For hours, beneath the blazing sun, Lucas hacked away at the weeds. Sofia gathered the cut plants into neat piles. Their small hands reddened, then darkened with soil, but neither complained.
From his balcony, Mr. Harrison watched.
They didn’t stare at the house with envy. They didn’t beg for water or try to rest. They worked with quiet determination, as if that yard meant everything.
And to them, it did.
By mid-afternoon, Sofia swayed slightly. “Lucas… I feel dizzy.”
He dropped the tool immediately.
Before he could react, Mr. Harrison was already beside them.
“That’s enough.”
He called his housekeeper, Mrs. Greene, who rarely had much to do in the silent home.
“Make them a proper meal. And prepare a basket.”
Lucas blinked. “A basket, sir?”
“Rice, chicken, vegetables, fruit. And hot soup. Their sister needs it.”
In the vast kitchen, Sofia held her bowl of soup with both hands, as though it were precious. Lucas ate slowly, trying to stay polite despite the hunger twisting inside him.
From across the room, Mr. Harrison watched.
The sight awakened a memory he had buried for years.
He once had a daughter. Small. Fragile. Feverish.