“You’re outside,” one said matter-of-factly. “It’s freezing.”
“I’m okay,” Emily replied softly. Her voice felt unused, almost foreign.
“You’re not okay,” the other insisted. “You don’t have shoes.”
“Lily, Emma, I said come here.”
The man approached—tall, well-dressed in a tailored charcoal coat, snow dusting his hair. He looked like someone accustomed to boardrooms, not train platforms.
“I’m sorry,” he began. “They shouldn’t bother—”
“We’re helping,” one twin cut in. “She needs help.”
He followed their gaze to Emily’s bare feet, jaw tightening.
“We have to catch our train,” he told them gently.
“We can’t leave her,” Lily protested, eyes brimming. “Mom would’ve helped.”
Something flickered across his face—grief, raw and unguarded.
“I know,” he murmured.
“Daddy,” Emma said solemnly, “she needs a house and we need a mommy. It’s perfect.”
The noise of the station faded beneath an awkward silence. Emily felt humiliation flood her cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Please go. I don’t need anything.”
But the man was studying her differently now—not as a problem, but as a person.
“What’s your name?” he asked quietly.
“Why?”
“Because it matters.”
She hesitated. “Emily.”