Isaac sat helplessly in the barstool; his hands were being kept warm by the large mug-filled cappuccino. Sighing quietly, one numb hand rubbed his tired eyes. He yawned while checking his watch. Gotta go home soon. He thought before taking another sip of his coffee, his fingers brushed against the cool metal coin next to his cup, the returned change.
   Peering out of the corner of his eye, he spied a young lady pushing at her hair and rubbing her face in fatigue. He grimaced, knowing the feeling all too well already in his young life.
   The waitress walked in front of him and over to the lady, "That's four-twenty-three." She announced ringing up the bill on the cash register, folding the top over on a white paper bag.
   Fumbling, she counted out her bills, and dug through her ragged purse for the change. A pained look came across her face along with panic, silently in reflex he slid the quarter from under his fingertips towards her.
   She looked up at him in shock and question, when she opened her mouth to protest he shook his head mutely. Gratefully, she gave him a smile and the waitress gave the two pennies to her for the change returned. Cautiously, she put it in the little bank for under privileged children's education.
   Isaac gave a faint smile, "Would you like to a cup of coffee?" He asked politely, waving his hand towards the menu on the wall, giving her free choice.
   She shook her head apologetically, "I'd really like to," She started softly, "I really need to get breakfast back to my children, and there's a coffee machine in my hotel room." Her smile was weak but genuine, "But thank you very much."
   He nodded slowly, "It was no problem." He uttered gently, staring into his mug. "My mother would have killed me if I hadn't done something."
   Her smile had faltered, but still managed to remain, she then gave him a courteous nod before turning and walking out the door. The bell that hung above the door sounded and signaled her departure.
   "Poor girl." The waitress murmured, "Having a bruise like that, you know she's running from some no-good husband."
   Isaac turned to the waitress, his mind thinking over and remembering the lady and how she looked. The way her hands trembled getting the money out, how her body shook visibly when he gave the quarter, how her fingers kept touching her hair and face nervously. He knew the waitress was right. Again he sighed quietly to himself.
   Carefully, he drained his cup and laid the tip down on the counter. Stepping out onto the sidewalk, he saw an old beaten up car driving by.
   The lady that was just inside was driving it, and she was looking into the backseat where a carseat was placed by suitcases and blankets. And Isaac saw a little round head of child poking through some blankets in the front seat.
   He watched as she drove through the stop sign, trying to help her kids get breakfast. He shook his head, Time to go home.