Sara sent Ashley away, desperate for solitude. The numbness in her body refused to fade, clinging to her like a second skin. She felt dirty—like something tainted, something broken beyond repair. Her throat was clogged, each breath heavy, as she sank onto the bench.
She had draped a short, floral, hand-knitted cardigan over her shoulders—the one her mother had made for her. It carried the warmth of a motherly embrace, a comfort she desperately needed. Before leaving, Ashley had also thrown another over her legs—Liam's. It was heavier, larger, infused with the scent of expensive cologne. A scent that didn't belong to her.
She hated it, or at least for now.
With a vacant stare, she watched the world move around her. People walked past in pairs, in groups, laughing, talking, living. Hours slipped by unnoticed.
She swallowed hard.
"Why would he say such things?" The words finally tumbled out in a whisper, barely audible even to herself.
Her fingers curled into the fabric of her dress. I know I shouldn't have done that… but why those words? Just as she felt herself sinking further, a sudden vibration in her pocket made her flinch.
Her pulse jumped as she hesitantly pulled out her phone. An unknown number flashed across the screen.
Sara frowned. Who is this?
Bringing the phone to her ear, she answered cautiously.
Laughter—low, masculine, and unrestrained—filled the line, the sound of a group of men. Coincidentally, just behind her, a few guys were laughing just as loudly. Her spine stiffened. Slowly, she turned to glance over her shoulder.
"Who is it?" she asked, her voice wary.
"I should be the one asking, Miss. You left your number on my car… along with a lipstick mark."
Sara's body went rigid.
Her mind raced. That can't be… But then she remembered.
Ashley. The lipstick. The number scribbled on a stranger's car as a drunken joke.
Her gaze darted toward the group of men. Parked in front of them was a sleek black car—the same one Ashley had defaced.
Her breath hitched as her eyes locked onto one of them.
Among the rowdy men, one stood out—a tall figure in a tailored suit, draped in high-end accessories that screamed wealth. He had light brown hair, sharp features, and an air of effortless confidence. Even as his friends teased him about his "graffitied" car, he remained composed, his piercing gaze scanning the area… and landing directly on her.
Sara's stomach twisted. She shrank into the bench, curling into herself as much as possible.
"I am so sorry about this," she stammered into the phone. "It was just a harmless prank my friend pulled. If you want, I can pay for the cleanup."
The man hummed thoughtfully. "Oh?"
Sara bit her lip. The guilt was unbearable.
He finally stepped away from his friends, walking toward the bench where she sat.
Sara's heart lurched. Panic flared in her chest as she shot up, quickly ducking behind a thick wall of vines near the park enclosure, hoping he wouldn't see her.
"It's a shame," he mused over the phone. "I thought someone finally liked me."
There was amusement in his tone, but also something else—something unreadable.
"I—I'm really sorry," she whispered again, peeking through the gaps in the leaves. He was getting closer.
"How about instead of paying for my car's cleanup… you buy me a drink?" He paused. "A coffee, perhaps?"
Her first instinct was to refuse, to make up some excuse and escape. But the moment she saw him about to step into the enclosure, she panicked.
"Yes! Sure!" she blurted out. "I'll do that! Just tell me when you want coffee, and we can grab one."
The man stopped, his lips curling into a smirk.
"Good," he said, amused. "I'll be waiting to finally meet the gorgeous lady who left her number on my car."
Sara's face burned. "It was a prank," she insisted, "and I really am sorry."
His smirk deepened. "Relax, I was just messing with you, Miss. Or should I say…?" He trailed off, waiting.
"Sara," she said quickly. "Call me Sara."
"Alright, Sara," he said smoothly. "I'm Elijah. I'll call you again for my free coffee. Until then…" His voice dropped to a teasing lilt. "Please avoid scribbling on other men's cars. I might feel cheated on."
Before she could respond, the call ended.
Sara let out a sharp breath, watching as Elijah turned back toward his friends, his expression light with amusement. She groaned, burying her face in her hands. What did I just agree to?
Only then did she shift from her awkward position on the ground, ready to stand. But as she adjusted her posture, something caught her eye—something that made her blood run cold.
Behind the bush, barely visible, was a small figure curled up tightly.
A child.
Sara's breath hitched.
The tiny form clutched a worn-out magic wand, hugging it to their chest, their frail body trembling in the cold.
Her heart clenched.
"Is that… a child?" She screamed scaring the child as she flinched sliighly lifting her head to look in the direction of Sara.
In that moment, when their eyes met, Sara froze.
This reaction was entirely different from the numbness she'd felt after being humiliated. Something unfamiliar stirred in her chest—raw, overwhelming.
The child's eyes—wide, glistening with unshed tears—held her captive. Her heartbeat pounded so violently, she thought she might go deaf from it.
Then, without warning, a single tear slipped from her eye—unbidden, effortless.
She'd held them back for so long. Refused to let them fall. But now, they didn't care. Now, they came.
"Hey," she breathed, voice barely audible, reaching out with a trembling hand.
The child flinched, shrinking back, fear flickering across her delicate face.
"I—" Sara's throat tightened. She swallowed hard. "I'm not going to hurt you, I promise." Her voice was softer this time. Gentle. Almost pleading.
The child remained silent, her tiny body curled defensively in the dark bush. Sara, unsure how to approach a child in distress, knelt on the damp grass, struggling to think of what to do. The sudden movement caused Liam's jacket to slip from her legs, sending a sharp chill through her. But then, her gaze flickered back to the little girl. She was wearing nothing but a thin dress, visibly shivering from the cold.
A sudden wave of desperation crashed over Sara—this neighborhood was no place for a kid. The girl looked so small, so out of place. Sara had no idea what to do.
'Where are her parents?' She thought and wanted to ask the girl but it didnt seem she would get an answer from her.
She was terrible with kids. They were like little puzzles she never figured out how to solve without breaking the pieces.
She sat back on the wet grass, her dress already soaked, her knees damp and freezing. Her head was still cloudy from the wine she'd half-regretted sipping earlier, and now she was staring at this trembling child like she was a math problem on fire.
Then, a thought. A very dumb one—but she clutched it like a lifeline.
Sara grabbed her phone, brought it to her ear, and adopted the most suspicious, dramatic voice she could muster.
"Officer Jellybean? Is that you?" She said with an animated voice.
".I know—shhh! She might hear us," she hissed into the silent phone, eyes darting exaggeratedly left and right. She stole a glance toward the girl.
"Yeah, I have the cake. No, I'm not giving it to anyone. It's completely safe with me. As long as she doesn't find out, she won't ask for it." She nodded seriously to herself like she was involved in some top-secret mission. "I repeat—mission is under control. Cake is secured. The child must not know."
She continued the absurd one-sided call, praying her fake spy act might lure the girl out, or at least make her smile. Honestly, it sounded like a weird kidnapper technique, and she cringed a little at herself, but it was the only thing she could think of.
"What did you say? It was chocolate flavour?!" she said a bit too loudly, her voice slicing through the silence.
Then she turned toward the little girl, eyes wide. "Do you like chocolate?" she asked, then froze mid-breath. "Oh no! I wasn't supposed to tell you that."
The child stirred.
Slowly, her tiny face lifted from behind her knees, revealing soft, delicate features—so heartbreakingly cute it didn't feel real.
"Is it for my birthday?" she asked, her voice small, almost scared to believe it.
Sara blinked. Her hand dropped slightly, the phone now hanging loosely against her cheek.She stared, stunned. Wait… she can talk?
Sara plopped onto the damp grass, jacket slipping off her legs completely, her soaked dress clinging uncomfortably—but none of it mattered right then. Something warm and strange rose in her chest.
"What… what did you say?" she asked, just to be sure.
"Is it for my birthday?" the child repeated, tilting her head slightly, eyes still unsure.
Sara exhaled, barely above a whisper. "It's your birthday?"
The girl gave a serious little nod, followed by a pout. "Yes. It's already past twelve, so it's
Sara's eyes widened. Past twelve?A jolt of panic ran through her, snapping through the wine haze.What the hell was a child doing here at this hour, alone?