She hesitated, then spoke the number. It was a figure that to her meant disaster and to him meant a forgettable dinner with investors. The imbalance felt like a wound.
Christopher walked to his office, opened his laptop, and made a call. Ten minutes later, the landlord had been paid in full, with additional months secured to prevent further threats. When he returned, Rosa covered her face with her hands.
“I will never be able to repay you,” she said through shaking fingers.
“This is not a loan,” Christopher answered. “It is time for you to breathe. That is all.”
Her eyes widened, and the apartment seemed to hold its breath with her. The baby inside her shifted, as if listening.
“There is something else,” Christopher added, gesturing down a corridor she had probably cleaned dozens of times without realizing what lay behind one door. “The guest suite is empty. It has a bathroom and a small kitchen. You can stay there until you feel safe again.”
Rosa stared at him, disbelief giving way to quiet gratitude. She did not speak at first. Words were too fragile.