“I paid for your bread,” Edward replied. “What’s your name, little thief?”
“Valerie,” she said, sitting cross-legged beside him as if they were old friends. “Why are you sad? Your chair looks fun.”
For the first time in years, Edward laughed.
“I’m sick,” he told her gently.
“My Uncle James was sick too,” Valerie said thoughtfully. “He went to heaven. Are you going there?”
“Yes,” Edward admitted quietly. “Soon.”
She took a bite of bread. “Then you should do something that makes you happy. Uncle James said what matters at the end is if you loved someone. Do you love anyone?”
Before Edward could answer, a woman came running toward them.
“Valerie!” she cried.
She was in her late thirties, with tired eyes but a strong posture. Her clothes were worn but clean.
“I’m so sorry, sir,” she said quickly. “My niece didn’t mean any trouble. Please don’t call the police.”
“What’s your name?” Edward asked.
“Sarah Collins.”
There was dignity in her voice. Real dignity.
“Take care,” Edward said. “And thank you.”
As they walked away, Edward turned to his head of security.
“Find them,” he said quietly. “I want to know everything.”