The diner grew quieter as the night wore on, the clatter of dishes and low hum of conversation fading into the background.
I watched the little girl sleep, her chest rising and falling with each breath, her face peaceful despite the ordeal she had faced.
There was something about her that tugged at my heart, a resilience that belied her years.
I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of home she had, what kind of people were missing her right now.
As the clock ticked toward midnight, I knew I had to make a decision.
I couldn’t keep her here, not indefinitely. But the thought of taking her to the police, of subjecting her to the cold, impersonal process of being found, didn’t sit right with me.
She needed warmth, stability, someone to hold her hand through this night.
“Excuse me,” I called softly to the waitress, who was refilling a customer’s coffee.
She came over, her expression open and curious.
“Do you know if there’s a shelter nearby? Somewhere safe?”
