Michael nodded, listening without interrupting.
“You gave them something stronger than food,” he said. “You gave them security.”
He turned to Jonah. “Happy birthday,” he said with warmth that needed no explanation.
Jonah smiled, uncertain but sincere. As the children ate, Michael stayed and listened.
Rebecca told him about her past, about studying civil systems and working on municipal projects years ago. She spoke of her partner’s illness, the hospital visits, the bills that multiplied faster than solutions. She described how grief arrived quietly and then stayed, reshaping everything.
“When he was gone,” she said, “the work disappeared too. Employers stopped seeing my skills and started seeing my gaps.”
She looked down at her hands.
“I never stopped believing I could work again,” she added. “I just ran out of room to fall.”
Michael reached into his jacket and placed an envelope and a business card on the table.
“This will help for now,” he said. “The card is for tomorrow.”
Rebecca shook her head. “I cannot promise anything.”
“I am not asking for promises,” he replied. “I am offering a door.”
Ten years passed.