The girl nodded and slid a small envelope across the table. Her hands trembled. “It’s all there. I counted it three times.”
Daniel didn’t touch it.
Instead, his eyes returned to the sewing machine. Old. Worn. Familiar. His grandmother had owned one just like it. He remembered sitting beneath her table, listening to the rhythmic rise and fall of the needle while she hummed. The memory struck him harder than expected.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Emily.”
“How old are you, Emily?”
“Nine,” she said. After a moment, she added, “Almost ten.”
He noticed her wrist. “What happened?”
“The needle slipped,” she said. “I’m okay.”
He glanced toward the back room. “May I?”
Emily hesitated, then nodded.
The bedroom was dim. A woman lay beneath thin blankets, her skin pale, her lips cracked. She stirred weakly when Daniel entered.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’ll pay. My daughter… she helps.”
Daniel returned to the main room, his chest heavy. He typed a quick message on his phone, then slipped it back into his pocket.
“Emily,” he said, crouching so they were eye to eye. “Stop sewing.”
Her eyes widened. “I can’t—”
“You can,” he said gently. “Just for today.”