“Is he following me?” Jacob wondered, his chest tightening. He told himself it was nothing—that the guard was just doing his rounds—but the thought stuck in his mind like a thorn. He began to feel hyperaware of his every movement, suddenly conscious of how he looked: his worn boots, his old camo jacket, the anxiety written all over his face.
“Do they think I’m going to steal something?” he thought bitterly. “Do they not want me here?” Trying to shake the feeling, Jacob moved to the baby wipes. Maria had mentioned they were running low, but as he reached for a pack, he paused.