That night she arrived with two small suitcases. Christopher carried them himself, despite her protests. He placed fresh sheets on the bed, set a small lamp by the window, and left a vase of white flowers on the table without knowing why he felt compelled to do so.
When Rosa saw the room, tears spilled freely.
“No one has ever done something like this for me,” she whispered.
Christopher felt a strange ache in his chest, a memory surfacing of a childhood when he and his mother had lived in a car for a winter after an eviction that broke her spirit. He had sworn he would never be powerless again, yet he had forgotten what power was meant for.
Later that night, he found a note placed on the counter near his keys. Thank you for not letting me fall.
He held the paper for a long time, then stood by the window watching the rain soften into mist. For the first time in years, he prayed quietly, not for wealth or success, but for guidance.