She lifted her fingers slowly, holding up five, then dropped her hand back to the bag like it needed guarding.
“And the baby?” Michael asked gently.
She glanced down at the sling, her chin brushing the baby’s head.
“That’s Ben,” she said. “He’s my brother.”
Michael nodded. “Where’s your mom, Annie?”
Her eyes dropped to the sidewalk.
“She went to find food,” Annie said. “She said she’d be back.”
“When?”
Annie shrugged, a tiny, uncertain movement. “Three sleeps ago.”
Michael felt something twist in his chest.
“Where have you been staying?” he asked.
Annie hesitated, then pointed down the street. “Behind the laundromat. It’s warm when the machines run.”
The baby shifted again, letting out a weak sound that made Annie instinctively rock back and forth. Michael noticed how automatic the movement was, how natural. No five-year-old should know how to do that.
This wasn’t just a sad situation.
This was an emergency.
The baby needed warmth, food, medical care—now. Annie needed safety, stability, and someone who wouldn’t disappear.