“No catch. You don’t even have to thank me. Just give Anna and Elijah a night with clean sheets.”
She didn’t answer for a long time. Then, so softly he almost missed it, she said, “We’ll go. But if you lie… if this is some kind of cruel game…”
“It’s not.”
She nodded once. “Then, okay.”
As they gathered their few belongings, Jerome called his assistant from the sidewalk, his back turned to them. He booked the room and arranged to have a small bundle of toiletries delivered immediately. The entire process took less than three minutes, but for Sarah and Anna, it was about to change everything.
On the walk to the motel, Anna held Jerome’s hand the entire way. She didn’t say much, just walked beside him like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Before they entered the lobby, she tugged on his sleeve. “Mr. Carter?”
“Yeah?”
“You didn’t have to come back. But I’m glad you did.”
Jerome felt his throat tighten. He squeezed her small hand gently and whispered, “So am I.”
And as they stepped through the automatic doors into a place with heat, running water, and soft beds, Jerome realized something simple and terrifying. This wasn’t going to be temporary. Not for him.
The motel room was no palace. The walls were stained with marks from years of neglect, the carpet smelled faintly of old cigarettes, and the wall heater wheezed like an asthmatic old man. But for Anna, it might as well have been a dream.
She stood in the center of the room holding Elijah, her eyes wide, turning slowly in a small circle as if she were afraid it might all vanish if she blinked for too long. “It’s warm,” she whispered.
Jerome smiled softly from the doorway. “That’s the heater. She’s old, but she works.”
Sarah dropped the plastic bag carrying their clothes onto the dresser. Her expression was unreadable, caught somewhere between suspicion and pure exhaustion. She hadn’t said much during the walk over, and now that they were inside, she looked utterly out of place, like a wild bird unsure if the cage door was truly open.
Jerome placed a small duffle bag on the table. “Some shampoo, toothbrushes, clean towels, and diapers, too.”
Sarah nodded but didn’t thank him. He didn’t expect her to. Gratitude couldn’t be demanded, not when trust was still such a fragile, brittle thing between them.
Anna placed Elijah carefully on the bed, tucking the corners of the thick comforter around him just as she’d done with her own thin blanket. He cooed softly and closed his eyes, the enveloping warmth already working its magic.
Jerome leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. “I’ll check back in tomorrow. You’ll have privacy here. The front desk knows not to ask any questions.”
Sarah finally spoke. “You do this often?”
“No,” he said honestly. “This is new for me.”
She studied him, her eyes tracing his features. “You don’t look like the bleeding-heart type.”
“I’m not.”
“Then why?”
He paused for a long moment before answering. “Because I can. And because I should have done something like this a long time ago.”
Her face flickered, not with sympathy, but with a simple recognition of honesty.
Before he could say more, Anna walked over and reached deep into her pocket. She pulled out a small, crumpled napkin and handed it to him. “I drew this for you,” she said shyly.
Jerome unfolded it. In pencil, the lines barely visible, was a sketch of a tall man holding hands with a small girl and a baby. They were standing in front of a square building with the word “HOME” scribbled above the door.
He cleared his throat, suddenly emotional. “You’re quite the artist.”
Anna beamed. “I draw when I get scared. It helps.”
Jerome didn’t know what to say to that. He folded the napkin gently, as if it were a priceless document, and slid it into his coat pocket. “Then keep drawing.”
He stepped back, his hand already on the doorknob.
“Don’t get too close,” Sarah said quietly.
He turned. “To what?”
“To us. You seem like a decent man, but this life… it’s a sinking ship.”
“I’m not here to rescue anyone,” he said. “I’m just here to walk beside you, for as long as you’ll let me.”
She didn’t answer.
That night, Jerome went home to his penthouse. The lights flicked on automatically as he entered, casting a soft glow on the sleek kitchen counters, the polished marble floors, and the endless wall of windows that looked out over Los Angeles. It was beautiful, sterile, and completely empty.
He poured himself a glass of expensive scotch but didn’t drink it. Instead, he walked to the sofa and sat in the dark, Anna’s drawing still in his pocket, the paper warm from his body heat. Somewhere, three miles away, a little girl who had promised to pay for milk was sleeping under clean sheets, and he had never felt more alive.
Morning arrived with a cold, spitting rain. Jerome was already on his way back to the motel by 8 a.m., a bag of fresh pastries in one hand and a new, warm coat for Anna in the other. But when he arrived at room 109, the door was standing wide open.
The bed was made. The toiletries he’d bought were untouched. The blankets were folded with an almost military precision. They were gone.
His stomach sank. He stepped inside, checking the bathroom, the closet, even beneath the bed. Nothing.
He walked quickly to the front desk. “The family in 109. Where did they go?”
The clerk, a young man chewing gum, just shrugged. “Lady came down real early. Said they couldn’t stay. Left the key and walked out.”
“No explanation?”
“Didn’t ask.”
Jerome thanked him and stepped back out into the drizzle, his heart beating a little too fast. He scanned the street, the sidewalk, the nearby alleys. Nothing.
They had vanished.
Anna hadn’t wanted to leave. When Sarah woke her just before sunrise, whispering sharply to “Pack,” Anna protested. “But Mama, it’s warm here. Mr. Carter… he said he’d come back.”
“That’s exactly why we can’t stay,” Sarah had hissed, her voice tight with an old fear. “No good comes from people with too much to give. They always want something back.”
Anna had obeyed, not understanding but knowing better than to argue. They left through the side stairwell, back into the cold, back toward nothing.
Jerome spent the rest of the day driving around the neighborhoods that surrounded the bridge. He stopped at shelters, soup kitchens, even the small park where he’d once handed out bottled water during a corporate charity event five years ago. No sign of them.
That night, he returned to the bridge. It was quiet, rain-soaked, and empty. The makeshift bedding was gone, the corner Anna had once called home was now just concrete and shadows.
He sat on the edge of the curb, watching the rain carve tiny rivers along the gutter. He had known she might run. He had even expected it. But not this fast. Not without a goodbye.
He reached into his coat, pulled out the napkin sketch, and unfolded it beneath the dim glow of a streetlight. The pencil lines had blurred slightly from the dampness, but the image was still clear. A man, a girl, a baby, and the word “HOME.”
He wasn’t sure how long he sat there. An hour, maybe two. Long enough for the cold rain to soak through his expensive shoes. When he finally stood, he whispered to the empty street, “Wherever you go, Anna, I’m not done.”
Then he walked back toward his car, the napkin still clutched in his hand like a promise not yet fulfilled.
The next morning, Jerome didn’t go into the office. His assistant called twice, once about a postponed investor meeting and once about a misfiled real estate contract. Both times, he let the calls go to voicemail.
He wasn’t thinking about stocks or shareholders. He was thinking about a girl who promised to repay him for milk, a girl with a baby brother and an absent father, and a mother who ran from kindness like it was a threat.
Anna’s sketch lived in his wallet now, folded carefully between his driver’s license and a coffee loyalty card he’d never used. Every time he opened it, he saw their names as if they were burned into the paper. Anna. Elijah. Sarah.
Jerome drove the city like a man hunting ghosts. He stopped at the 7th Street Bridge again, scanning the dark corners for any sign they might have returned. The rain had washed the sidewalk clean. There were no food wrappers, no blankets, not even a trace of shoe prints.
By noon, he’d visited three different shelters. At the third one, the Auier Red Brick Community Center, with its flaking mural of smiling children, he finally got something.
“Yeah,” said a thin, tired-looking woman at the intake desk. “I saw a girl with a baby yesterday. Small, dirty coat, big eyes.”
Jerome leaned in. “Was she with a woman? Early thirties, dark hair, possibly anxious or agitated?”
The woman nodded slowly. “Yeah. She was nervous. Didn’t stay. Said something about not trusting the government. Took some diapers and just left.”
“Did they say where they were going?”
“No, sorry. But I heard the girl… Anna, I think… ask about food banks near Wilshire.”
Wilshire. It wasn’t much, but it was a direction. Jerome thanked her and left.
By 3 p.m., he was weaving through Koreatown, peering down alleyways and scanning bus stops. He walked into a corner store near Vermont Avenue and bought a pack of gum he didn’t need, just to ask the cashier if they’d seen a little girl carrying a baby. No one had.
He was about to leave when he noticed a cluttered corkboard near the door. Among the business cards and faded flyers, a small piece of paper was tacked near the bottom.
Found. Children’s jacket. Blue with stars. Size XS. Found on Wilshire, Hoover Corner. If yours call.
He took a photo of the number. Then he called.
A woman picked up. “Hello?”
“Yes, I’m calling about the jacket you posted on the board in Sam’s Market. I think it may belong to someone I’m looking for.”
There was a pause. “You know the child?”
“Her name’s Anna. She’s about eight. She has a baby brother. Their mother’s name is Sarah.”
The woman’s voice softened. “I saw them. Two nights ago. They were sitting outside the laundromat, next to the taco stand. The little girl dropped the jacket when they left.”
“Do you know where they went?”
“I think they were headed toward MacArthur Park. That’s all I know.”
Jerome’s breath quickened. “Thank you.”
“Are they okay?”
“I hope to God they are,” he said, and hung up.
He drove straight to MacArthur Park. The sky was turning a hazy amber with the fading sun. The lake glistened darkly, and pigeons gathered around the few people who hadn’t yet left for the shelters.
Jerome walked slowly, scanning each bench, every corner of the playground. He was starting to lose hope when a sound stopped him. It wasn’t crying. It was singing.
A soft, low hum, almost too faint to hear over the distant traffic. He turned toward the sound and saw a small shape hunched near the far side of the park, hidden behind a low hedge. A girl, rocking gently, humming a wordless lullaby.
“Anna,” he called out softly.
She froze.
Jerome stepped closer, keeping his hands visible. “It’s me. Mr. Carter.”
She turned, her eyes wide with disbelief. Elijah stirred in her lap, blinking up at the sudden movement. “Mr. Carter,” she breathed. “You found us.”
She looked thinner, paler. Her lips were cracked from the cold, but she still managed a small smile. “I told Mama you’d come,” she said. “But she got scared. She said people don’t help without wanting something back.”
Jerome crouched down beside them. “Is she here?”
Anna shook her head. “She went looking for medicine. For Elijah. She told me to wait. That was this morning.”
Jerome’s jaw tightened. “How long have you been alone?”
She shrugged. “A while.”
Jerome looked around. The wind had picked up, and the temperature was dropping fast. “Come on,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “You’re not staying here tonight.”
“But Mama…”
“We’ll leave a note. But you and Elijah need warmth, food, and safety. Your mom would want that.”…
