Daniel looked at me and said quietly, “You were kind to my daughter before I even knew she was mine. Right now, Marilyn trusts you more than she trusts me. I need help.”
I checked my phone.
Two missed calls from Dana’s clinic.
One message: They changed something with billing. Call me.
My stomach dropped.
I looked back at him.
“I have 20 minutes.”
He nodded quickly.
The house was on the east side, in a neighborhood where people mind their own business because everyone is just one disaster away from falling apart.
Peeling paint.
A broken front step.
Curtains too thin to hide much of anything.
But inside, it was spotless.
That told me everything—I needed to know Marilyn was fighting hard to keep things from collapsing.
Lucy saw me first.
“It’s the store lady,” she said.
Then she smiled.
On the couch lay a little boy under a blanket, his cheeks flushed with fever.
