She stood slowly, trembling. “We don’t need your help. Please just go.”
One of the children coughed. Ethan’s eyes darted to the three little faces. Two boys and a girl, maybe eight years old. Their hair thick and curly, their skin the same warm brown as his. Something inside him cracked.
He shrugged off his coat and knelt.
“They’re freezing,” he said.
Lauren tried to stop him, but her hands were shaking too hard. “Ethan, don’t—”
“Lauren,” he said quietly, eyes hard but voice soft. “Get in the car. All of you.”
She hesitated, pride warring with desperation. A gust of wind blew, making the youngest boy cry.
That broke her.
Without another word, she gathered the kids and followed him. Ethan opened the car door, and the blast of warmth felt like mercy itself.
Inside, the kids stared wide-eyed at the leather seats and glowing dashboard. Lauren kept her head down, clutching her children close as Ethan slid back behind the wheel.
For a few moments, no one spoke.
“How long?” he asked finally.
“A few months,” she murmured.
He tightened his grip on the wheel. “You had nobody to call?”
She looked out the window, eyes glistening. “Nobody who’d answer.”