She handed Adrian the money. All of it.
Lucas leaned toward his father and whispered, “She’s like Mom.”
The words nearly shattered him.
Adrian swallowed hard. His late wife had that same softness—the kind that didn’t calculate first.
“Thank you,” Adrian said, his voice hoarse. “What’s your name?”
“Sophia Martinez,” she replied with a small smile. “And you?”
“I’m Michael,” Adrian said quickly, choosing the first name that came to mind. “And this is Lucas.”
Sophia smiled at the boy. “Hi, Lucas. How old are you?”
“Eight,” he said proudly. Then, shyly, “Thank you, Miss Sophia.”
Her smile widened. “Such good manners.”
She pointed toward a small bakery on the corner. “There’s a bakery right there. Go get him something warm, okay?”
“And you?” Adrian asked. “Aren’t you going to eat?”
Sophia shrugged lightly, as if hunger were an old acquaintance. “I’ll figure something out.”
She stood, adjusting her bag over her shoulder.
Adrian couldn’t let her walk away.
“Wait,” he said. “Why would you give us everything? You don’t even know us.”
She hesitated.