Against his better judgment, Benjamin lowered the window. Under a flickering streetlight, a small figure sat huddled against a wall, a thin blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Beside her, a scruffy black dog trembled in the snow.
“Stop the car,” Benjamin said.
The wind cut through his coat as he stepped out. The little girl flinched when he approached, clutching the dog tightly.
“Please,” she whispered, voice rough from cold. “Please don’t take him. He’s mine.”
Benjamin stopped a few feet away, the air clouding between them. “I won’t take him,” he said softly. “You’re safe.”
Her eyes were wide and dark, her face pale beneath the streetlight. The dog whimpered and pressed closer to her chest.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Rosa,” she murmured. “This is Bruno.”
Benjamin unwrapped his scarf and placed it gently around her shoulders. “It’s too cold to stay here. Come with me. I’ll make sure both of you are warm.”
Rosa hesitated, then slowly took his hand. Her fingers were icy, small enough to disappear inside his glove. In that fragile grip, something inside Benjamin stirred—the faint echo of a father he had once been.