“You eat first,” he said softly. “We’ll order something for your mom too.”
She nodded gratefully and took her first bite. The moment the food touched her tongue, her shoulders dropped — a wave of relief washing through her. She ate slowly, savoring each piece as if memorizing it.
David didn’t touch his plate. He just watched. Something about her — her manners, her quiet resilience, the way she tried so hard to hide her hunger — pulled at something deep inside him.
“Do you come here often?” he asked lightly.
Lily shook her head. “No. I just… I walk around sometimes when I’m scared at night. It feels safe here. Bright lights. People inside. Warm windows.”
David felt a familiar ache — the ache of recognition.
Because once, many years ago, he had been a wandering kid too. Not homeless, but fatherless. Invisible to the world except when he made a mistake.
