For the last few weeks I’ve been hiding, taking the long way to the office, pretending I needed a change of scene — when really I was just avoiding Gloria.

Have I written about her before? She’s the homeless woman who first annoyed me (never asking for change — only for dollars), then won me over one day in the rain. I had given her a few bucks by then, and she was writing the names of her benefactors on a piece of paper that she kept in a waterproof container she wore around her neck.  She was, I suppose, creating a family of donors, people she could count on, a flock of supporters.

For more than a year I’ve been a faithful contributor to the Gloria cause. “You look beautiful today,” she’d say as I slipped a dollar into her hand. “Stay warm,” I’d reply. “Take care of yourself.”

But one morning when I didn’t have a dollar to give, she was angry, menacing. I learned of other colleagues who were harassed when they held on to their money. One even asked me to walk with her past Gloria’s corner.

It all came back to me then, the way I originally felt about Gloria, the persistence in her panhandling, the requests that were almost demands. I’d been giving out of fear and not out of a genuine desire to help. There’s a fine line between charity and extortion, and Gloria had crossed it.

I’m not proud of myself for giving up on Gloria. I know I’m not the first to have done so. But now I walk free.