He sat carefully, keeping the child on his lap.
“This is my daughter, Lily,” he said, brushing hair from the girl’s pale face. “She hasn’t eaten in two days. We’ve been at the hospital all afternoon. The doctors say there’s nothing physically wrong.”
Lily’s dark eyes shimmered with unshed tears.
Jonathan swallowed. “We’ve seen specialists everywhere—even overseas. They say it’s stress. Psychological. But she’s in pain. And she hasn’t spoken in three years.”
Emily felt her chest tighten. She knelt so she was level with Lily.
“Hi, Lily. I’m Emily. What sounds good tonight?”
Lily stared at her for a long moment, then slowly touched her own throat and stomach, wincing.
“Does it hurt here?” Emily asked softly, mirroring the gesture.
Lily nodded—but her eyes told a deeper story. This wasn’t just physical pain.
“I’ll bring you some warm chicken soup,” Emily said. “It always helps when my throat hurts.”
In the kitchen, Mr. Collins whispered, “That’s Jonathan Reed.”
“Money doesn’t make someone immune to heartbreak,” Emily replied quietly.
When she returned with the soup, she overheard fragments of Jonathan’s phone call.