There was no performance in her voice. Just logic shaped by loss.
“Well,” Michael said quietly, “I’m really glad you came.”
She relaxed. “Can I sit?”
They ordered hot chocolate with extra marshmallows. Lily stirred hers enthusiastically and talked about how her mom baked pastries that “smelled like comfort,” how Sarah laughed more in the kitchen, and how lately she’d been tired in her bones.
“She carries too many invisible bags,” Lily said thoughtfully.
They talked—or rather, Michael listened. He learned about Lily’s father, who’d died in a construction accident, about cereal dinners they called picnics, and about Sarah’s refusal to ask for help.
“She says everyone already has enough problems,” Lily whispered.
When the café door opened again, Sarah rushed in, coat half-zipped, panic written across her face.
“Lily!” she gasped, dropping to her knees. “I told you to stay with Mrs. Harold upstairs.”
“I met him,” Lily said proudly.
Sarah looked up, mortified. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for—”
“It’s okay,” Michael said gently. “She kept me company.”
They talked. Awkwardly at first, then honestly. Sarah apologized out of habit more than regret. Before leaving, Lily tugged on Michael’s sleeve.