The door opened just enough for a suspicious eye to take a look.

Marlene did not remove the chain.

Not immediately.

First he looked at his hands.

The bags.

Then her face.

A man who didn’t fit in with that hallway.

Too clean.

Too much… out of place.

“I didn’t ask for this,” she said, her voice low and tense. “There must be some mistake.”

Miles nodded.

“There was one,” he replied. “But the message got through.”

She lifted the bag slightly.

—And milk too.

Juniper let out a sound behind her.

Little.

Fragile.

That sound broke something.

Not in him.

In it.

Marlene closed her eyes for a second.

Not for thinking.

To give up.

He removed the chain.

The door opened.

“Come in quickly,” he murmured.

The air inside the apartment was different.

Not just because of the cold.

For the lack.

Food.

Light.

Of everything.

Miles said nothing as he entered.

She left the bags on the table.

One by one.

Milk.

Diapers.

Jars.

Meal.

More things than she could process at that moment.

Marlene didn’t move.

He was watching.

As if every object were unreal.

“No… I can’t accept all this,” she finally said.

But he didn’t push it away.

He didn’t touch anything.

“You can,” he replied. “Because I’m not lending it to you.”

Silence.

She looked at him.

Straight.

—Nobody gives this… without wanting something in return.

There was no accusation in his voice.

There was experience.

Miles held that gaze.

Not uncomfortable.

But yes… present.

“I don’t want anything,” he said.

She denied it.

Once.

—That doesn’t exist.

Juniper started moving again.

She’s more restless now.

More awake.

Marlene reacted.

He approached quickly.

He took the can.

She opened it with hands that no longer trembled the same way.

Not for calm.

Due to urgency.

She prepared the baby bottle.

Without looking at it.

Without thinking.

Just… doing.

Miles remained standing.

Without intervening.

Without getting any closer than necessary.

When the girl started eating, the sound filled the space.

Little.

Constant.

Alive.

And then… the apartment stopped feeling so empty.

Marlene sat down.

Holding her daughter.

Looking at her as if that moment was the only thing that mattered.

Perhaps it was.

Several minutes passed.

Wordless.

No questions asked.

Until finally he spoke.

—Why did you come?

He didn’t look up.

He didn’t need to do it.

Miles rested his hands on the back of a chair.

“Because I know what that silence sounds like,” he replied.

She frowned slightly.

—What silence?

—The one of someone who no longer cries because they don’t have the energy to do so.

Marlene looked up.

And something in his expression changed.

Not completely.

But enough.

“You’re not from here,” he said.

It wasn’t a question.

-No.

—Then you don’t understand.

Miles took a second to respond.

—I understand enough.

A heavier silence fell.

“I was that child too,” he added.

She blinked.

-That?

—The one who waits for someone to solve something… and nobody comes.

There was no drama.

There was no long story.

That’s all.

And it was heavier than any explanation.

Marlene watched him.

Now yes.

Really.

—You don’t look like someone who’s been through that.

Miles let out a small exhalation.

“That’s what happens when you survive,” he said. “From the outside, it looks like nothing was ever lacking.”

The baby continued drinking.

More relaxed.

Stronger.

Marlene lowered her gaze.

“I don’t want this,” she murmured. “I don’t want to depend on anyone.”

“You’re not doing it,” he replied.

-Of course.

“No,” he repeated. “You’re accepting help.”

The difference… is not the same.

She did not answer.

But he didn’t deny it either.

“What happened to your job?” he asked, without being intrusive.

Marlene hesitated.

“I asked a question,” he said finally.

-AND?

—And they didn’t like the answer I was forced to give.

Silence.

“Illegal?” he asked.

She looked up.

—Not verified.

That was enough.

Miles nodded slowly.

-And now?

—Now I clean offices that I used to visit in a suit.

There was no bitterness.

There was wear and tear.

—And today… not even that was enough.

The baby is finished.

Marlene slowly moved him away.

He held it against his chest.

Juniper let out a small sigh.

And for the first time all night…

She seemed calm.

That changed something in the atmosphere.

Not everything.

But something.

Miles looked around.

The place.

The walls.

The light was blinking.

“This isn’t just one night,” he said.

She did not answer.

—If you stay the same tomorrow… this will repeat itself.

Marlene squeezed her daughter a little tighter.

—I know.

—So I didn’t come just for the milk.

She looked at him.

Suspicious again.

—I told you I don’t want favors.

—It’s not a favor.

There was silence.

“It’s an opportunity,” he added.

That did make her tense up.

-So that?

Miles took a second.

Not to think about what to say.

To put it bluntly.

—To work.

Marlene let out a short laugh.

No humor.

—Do you think I haven’t tried that?

—Not like this.

She watched him.

Expecting.

“I need someone who will ask uncomfortable questions,” he said. “And who won’t stay silent when something doesn’t add up.”

The silence fell heavily.

-That?

—What the job cost you… is exactly what I need.

Marlene did not speak.

But his mind began to stir.

It was noticeable.

“It’s not charity,” he continued. “It’s real work. Well paid. With clear conditions.”

—And what do you gain?

—Someone tell me the truth… even if I don’t like it.

She looked at him for a long time.

Evaluating.

Measuring.

“You don’t know me,” he said.

“I don’t need to know everything about you,” he replied. “Just enough to know that you don’t stay silent.”

The baby moved a little.

Marlene arranged it.

And for the first time… it didn’t seem to be on the verge of breaking.

He seemed to be… thinking.

—What if I’m not what you think?

Miles shrugged slightly.

—Then I’m wrong.

He didn’t try to convince her anymore.

He didn’t insist.

That… was the most important factor.

Because I wasn’t pushing.

I was leaving space.

Marlene lowered her gaze.

He looked at his daughter.

Then the bags.

Then the apartment.

Then to him.

Everything was silent.

“I can’t promise anything,” he said finally.

—I’m not asking you.

—Just… try.

Miles nodded.

—That’s enough.

He headed for the door.

Not fast.

Not by running away.

Simply… finishing his part.

Before leaving, he stopped.

—Happy New Year, Marlene.

She did not respond immediately.

But when the door was almost closed…

—Thank you —he said.

Low.

No frills.

No debt.

Just… truth.

The door closed.

The apartment fell silent again.

But it wasn’t the same.

Marlene stayed there.

Sitting.

With her daughter asleep in her arms.

And for the first time in a long time… he wasn’t counting what he was missing.

I was looking at what I still had.

And what, perhaps… I could begin to build.

It wasn’t complete hope.

Not yet.

But it was no longer despair.

And sometimes…

That’s all it takes to not give up again.