“Thank you,” he said quietly. “For being here when I wasn’t.”
Hope shook her head gently. “Any mom would have done the same.”
But they all knew that wasn’t true.
Matthew stepped back from Hope, hesitating, then looked at his father. Something was shifting inside him, fragile but real. “Can we… go home?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Richard didn’t answer right away. Instead, he crouched down, eye level with his son — something he hadn’t done since Matthew was a toddler.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “We can go home. And we’ll talk. For real this time.”
Matthew nodded, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. He looked small, younger than twelve, but for the first time that day, he didn’t look alone.
Hope stepped aside, letting Richard put a hand on his son’s shoulder. The boy didn’t pull away this time.
As they turned toward the SUV, Matthew suddenly stopped and looked back. “Thank you, Miss Hope,” he murmured, his voice full of sincerity.
She smiled, shifting Sam in her arms. “Take care of yourself, Matthew.”
Richard opened the car door, then paused and turned toward her. Rain dripped from his hair onto his shirt collar. “If you ever need anything… anything at all… please let me know.” He hesitated, then added, “People like you are rare.”
Hope didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t used to praise, especially not from people who looked like they belonged in another world.
“I just did what anyone should do,” she replied.
Richard shook his head gently. “You did more.”
For a brief moment, their eyes met again — his filled with gratitude, hers with quiet strength. Then he climbed into the car, and the door closed with a soft thud.
Hope stood there under the awning, holding her baby close, watching the SUV pull away into the stormy Chicago evening. Sam let out a small sigh and nestled against her chest.
She kissed his forehead and whispered, “See, little one? Kindness never goes to waste.”
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