This is a story that could surely be retold with different characters and settings, yet it feels familiar to nearly everyone. It’s a story about compassion. The fairy-tale opening, “Once upon a time, there was a boy,” fits perfectly here. Because there was indeed a boy, though his life wasn’t exactly joyful. His parents cared for him, but they rarely read to him, never told him bedtime stories, and his mother never once sang him a lullaby. All he knew as a preschooler was the television. But the TV showed a different world. In reality, he lived without friends. Quiet …

I don’t believe there’s such a thing as a completely faithful man in this world. We all cheat on our partners. Not because we don’t love them, but because it’s just normal for us. It’s impossible to love and desire one woman for ten years without glancing at younger beauties. Especially now, in times like these, when young women practically throw themselves at men nearly twice their age. Back then, I was still young and full of fire, as they say. I had just turned forty, and my wife, Emily, was thirty-two. I loved Emily deeply in our younger days; …

From childhood, my mother raised me to be a princess, instilling proper manners and enrolling me in English classes and acrobatics. In school, I became deeply passionate about competitive ballroom dancing. Dancing was a part of me. Even when I felt unwell and said, “Mom, I’m not going to school, my throat hurts,” she would reply, “Then you’re not going to practice either.” Those words worked like magic—I’d instantly feel better because missing a dance session was unthinkable. At school, I didn’t get along with my classmates. The girls and boys didn’t understand my passion, and I couldn’t comprehend how …

My sister, Emily, is on maternity leave. She’s been married for years, raising two children with her husband, James. The four of them live solely on his salary, which has left them in financial distress. They also rent an apartment. Emily constantly complained to me about their lack of money for basic necessities. She’d borrow from our mom or me, and neither of us refused her, knowing it was for the kids’ food. My life with my husband, Michael, was different: we lived comfortably with good salaries. Michael’s wealthy parents even bought us an apartment. But Michael was always against …

Shouting across the basement, the housing office manager nearly strained his voice. — How long do I have to look for you? Stephen, stop slacking off. You need to clean up the yard at 15th Court. The leaves are piled so high people will soon be swimming in them. Grabbing a broom and shovel, the janitor trudged to the assigned address, muttering under his breath, cursing his boss. Stephen had been a janitor at this housing office for five years and had never once let his supervisors down. But lately, people noticed an odd sluggishness in him. It seemed like …