Mabel Hart was twenty-six. Her father had died when she was seventeen, forcing her to leave community college and work full-time. She supported her mother, Evelyn, whose kidneys were failing, and her fifteen-year-old brother, Toby.
The family lived in a damp two-bedroom apartment on the South Side. Their rent was overdue. Their electricity was near disconnection. Evelyn Hart had missed one dialysis treatment the previous month because Mabel could not cover the remaining cost.
Adrien read the report twice.
Then he burned it.
He had asked for her name, not permission to invade her life.
The next morning, he returned to Rossi’s.
Mabel saw him beside the wall and smiled.
“You came back.”
The pleasure in her voice struck him harder than it should have.
“You sound surprised.”
“I wasn’t sure whether the coffee was bad enough to drive you out of Chicago.”
“It nearly was.”
She laughed.
It was a soft sound, slightly breathless from exhaustion, and Adrien felt something move inside the locked chamber of his chest.
She sat beside him on the concrete step before her shift. He learned that she wanted to open a bakery one day. Not a fashionable one with marble counters and intimidating pastries, but a warm neighborhood place where children could buy cookies for a quarter and anyone short on money could still eat.
