She hopped onto a chair. Grandma made grits and eggs. You want some? He hadn’t eaten in two days, but pride almost made him refuse.
Then his stomach growled loudly. Anna giggled. That’s a yes.
Over breakfast, Loretta asked gentle questions where he was from, what he used to do, if he had family. Ethan tried to keep the answers vague, but Anna’s curiosity was sharper than any reporter’s. You talk like the people on TV, she said.
Were you famous? Ethan hesitated. I was known, he said carefully. Loretta glanced at him knowingly but didn’t press.
Everyone’s somebody before they fall, she said softly. The trick is learning who you are afterward. After breakfast, Ethan offered to help wash dishes.
Loretta laughed. You, washing dishes? It’s been a while, he admitted, but I’m a quick learner. She handed him a towel.
Then start with those. As he washed, his reflection in the window caught his eye, a tired man with streaks of gray at his temples, wearing an old borrowed shirt that didn’t fit. He barely recognized himself, but for the first time in months, he didn’t hate what he saw.
Later, Ethan stepped outside to call his lawyer from a payphone. The line went straight to voicemail. Every asset, every account, still frozen.
He had $3 in his pocket and nowhere to go. He leaned against the booth, staring at the Harlem street. Vendors were setting up carts.
Kids in backpacks chased each other past murals of Malcolm X and Nina Simone. There was a heartbeat to this neighborhood, a rhythm that said, we’ve survived worse. Anna appeared beside him, holding her candy box like a treasure chest.
Grandma says if you’re staying for lunch, you gotta help me sell candy first. Ethan smiled despite himself. You’re quite the boss.
I learned from Grandma, she said proudly. She says a person’s gotta earn their keep. Together, they walked the busy sidewalks.
Anna called out cheerfully to passersby. Two for a dollar, all for the community center fundraiser. People smiled, bought candy, and dropped coins into her box.
Ethan noticed how she lit up when they thanked her, how she met each stranger with open warmth. He envied at the ease of belonging, something money had never bought him. You’re good at this, he said, as they rested on a bench.
You make people feel seen. Mama said people like to be noticed, Anna replied. Said sometimes all it takes to change someone’s day is look in them in the eye.
Ethan nodded, his throat tight. He thought of all the faces he’d ignored on his way to meetings. The drivers, janitors, and assistants who’d smiled politely while he looked past them.
Your mama was right, he said quietly. Anna studied him for a moment. You still sad? Yeah, he admitted, but not like before.
She grinned, then I’m doing my job. That afternoon, Loretta had Ethan help her fix the loose railing on the apartment stairs. He worked with borrowed tools, his hands clumsy from years of boardrooms instead of labor.
Yet there was comfort in the physical effort, the creak of wood, the smell of dust, the simple act of mending something broken. You ever build something with your hands before? Loretta asked, only companies, he said wryly. Maybe that’s why it all fell apart.
Buildings fall too, she said, doesn’t mean we stop building. As they worked, Loretta told him stories about her youth marching in civil rights rallies, teaching school through the crack epidemic. Raising her daughter alone, Ethan listened, humbled.
These people lived on faith and grit. Things he’d only spoken about in speeches but never understood. When evening came, they sat by the window as the city lights flickered on.
Anna leaned against him, half asleep. You think you’ll stay long? Loretta asked. Ethan hesitated.
I don’t know. I don’t even know where to start. Start by eating, she said, handing him a bowl of stew.
Start by resting. Tomorrow we’ll find you soon enough. He smiled faintly.
You talk like a preacher. Baby, I talk like a woman who’s buried enough people to know what matters. She said, smiling softly.
And right now, what matters is you’re still here. That night, Ethan couldn’t sleep. The sounds of the building, the hum of a neighbor’s TV, the clatter of pipes were foreign but oddly soothing.
He looked at Anna curled up on the couch opposite him, hugging a stuffed rabbit with one eye missing. He thought about the words she’d said on the bridge. You still got shoes.
The simplicity of it cut deeper than any sermon. Somewhere out there, a boy was sleeping under a bridge without any. And he, Ethan Walker, man of privilege, had been ready to throw his life away because his name was tarnished.
Maybe Anna was right. Maybe he was still lucky. The next morning, he rose early and walked to a nearby park.
Homeless men gathered near the benches, some chatting, some staring into space. He sat beside an older man with weathered hands. Morning, Ethan said.
The man nodded. You new out here? Sort of. You’ll get used to it, the man said.
First time’s the hardest. Ethan looked at the man’s shoes torn sneakers held together by tape and felt that twist of shame again. You always been here? Six years, the man said.
Lost my job, wife passed, didn’t bounce back. He extended a hand. Jimmy.
Ethan shook it. Ethan. Jimmy smiled.
Well, Ethan, Street Luke’s does breakfast at seven. Free coffee, real eggs if you’re lucky. You coming? Ethan hesitated, then nodded.
Yeah, I’ll come. As they walked toward the church, the rising sun painted the Harlem rooftops gold. For the first time since his fall, Ethan wasn’t thinking about what he’d lost, only about the steps ahead of him.
He remembered Anna’s small voice on the bridge. You’re lucky enough to start over. Maybe, he thought.
That was exactly what he was doing. The church basement smelled of coffee and pancake syrup. Ethan followed Jimmy down the narrow steps into a crowded room filled with voices, laughter, and the clatter of trays.
A hand-painted sign over the door read, Street, Luke’s community breakfast. All are welcome. The warmth inside hit him like sunlight after months of rain.
Volunteers in aprons moved between long folding tables, pouring coffee, serving oatmeal, handing out smiles. Ethan hesitated near the doorway, feeling the old reflex of self-consciousness. A man who used to dine with senators was now waiting in line for free breakfast.
But no one looked at him with judgment. No one cared who he’d been. They just saw another hungry man.
Jimmy nudged him forward. Get yourself a plate, brother. Humility goes down easier with syrup.
Ethan smiled faintly and joined the line. When he reached the counter, an older woman with gray curls and kind eyes ladled oatmeal into a bowl and added a slice of toast. First time here, sweetheart? She asked.
Yeah, Ethan admitted. You’ll get used to it. We all need help sometimes, she said warmly.
I’m Ruth, Ethan. Well, Ethan, welcome to the living. She winked and moved on to the next person.
He sat beside Jimmy at a long table where men traded jokes and stories. One man, missing two front teeth, asked if Ethan was the Wall Street type. Ethan chuckled.
I was something like that. Jimmy elbowed him. Translation, he was rich.
The men laughed, and Ethan found himself laughing too. For the first time in months, it didn’t sound hollow. After breakfast, Ethan helped clean up, stacking trays and wiping tables.
Ruth watched him from across the room. You’ve got good hands, she said. You ever think about volunteering here? We could use help on Saturdays.
Ethan hesitated. I don’t have a place to stay yet. Honey, that’s not what I asked, she said with a grin.
You can help whether you’ve got a mansion or a park bench. Her words lingered long after he left. He walked back toward Harlem, the morning sunlight warming his face.
The city seemed different now, not a battlefield, but a living, breathing thing. He passed a mural of Martin Luther King Jr., with the words Keep Going Anyway painted underneath. For the first time since his world collapsed, Ethan felt the message was meant for him.
When he reached Loretta’s building, Anna was sitting on the front steps, swinging her legs and humming to herself. You went somewhere, she said when she saw him. I thought maybe you left.
Just breakfast, Ethan said. With a friend. Jimmy? Yeah, he said, surprised.
How’d you know? Grandma says everybody in Harlem knows Jimmy. He talks a lot. Anna held up her candy box.
Wanna help me again? Grandma says I can’t go too far today, but we can walk to the corner store. Ethan nodded. Sure, boss.
As they walked, Anna chattered about school, her favorite cartoon, and how she wanted to be a doctor who makes robots. Ethan listened, smiling at her big dreams. When they stopped near the bodega, Anna waved at the shop owner, Mr. Torres, who came outside wiping his hands on an apron….
