Her mom didn’t answer. She just hugged Molly so tightly it was hard to breathe, and didn’t let go for a long, long time.
That evening, they baked the apple pie anyway, though the apples got a little burnt because Vera kept getting distracted, looking over at Molly as if to make sure she was still there.
Their apartment was small, a one-bedroom in an old walk-up on the edge of town. The wallpaper was peeling in the corners, the radiator barely worked, and the kitchen window was patched with plastic film where it had cracked last winter and they couldn’t afford a new one. But Vera tried to make it cozy. Geraniums sat on the windowsill, Molly’s drawings were taped to the wall, and on a shelf was a photo of Grandma in a frame they’d decorated together with seashells from the shore. Molly didn’t remember the ocean trip; she’d been three, before Grandma got sick and all their money went to medical bills.
Molly didn’t remember her dad, either. Her mom had said once that he was a good man, but not a strong one. When he found out about Grandma’s illness and realized how hard things were going to be, he just left. “He ran,” her mom had said, and her voice was so final that Molly never asked about him again.
Vera worked as a pediatric nurse at a local clinic, pulling long shifts, sometimes extra ones when someone called in sick. The pay was low but steady. Molly knew that money was a sore subject, that her mom sometimes cried at night when she thought her daughter was asleep, and that the words “medical debt” were bad words that made her mom go pale. But she also knew that her mom loved her, that they were getting by, and that the most important thing was that they had each other.
Molly didn’t sleep well that night. She dreamed of the ice, black and slick, giving way beneath her. She’d fall into the water, so cold it seized her muscles. She would wake up, lie in the dark listening to her mom’s breathing beside her, then fall back asleep, only to dream of the ice again.
The next morning, her mom let her stay home from school.
“You can miss one day,” she said, which was so unlike the mom who always talked about the importance of education that Molly got scared. But then her mom smiled, and everything felt normal again.
They were eating oatmeal with brown sugar when the doorbell rang. Her mom went to answer it, and Molly heard her say:
“Yes, this is the place. No, she’s fine. Please, come in.”
Two people walked into the living room—a man and a woman. The man was the one from the pond. David. But he looked completely different now: dry, dressed in a warm sweater and jeans, his face healthy, his eyes alive. The woman with him looked like a model—tall, blonde, in a coat that probably cost more than everything in their apartment combined.
“Hello, Molly,” David said, crouching down to her level. “I came to say thank you.”
“You already did,” Molly said. She didn’t know how to act around these people in their expensive clothes, who were looking at her like she was some kind of miracle.
“I did, but I want to say it again. You saved my life. If it weren’t for you…” He didn’t finish the sentence, but Molly understood. “This is my sister, Liz,” he added, nodding to the woman.
Liz smiled, but her eyes were distant, as if she wasn’t quite sure why she was there.
“We’d like to show our gratitude,” she said, her voice as polished as her appearance, but somehow lifeless.
“There’s no need,” Vera said quickly. She was standing in the doorway with her arms crossed, and Molly could tell she was uncomfortable. “Molly did what anyone should have done.”
“But no one else did,” David countered. He stood up and looked at Vera. “I was in that water, and I saw a dozen adults watch me and do nothing. And a seven-year-old girl crawled out onto the ice. That’s not nothing.”
“She’s almost eight,” Vera corrected automatically.
“All the more reason. Please, let me… I don’t know what you need, but I want to help. I really do.”
A silence hung in the air. Molly watched her mom and saw the conflict on her face: pride warring with exhaustion, independence with common sense.
“We have everything we need,” Vera said finally, but her voice wavered.
“Vera,” David said, noticing the tremor, “I don’t want to offend you. But I found out a little about your situation. Please, don’t ask how. It’s not important. I know about the medical debt left from your mother. About the late utility bills. About the fact that you’re working more than full-time and still barely making ends meet.”
Vera went pale.
“Have you been investigating us?”
“No. I just made some inquiries. Not to use it against you, but to understand how I could help.”
“We don’t need charity.”
“This isn’t charity. It’s a debt. Your daughter saved my life, and I… I’m a millionaire, Vera. It sounds ridiculous, I know, but it’s true. I have more money than I know what to do with, and people who will do anything for that money. And you have a child who risked her life for a stranger. Please, let me at least balance the scales.”
Molly didn’t fully understand what they were talking about, but she felt the tension in the room. Her mom stood like a statue, and David looked at her with an expression Molly couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t pity. It was more like respect. And something else.
“Why don’t we sit down?” Liz said suddenly, her voice warming slightly. “Do you have any tea? I’d love a cup of tea. I’m freezing.”
It wasn’t true; it wasn’t that cold out, and they had clearly come by car. But the little lie seemed to break the tension. Vera nodded and went to the kitchen.
Molly was left with the guests.
“You have nice drawings,” David said, looking at the wall. “That’s a cat.”
“It’s a tiger. But I’m not good at stripes, so it looks like a cat.”
“I think the stripes look just fine. He’s just a… a friendly tiger. A tiger without his stripes.”
Molly smiled. She liked this man. There was something solid about him, despite his expensive clothes and strange talk about millions. Liz sat on the sofa and pulled out her phone, but David gave her a look and she put it away.
“Tell me about yourself, Molly,” he asked. “What do you like to do?”
“I like to draw. And read books. And help my mom cook. I go to school, but it’s boring.”
“Why is it boring?”
“Because the teacher just tells us things we already know, and when you ask about something interesting, she says it’s not on the curriculum.”
David laughed.
“You know, I felt the same way. I was bored in school, too. It got more interesting in college, though.”
“What do you do for work?”
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