He added that it was just the three of them now. Eleanor swallowed hard, looking at her remaining supplies. She looked at the meager cash in her drawer, then back at the thin, tired faces. The boy on the right looked at his shoes, while the one on the left bit his lip to keep from shaking.
With a heavy sigh, Eleanor made a choice. It wasn’t about being a hero; it was just the right thing to do. She waved them over and told them to grab a stool, joking that the grill didn’t bite. They approached the counter like they were walking into a trap.
She prepared three hearty plates of grilled cheese and tomato soup. It wasn’t a feast, but it was hot, fresh, and made with care. For a hungry child, a warm meal is more than calories—it’s a sign that someone sees them. The triplets sat shoulder-to-shoulder on the vinyl stools.
They started eating with a desperate hunger, but soon slowed down as the warmth hit their stomachs. Eleanor watched them, a lump forming in her throat. Maybe they reminded her of her own son, or maybe she was just tired of seeing the world be so cruel to the innocent.
It was painful to see children cling to a sandwich like it was their last lifeline. Clearing her throat, she asked for their names. The boys shared another look. The first said he was Matt, the middle was Gabe, and the third quietly said his name was Dan.
Eleanor committed the names to memory. She asked where they were staying, and the boys looked down at the floor. Gabe admitted they slept wherever they could find a spot out of the wind.
Eleanor’s grip tightened on the counter. She looked out at the street—people were driving home to their warm beds, oblivious to the three small lives sitting at her diner. A young couple walked by laughing, and a businessman in a suit gave the dirty kids a look of pure disgust. Eleanor felt a flash of cold anger.
Suddenly, a harsh voice cut through the air. It was Rick Vance, a local developer who acted like he owned the zip code. He leaned against his expensive truck and sneered, asking Eleanor if she was running a soup kitchen for “stray dogs” now. Vance was always looking for a reason to shut her down so he could buy the lot. He told her she was wasting her time and ruining the neighborhood’s “aesthetic.”
The boys flinched at his tone, Gabe clutching his plate. Eleanor stood tall, despite the ache in her back. She told Vance that she wasn’t complaining, and the boys were just having dinner. Vance laughed, calling them “little vagrants” who would probably rob her blind the moment she turned her back.
