She looked at his tiny face again. Innocent. Fragile. Breathing.
“Whoever you are,” she whispered, “you don’t deserve this.”
She slipped the chain into her pocket and started walking toward the city.
She had no home. No family waiting. No plan.
Only certainty.
This baby would not die tonight.
Soon he cried again—hungry.
Lily knew that cry. It lived inside her own stomach.
She ducked under the awning of a closed bakery and emptied her pockets. Coins clinked into her palm. Crumpled bills, damp from rain.
Enough for socks.
Maybe a hot sandwich.
She looked at the baby’s searching mouth.
“You win,” she whispered softly.
The all-night pharmacy’s door chimed as she stepped inside. Warm air wrapped around her like something she had almost forgotten.
The clerk looked up—and frowned.
“We’re not giving handouts. Out.”
“I’m not begging,” Lily said quickly, shielding the baby. “I have money.”
She opened her hand.
After a long pause, he jerked his chin toward the back shelves. “Formula. Don’t make a mess.”
The prices nearly made her dizzy.
Large cans—impossible.
Medium—still too much.
She found the smallest one.
It would take everything.