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Sara gently untied the knot, feeling the little shoe tremble in her hands. The laces were tight and fresh—not like the worn ones she had received at the shelter.
Sarah Whitfield untied the knot with trembling hands, feeling the tiny shoe shiver between her fingers. The laces were fresh and tight, unlike the frayed ones shed once handed out in the shelter. She exhaled, eyes drifting to his bruised knees.
See? Youre all set now. You wont stumble again, she said.
The boy flashed a wide, earnest smile that seemed to blot the grey out of the world for a heartbeat.
Thank you, miss, he replied.
Im Sarah, she corrected herself, the sound of her own name startling herno one had called her that in ages.
He nodded, pulled a crumpled tissue from his pocket and handed it to her.
Here, wipe your hands.
Sarah gave a rueful grin and shook her head.
No, keep that. Your nose is bleeding a little.
He dabbed at his forehead obediently. At that moment a black SUV screeched to a halt on the pavement. The brakes shrieked, and two men in crisp suits and a woman with spectacles leapt out.
James! the woman shouted, her voice quivering. Lord, what have you done?
The boy sprang back.
I was only chasing the pigeons
You almost gave us a heart attack! she screamed, grabbing his shoulders. Her gaze snapped to Sarah. Who are you? What have you done to him?
Sarah took a step back.
Nothing he just fell. I helped him up.
The woman eyed her with thin contempt, measuring her from head to toetorn sweater, weary face, crackedskin hands.
Are you homeless?
Sarah fell silent, bowing her head.
Just then the SUVs rear door swung open and a tall, silverhaired man stepped out, his coat long, his stare as hard as steel.
Whats happening here? he asked calmly, though the air seemed to thicken around his words.
This woman touched the child, the woman said, she claims she helped him.
The man turned his gaze to Sarah.
And you are?
She swallowed hard.
Just a passerby who couldnt ignore a crying child.
He knelt beside the boy, inspected the wound with gentle care.
Does it hurt, James? he asked.
No, father. That lady helped me. Shes good.
The man stood, his eyes softening for an instant before hardening again.
Put him in the car, he ordered the woman.
When the street cleared, he faced Sarah.
Did you know who he is?
No. He was just a kid who needed help.
He studied her closely.
Do you realize how many would pretend compassion if they learned hes the son of one of the wealthiest families in London?
Sarah shook her head.
I didnt know. It wouldnt matter. His blood was spilling. That was enough.
The man slipped a hand into his pocket, produced a crisp twentypound note, and offered it to her.
Take this.
Sarah stepped back.
No, thank you.
Its just gratitude.
If I take it, it becomes a deal. I dont sell what I feel.
He narrowed his eyes.
Youre proud for someone without a home.
Perhaps its all I have left, she whispered.
He said nothing, simply stared at her for a long moment, then turned and climbed back into the SUV.
The next morning Sarah returned to the same bench. London was stirringaroma of coffee and fresh scones mingled with the clatter of buses and hurried footsteps.
She reached into her coat and pulled out a small stonethe one James had slipped into her palm before he left.
Take it, dear Sarah, he had said. Its my lucky stone. Itll keep the night from frightening you.
She smiled, clutching the pebble tightly.
A black SUV rolled up beside her again, this time with only the tall man inside.
May I sit? he asked.
Sarah nodded.
They sat in silence for a while.
Yesterday I thought you were like everyone else, he said softly. But this morning my son asked why we never invited you over. He said you were kind.
Sarah averted her eyes.
I dont belong to your world.
And my world is it right? he asked with a bitter smile. Full of property owners but empty of hearts.
He placed a folded envelope on her lap.
It has no money, just an address. A centre for help I fund. Say I sent you. Theyll give you a room and work.
Sarah stared at the paper, bewildered.
Why are you doing this?
Because yesterday my son said someone was good. And I realised I no longer deserved that word.
Tears welled in her eyes.
Thank you
You dont thank me, he said, a faint grin spreading. Tell yourself you saved him and maybe me.
He rose, then paused before leaving.
By the way the centre needs a nursery assistant. James would be thrilled to see you.
Sarah sat alone on the bench, shaking but warmed by something new.
She opened the envelope. Inside lay the address and, tucked between the pages, a childs drawing: a boy holding a womans hand, and beneath it, in uneven letters,
Dear Sarah, dont be afraid. Everything will be alright.
Her tears fell, not from helplessness but from hope. She stood, her steps tentative yet forward.
Three weeks later, laughter rang out in the courtyard of the Little Oaks Childrens Centre in Camden.
Higher, Sarah! Higher! James shouted, soaring on the swing.
Dont fly off! she laughed, giving the swing a gentle push. Around her neck the stone dangled on a thin cordher lucky talisman.
At the gate, the tall man watched silently, his eyes no longer cold.
He knew that the day an unknown woman lifted his son from the pavement, only the boys life had changed. It had changed his, and it had changed Sarahsforever.
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