Chapter 5 - JUST MILK FOR HER
David took a gentle, non-threatening step closer to Maya, placing his large, warm hand lightly against the stone ledge of the desk rather than touching the girl, giving her all the physical space she needed to feel secure.
"Listen to me, little miss," David said softly, his deep voice thick with emotion. "You don't have to work here. Nobody is going to make you sweep any floors, and nobody is going to turn you away into the rain. Tell Officer David what you need. Whatever it is, we can take care of it right now."
Maya looked up at the tall security guard.
Her hazel eyes, fringed by dark, damp lashes, shimmered with unshed tears that she desperately fought to hold behind her lids. She looked at his clean navy uniform, then glanced down at the sleeping infant in her arms.
Clara’s tiny mouth made a small, rooting motion against the soft fleece of the green blanket, her little brow furrowing in her sleep as hunger began to prickle through her rest. Her small fist poked free of the wrap, waving weakly in the air, searching for the bottle that wasn't there.
Maya swallowed hard, her small throat bobbing.
"I can do anything," Maya whispered, her voice dropping from desperate defiance into a raw, heartbreaking honesty that silenced the entire reception perimeter.
She lowered her gaze to the transparent plastic cylinder in her hand, her thumb rubbing against the dry silicone tip.
"I don't need any money," she said, looking back up at David and Debbie with pure, innocent clarity. "You don't have to pay me anything. My baby sister just needs milk."
The words hung in the warm air of the atrium like a physical blow.
David froze, his breath catching in his throat, his eyes reddening as the sheer, unvarnished weight of the child’s burden struck him. He had two daughters of his own in suburban Naperville; the thought of a seven-year-old child walking into a commercial skyscraper on a stormy morning, offering manual labor in exchange for baby formula, pierced clean through his professional armor.
Behind the desk, Debbie’s hands flew to her mouth. A single tear broke over her lower lash, tracking down her cheek as she immediately pushed her chair back, reaching beneath the counter for her own purse and the telephone console.
"Oh, baby," Debbie choked out, her voice cracked with unconditional compassion. "We’re getting her milk right now. Right this second. David, call the café manager. Tell them to steam whole milk, grab the formula tins from the mothers' lounge on four, and bring fresh fruit. Do it now."
Twenty feet away, Marco Duca stopped mid-stride.
May you like
The security chief’s face was pale, his eyes wide with a shock that was entirely foreign to his disciplined demeanor. He turned his head slowly toward Dante, his lips parting to speak, but the words died in his throat.
Dante Moretti was already moving.
