The room exhaled collectively, the tension dissipating like mist in the morning sun. Conversations slowly resumed, but there was a new energy in the air, a shared understanding of boundaries and decency.

Mr. Thompson walked over to Clara, his face softening with compassion. “I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he said, crouching down to her level. “Your meal is on the house today. And if you need anything else, just let us know.”

Clara nodded, grateful for his support, but her voice was still caught in her throat. She blinked back tears, mustering a small smile as a thank you.