But Michael also knew one wrong move could shatter the fragile trust holding her there. If he scared her, she would run. And if she ran, she and the baby might vanish into cracks the system never reached.
So he made a decision.
He wouldn’t handle this like a cop.
He’d handle it like a human being.
Slowly, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a granola bar he kept for long shifts. He unwrapped it carefully, letting the sound be slow and deliberate, then held it out at arm’s length.
“I was saving this for later,” he said. “But I think you need it more than I do.”
Annie stared at the food. Her eyes flicked from the bar to Michael’s face, then back again. She didn’t move.
“You can take it,” he said. “I promise.”
After a long moment, she took one cautious step forward. Then another. She reached out, grabbed the granola bar, and retreated quickly, like she expected him to change his mind.
She took a small bite.
Her shoulders relaxed—just a fraction.
That was the first crack in the wall.
As Annie ate slowly, carefully breaking off pieces, Michael asked simple questions. He didn’t rush. He didn’t press. He let her lead.
That’s when she said it.