He approached carefully.
“Excuse me,” he said softly. “I don’t want to scare you. I’ve seen you here several nights. Is… everything okay?”
Maria looked up, surprised someone had noticed her at all. Her eyes were deep, tired in a way that comes from years, not days.
“As well as it can be,” she answered.
He sat two chairs away, giving her space.
“May I ask who you’re visiting?”
She clutched her purse. Hesitated.
“My son,” she said finally. “His name is Daniel. He’s been here for months.”
The word son hit Andrew like a blow.
He had no children. Never wanted complications. He’d spent his life believing freedom meant depending on no one.
And here was this woman—chained by love, and yet standing.
“What happened to him?” he asked.
Maria looked at the door.
“An accident. A truck ran a red light. The bus he was on overturned.” Her voice cracked. “Daniel went into a coma. Sometimes he opens his eyes. Sometimes he squeezes my hand. Doctors say it’s slow. No guarantees. But I come. Every day. Even when I don’t know what to say.”
Andrew felt pressure build in his chest.
“And… you pray?”
She gave a small, humorless laugh.
“I pray so I don’t break. Not for movie miracles. I pray to survive the next day.”