— Susan! — Eleanor slowly pulled off her gloves, her gaze like ice. — Forget the rugs. Prepare the guest bedroom on the first floor. And bring warm milk, tea, and whatever hot food you have, immediately.
— But, Ms. Vance… — she stammered, glancing at the man, who was clutching his daughter like a shield. — This man… no identification, from the street… Maybe we should call the police, or social services? You never know…
Eleanor turned sharply toward her. Her face, distorted by fatigue and an invisible illness, was genuinely intimidating.
— I believe I made myself clear. They are my guests. One more word, and you’ll be looking for a new job tomorrow.
Susan gasped, pressed her lips together, and without another sound, disappeared down the hallway. The silence in the foyer became almost tangible. The only sound was the heavy plop of melting snow dripping from the man’s jacket onto the floor.
— I’m sorry, — the man whispered, his voice breaking. — She’s right. We don’t belong here. We’ll leave now… Alice, sweetie, just hold on a little longer.
He had already started to turn toward the door when the gray cat, hidden in his collar, let out a soft, pained moan. She twitched, and he nearly dropped the bundle.
— You’re not going anywhere, — Eleanor stepped right up to him. — Do you want them to die on my doorstep? Put the cat on the sofa. Now.
She pointed to a leather ottoman in the corner. He hesitated for a second, but a glance at Alice, whose face had become frighteningly white, made him surrender. He gently placed the cat down. The gray British Shorthair, Luna, looked pathetic. Her once thick, noble fur was matted, her sides sunken despite her huge belly. The cat tried to stand, but her legs gave way.
Eleanor knelt before her, not caring that she was soiling her expensive coat. She touched the animal’s ears.
— She’s burning up, — Eleanor frowned. — She has a fever. She’s severely malnourished.
Alice, who had been silent until now, suddenly took a step forward. She reached out a small, red hand and began to stroke the cat’s head.
— Luna is a good girl, — the child said softly. — She was crying by the dumpsters. It was really scary and smelled bad there.
Eleanor looked up at the child.
— You found her by the trash? A purebred cat like this?
Alice nodded, sniffling.
— She was in a box. She was all wet. Daddy saw her and stopped. I asked, ‘Daddy, can we take her?’ And he said… — the girl looked at her father, who lowered his head and finished the sentence for her:
— I said we can’t leave anyone behind. We don’t even have a place to sleep ourselves, and then there she was… a living thing. Looking at you like she understands everything. They must have thrown her out when they found out she was having kittens. Too much trouble.
Eleanor froze. Inside her, where just an hour ago there had been only a barren wasteland and the dry medical term “glioblastoma,” something pricked her. Sharply. To the point of tears. “We can’t leave anyone behind.” This man, who had nothing left but an old jacket and a frightened daughter, had found the strength to save another creature. And she… the owner of an empire, had lived in a cocoon of money and cynicism, casting people aside like useless assets.
— Susan! — Eleanor shouted, and for the first time in a long while, a human note broke through in her voice. — Bring the first-aid kit and clean towels, now!
She looked at Luna. The cat suddenly opened her huge amber eyes and, overcoming her weakness, gave Eleanor’s hand a gentle lick. Her tongue was rough and hot.
— We’ll get you better! — Eleanor whispered, and in that moment, she didn’t know if she was talking to the cat, to these people, or to her own suddenly revived soul. — Do you hear me? Everything is going to be okay!
Susan was already running from the kitchen with a tray. In the house that had been a silent museum of loneliness for years, a strange, feverish motion had begun. The motion of life itself.
The dining room table, where usually only Eleanor sat, looked different today. The heavy oak, silver cutlery, and fine china were juxtaposed with the man’s worn sweater and a shy, quiet Alice. The girl ate her soup slowly, almost holding her breath, afraid to let her spoon clink against the bowl. Luna, fed and warm, slept on a soft cushion by the fireplace. Susan had finally relented and brought out an old wool blanket.
Eleanor sat opposite them. She hadn’t touched her food. For the first time in her life, she wasn’t interested in the calorie count of her dinner or the latest report from the marketing department. She looked at this man and saw not a homeless person, but someone whose life had been swept away like a house of cards in a hurricane.
— Tell me, — Eleanor said softly. — How did you end up on that bench in the park?
The man put down his piece of bread. He looked at his hands—rough, with ingrained construction dust that even hot water couldn’t wash away.
— It’s simple, Ms. Vance. At first, you think you’re on solid ground. I was a construction foreman, had my own crew. We weren’t rich, but we lived honestly. A house, plans… Then a major client disappeared without paying. And I was left with debts for materials, wages for my guys. I paid them out of my own pocket, every cent, to be clear with them. I thought I’d pull through.
He faltered, his gaze clouding over as he looked into the past.
— And then Laura… my wife. A blood clot. Instant. We were having coffee together in the morning, and by lunch, she was gone. And that was it, the world just switched off. The banks froze my accounts, they took the house for the debts. Friends, the ones we used to barbecue with on weekends, suddenly changed their phone numbers. Turns out, they only needed me as long as I had something to share.
Alice looked up from her bowl and quietly pressed against her father’s side. He put an arm around her, and in that gesture was so much bitter tenderness that it took Eleanor’s breath away.
— We bounced around shelters until the real cold hit. Then a week ago, we saw a box by the dumpsters. And there she was, Luna. Just sitting there, shivering, with these huge eyes. I guess her owners decided a pregnant cat was just more trash in their perfect lives.
— And you took her in, — Eleanor stated, not asking.
— I did. — He gave a bitter laugh. — Alice started crying, ‘Daddy, she’ll freeze!’ And I knew in that moment: if I walk past, if I abandon her—I’m abandoning myself. The last piece of humanity I have left. When you have nothing, it’s the weak and helpless that keep you alive. They give you a reason to wake up in the morning.
Eleanor listened, her fingers unconsciously gripping the edge of the tablecloth. His words hit her like a slap. She, the “iron lady,” who had built her life on calculation and profit, suddenly understood: she had been dead for much longer than this ruined construction worker. She had millions, but she lacked the core strength that allowed him to remain human in the midst of hell. Her glioblastoma was just the physical manifestation of the tumor of loneliness she had been cultivating for years.
— You’re a strong man, — Eleanor’s voice trembled.
— No, — he shook his head. — I’m just a father. And I can’t let the world crush what’s precious to me.
Silence fell in the dining room…
Comments are closed.