. The irony, right? My mind immediately went to the paperwork, the forms I’d have to fill out. The conversations I’d have to have. Explaining to Mrs. Miller that the very thing keeping her kids fed just pulled the rug out from under them. Explaining to a sweet old lady that her generosity is going to put a family on the streets. I can practically hear my supervisor now, "Did you follow protocol, Susan?" Yes, Bob, I followed protocol. Every single rule, every damn line. I haven't done anything yet. I’m just… sitting on it. The report is on my desk, untouched. Every time I look at it, I think about those kids, their hopeful little faces. And then I think about my mortgage, my own kids off at college, my parents who need me to drive them to appointments every other day. My own life feels like it’s balanced on a razor's edge sometimes, even with all the advantages. This isn't just about the Millers, is it? It’s about how easily it all falls apart. How one small, kind act can just… unravel everything. What do you even do? Pretend I never saw it? I can’t. My job. But report it? And watch them lose everything? I just don't know. I honestly don't know what to do.