Chapter 2 - THE NIGHT UNDER THE BRIDGE
Twenty-eight years earlier, Shiomara had exactly eleven dollars and forty cents to her name.
That was it.
No savings.
No family nearby.
No backup plan.
She had spent ten hours washing dishes at a downtown diner, then another three cleaning offices after closing.
Her shoes were wet from rain.
Her hands were cracked from bleach.
And tucked against her chest was the one meal her boss had allowed her to take home.
Rice.
Black beans.
Half a roasted chicken breast.
She had skipped lunch.
She had skipped breakfast.
That container was supposed to be dinner and tomorrow’s breakfast.
Maybe tomorrow’s lunch too.
Then she heard crying beneath the overpass.
At first, Shiomara kept walking.
Not because she didn’t care.
Because she was exhausted.
Because the city had taught her that stopping could be dangerous.
Then she heard a boy say, “Maya, don’t cry. I’ll find something.”
Shiomara stopped.
Under the bridge sat three children.
The oldest boy looked about twelve.
The second boy, maybe ten.
The little girl couldn’t have been more than eight.
Their clothes were damp.
The youngest had a thin blanket wrapped around her shoulders.
The oldest stood immediately when he saw Shiomara.
“We don’t want trouble.”
That sentence broke something inside her.
Children that young shouldn’t know how to say that like adults.
Shiomara crouched.
“Where are your parents?”
The boy’s jaw tightened.
“Our mom died.”
“And your father?”
He looked away.
The younger boy answered.
“He left before she got sick.”
Shiomara swallowed.
“When did you eat last?”
No answer.
That was answer enough.
She looked down at her food.
Her stomach cramped painfully.
She had been dreaming about that chicken for hours.
Then the little girl glanced at the container and quickly looked away, embarrassed by her own hunger.
Shiomara sat down on the concrete.
“Come here.”
The oldest shook his head.
“We don’t have money.”
“I didn’t ask for money.”
She opened the container.
Steam escaped.
All three children stared.
Shiomara divided the food using the plastic lid and two napkins.
“You eat.”
The oldest boy hesitated.
“What about you?”
“I already ate.”
It was a lie.
The girl took one bite and immediately began eating faster.
The younger boy copied her.
But the oldest boy still hesitated.
“You’re lying,” he said.
Shiomara gave him a tired smile.
“Then do me a favor.”
“What?”
“If life ever gets better for you, feed somebody else.”
She pulled a pen from her cleaning uniform and wrote on a napkin.
DON’T LET THIS WORLD MAKE YOU CRUEL.
She handed it to the oldest boy.
He folded it carefully.
“What’s your name?”
“Shiomara.”
“I’m Daniel.”
He pointed to his brother.
“Marcus.”
Then the girl.
“Maya.”
Shiomara nodded.
“Okay, Daniel, Marcus, Maya. Eat.”
“What happens tomorrow?” Maya asked softly.
Shiomara looked at the rain beyond the bridge.
She had no good answer.
But before she could speak, headlights swept across the concrete.
A white van slowed beside the underpass.
Daniel shot to his feet.
His face changed instantly.
“Run.”
Shiomara frowned.
“What?”
Daniel grabbed Maya’s hand.
“I said run!”
May you like
The van door slid open.
And two men stepped out.
