Saoirse laughs. The sound is short and surprised, like it escaped without permission. Her hand flies to her mouth, and her eyes go wide.
I freeze.
That laugh. The way it broke free, unguarded and genuine. The way her whole face changed—softened, brightened, became something I didn't know a face could be.
I want to make her laugh again. The thought lands like a punch. I've wanted things before—control, respect, victory. I've never wanted to make someone laugh.
She drops her hand and clears her throat. "Sorry. It's just—Cat. Very creative."
"It's functional."
"It's lazy."
"Fine. What would you name her?"
She tilts her head, considering. The cat rubs against her shin and meows. Saoirse crouches and scratches behind her ears.
"Hope," she says.
"Why Hope?"
"Because she's a scrapper. Against the odds, she’s a survivor.” Saoirse straightens.
It seems fitting, so I nod. "Hope it is."
Her smile blooms, and I file it away—another piece of her I want to keep.
We finish eating. She washes the dishes without being asked, and I dry them without offering. The rhythm is easy, domestic in a way I’ve never had before.
“I want you to tell me something.” I keep my voice level, casual.
She tenses. "What?"
"The foster homes you lived in. There were a lot.”
Her hands are still in the soapy water. She doesn't answer right away. Then she pulls the plug and watches the water drain.
"Fourteen."
The number sits between us.
"Why so many?"
She dries her hands on a towel. "Some didn't want me. Some couldn't afford me. Some—" She stops. Her jaw tightens. "Some weren't safe. I ran away from the last one and never went back into the system.”
I don't push. I wait.
“By the time I turned eighteen and aged out, almost a year ago,” she continues, "I'd been on the streets for a few years anyway.”
Fuck. “That sounds difficult, especially living on the streets.” Understatement. It sounds like a living hell.
“In some ways it was easier than the foster placements."
"Easier how?"
"Nobody pretended to care."
The bluntness of it guts me. I grip the counter's edge hard enough my knuckles go white.
