It was a fair question. I tried not to think too deeply about what I was seeing. She wasn’t my responsibility. I didn’t have to care. I knew that. And yet…
I did.
So much, I must’ve officially lost my mind.
I’d intervened in plenty of domestic violence situations. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to spot a victim. Miranda had the classic signs.
I softened, lowering the hat to her level.
Miranda snatched it and jerked the cap down over her forehead, spinning away so I couldn't watch as she adjusted her hair. She leaned to buckle the boy into his seat. I rounded the truck to the driver’s side, fighting the urge to punch something.
She had navigation pulled up on her phone.
Five minutes to go until her destination. 8 Milford Street.
“We have a lot to talk about.”
She lifted her chin up and toward the window, her arms folded over her torso. “I amnottalking to you.”
“Well, whether you like it or not, we have business to discuss.”
Her voice quaked. “I’m not getting married ever again—to you.”
Not sure why the clarification stung as badlyas it did.
“There. Business discussion over.” She sniffed and swiped a hand across her cheek.
We drove in near silence, except for the occasional whines from the boy and Miranda’s soft reassurances.
And the tiniest, almost inaudible, sniffling.
Miranda kept her face turned toward the window. She was crying.
The knowledge gutted me.
I didn’t know what to do. What to say. I had no clue how to help her. I took a deep breath, sighed. My conscience nagged me. Forced me to feel responsible for the situation she was in. Was I the reason all this happened to her? Could I have prevented this somehow?
My hands ached around the steering wheel. After coming face to face with an elephant, the silence was torture. Do I ignore it? Drop them off and call it good? Wait six years for the inheritance and hope they find their way?
I glanced at the GPS, anxiety rolling through my gut.
One minute left and we were still in a bad neighborhood.
A big structure came into view. Looked like a church but wasn’t. Lots of folks loitered around the outside of the building with carts and strollers full of possessions. I rolled into the parking lot and squinted to read the faded sign by the door.
It was a freaking homeless shelter.
You have got to be kidding me.
Apparently, this situation could get worse.
I fought to keep my voice calm. “You want me to drop you two off at ashelter?”
She said nothing and didn’t look my way, but her chest was heaving with her breaths.
“Miranda.” I ran my hand over my head, wondering if Iwas about to wake up from a nightmare. “You have to start answering some questions. Do you have anywhere else to go?”
Her throat worked, her voice a whisper. “No.”
