They were curled tightly against her chest, wrapped in thin blankets, their tiny bodies pressed together as if warmth itself were a fragile resource. Olivia’s head rested against the bench, eyes closed, her face drawn with exhaustion.
George tightened his grip on his son’s arm.
“Caleb… look.”
Caleb felt his throat close. How many times had he greeted this woman without ever asking how she was? How many times had he assumed that paying her on time meant he had done his part?
They approached slowly. At Olivia’s feet sat a worn shopping bag. Inside: two empty baby bottles, a few folded diapers, and a piece of hardened bread wrapped in paper. One baby breathed in shallow, uneven rhythms. Another clung tightly to Olivia’s finger. The third burrowed into her chest, seeking warmth.
George gently touched her shoulder.
Olivia woke with a sharp inhale, instantly tightening her arms around the babies, shielding them as if danger were everywhere. When she recognized Caleb, her face flushed.
“Sir—I’ll be at work tomorrow,” she said quickly. “I just needed to rest.”
Caleb knelt slightly so his voice wouldn’t startle the children.
“Rest where, Olivia?” he asked softly. “Why are you here?”