He nodded slowly.
“Are you hungry?”
Lily’s lips pressed together, and she shook her head — but her eyes betrayed her. Hunger lived there like a shadow.
“Sit down,” he said gently, pulling out the chair across from him.
The maître d’ blinked in horror. “Sir—”
“It’s fine,” the man repeated firmly. “Bring another plate. And some water.”
Lily slid into the seat cautiously, as if afraid she might be asked to leave at any second. Her feet dangled off the chair, swinging nervously. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, then immediately reached for her pink backpack again, holding it on her lap protectively.
The man watched her for a moment before speaking.
“I’m David.”
She nodded. “Thank you, Mr. David.”
A server brought a clean plate, setting it down with a mixture of confusion and awe. David cut a generous slice of his ribeye and placed it on Lily’s plate. She stared at the meat as though it were a painting in a museum — something meant to be admired, not touched.
“You can eat,” he encouraged.
Lily hesitated, then picked up the fork. But instead of diving in, she whispered, “Can I… can I save half for my mom? She hasn’t eaten since yesterday.”
David’s chest tightened. The restaurant suddenly felt too small, too bright, too full of people pretending they didn’t hear.
