It’sher.The woman. Up close, she looks younger than me, a little shaken but standing tall. Her hands are wrapped around the strap of her bag, knuckles white.
“I-uh,” she starts, her voice trembling but determined. “I just wanted to say thank you.”
I nod. “Don’t mention it.”
I turn to leave, dreading going home, but her voice stops me.
“Why?” she asks, a little breathless. “Why’d you intervene? Not that I’m not grateful.”
I stand there, hands shoved into my pants pockets, staring at the pavement for a second. “I have a daughter,” I say finally. “And I guess I… reacted.”
Something softens in her face. “Your daughter’s a lucky girl.”
I nod again, not trusting myself to speak. She starts to turn away, but I call after her.
“Hey.”
She looks back.
“Next time,” I say quietly, “don’t be quiet.”
Her eyes shine, a mix of exhaustion and something sad underneath. She nods once, a silent promise, and then she’s gone, melting into the city.
I stand there for a long moment, watching the streetlights flicker against the pavement, wishing we lived in a world where this would be a once-in-a-lifetime thing.
But we all know that’s not true.
This is the world my daughter will grow up in.
That’s why I want Brooke home. So,shecan teach our daughter how to stand up for herself instead of some stranger doing it.
I start walking home. I don’t even have my phone or cash for a cab. My feet already ache, my shirt isn’t nearly warm enough for the night chill, and I haven't eaten anything since breakfast.
I think about the long walk home. There is someone who lives closer.
I haven’t spoken to her in a long time, but I’m not ready to face Brooke, not yet.
I decide to go.
The path to her building comes back to me like muscle memory. I walk up the familiar steps, my hand trailing the railing, it’s new. The rest of the place, though, looks the same. Like a piece of my childhood frozen in time.
I knock, then wait.
I’m just about to turn around when the door swings open.
She stands there, framed in warm yellow light, her face first startled, then soft.
“Mat?” she breathes.
“Hi, Aunt Mia,” I say with a small smile.
Her eyes widen, and then she’s pulling me into her arms with a laugh that sounds exactly like it used to. “Oh, you’ve grown up,” she murmurs against my shoulder. When she pulls back, she cups my arms, giving me a once-over like she’s trying to reconcile the kid she knew with the man standing in front of her. “So tall. And handsome.”
I duck my head, feeling something warm and stupidly comforting settle in my chest. “And you look just the same.”
She lets out a sharp laugh and lightly slaps my arm. “It’s been ten years, I doubt that.”
Then she steps aside and gestures me in, closing the door softly behind us.
