Sara sent Ashley away, desperate for solitude. The numbness in her body refused to fade, clinging to her like a second skin. She felt dirty—like something tainted, something broken beyond repair. Her throat was clogged, each breath heavy, as she sank onto the bench.
She had draped a short, floral, hand-knitted cardigan over her shoulders—the one her mother had made for her. It carried the warmth of a motherly embrace, a silent comfort she desperately needed. Before leaving, Ashley had also thrown another over her legs—Liam's. It was heavier, larger, infused with the scent of expensive cologne. A scent that didn't belong to her.
She hated it, or at least for now.
With a vacant stare, she watched the world move around her. People walked past in pairs, in groups, laughing, talking, living. Hours slipped by unnoticed.
She swallowed hard.
"Why would he say such things?" The words finally tumbled out in a whisper, barely audible even to herself.
Her fingers curled into the fabric of her dress. I know I shouldn't have done that… but why those words? Just as she felt herself sinking further, a sudden vibration in her pocket made her flinch.
Her pulse jumped as she hesitantly pulled out her phone. An unknown number flashed across the screen.
Sara frowned. Who is this?
Bringing the phone to her ear, she answered cautiously.
Laughter—low, masculine, and unrestrained—filled the line, the sound of a group of men. Coincidentally, just behind her, a few guys were laughing just as loudly. Her spine stiffened. Slowly, she turned to glance over her shoulder.
"Who is it?" she asked, her voice wary.
"I should be the one asking, Miss. You left your number on my car… along with a lipstick mark."
Sara's body went rigid.
Her mind raced. That can't be… But then she remembered.
Ashley. The lipstick. The number scribbled on a stranger's car as a drunken joke.
Her gaze darted toward the group of men. Parked in front of them was a sleek black car—the same one Ashley had defaced.
Her breath hitched as her eyes locked onto one of them.
Among the rowdy men, one stood out—a tall figure in a tailored suit, draped in high-end accessories that screamed wealth. He had light brown hair, sharp features, and an air of effortless confidence. Even as his friends teased him about his "graffitied" car, he remained composed, his piercing gaze scanning the area… and landing directly on her.
Sara's stomach twisted. She shrank into the bench, curling into herself as much as possible.
"I am so sorry about this," she stammered into the phone. "It was just a harmless prank my friend pulled. If you want, I can pay for the cleanup."
The man hummed thoughtfully. "Oh?"
Sara bit her lip. The guilt was unbearable.
He finally stepped away from his friends, walking toward the bench where she sat.
Sara's heart lurched. Panic flared in her chest as she shot up, quickly ducking behind a thick wall of vines near the park enclosure, hoping he wouldn't see her.
"It's a shame," he mused over the phone. "I thought someone finally liked me."
There was amusement in his tone, but also something else—something unreadable.
"I—I'm really sorry," she whispered again, peeking through the gaps in the leaves. He was getting closer.
"How about instead of paying for my car's cleanup… you buy me a drink?" He paused. "A coffee, perhaps?"
Her first instinct was to refuse, to make up some excuse and escape. But the moment she saw him about to step into the enclosure, she panicked.
"Yes! Sure!" she blurted out. "I'll do that! Just tell me when you want coffee, and we can grab one."
The man stopped, his lips curling into a smirk.
"Good," he said, amused. "I'll be waiting to finally meet the gorgeous lady who left her number on my car."
Sara's face burned. "It was a prank," she insisted, "and I really am sorry."
His smirk deepened. "Relax, I was just messing with you, Miss. Or should I say…?" He trailed off, waiting.
"Sara," she said quickly. "Call me Sara."
"Alright, Sara," he said smoothly. "I'm Elijah. I'll call you again for my free coffee. Until then…" His voice dropped to a teasing lilt. "Please avoid scribbling on other men's cars. I might feel cheated on."
Before she could respond, the call ended.
Sara let out a sharp breath, watching as Elijah turned back toward his friends, his expression light with amusement. She groaned, burying her face in her hands. What did I just agree to?
Only then did she shift from her awkward position on the ground, ready to stand. But as she adjusted her posture, something caught her eye—something that made her blood run cold.
Behind the bush, barely visible, was a small figure curled up tightly.
A child.
Sara's breath hitched.
The tiny form clutched a worn-out magic wand, hugging it to their chest, their frail body trembling in the cold.
Her heart clenched.
"Is that… a child?" She screamed scaring the child as she flinched sliighly lifting her head to look in the direction of Sara.
In that moment, when their eyes met, Sara froze.
This reaction was entirely different from the numbness she had felt after being humiliated. Something unfamiliar stirred in her chest, raw and overwhelming. The child's eyes—wide, glistening with unshed tears—held her captive. Her heartbeat pounded so violently she thought she might go deaf from it. And then, without warning, a single tear slipped from her eye—unbidden, effortless.
She had been holding them back for so long, yet they refused to fall until now.
"Hey," she breathed, her voice barely audible as she reached out a trembling hand.
The child shrank back, fear flickering in her delicate features.
"I—" Sara's throat tightened. She swallowed hard. "I'm not going to hurt you, I promise." Her voice was softer this time, gentle, almost pleading.
The child remained silent, her tiny body curled defensively in the shadows. Sara, unsure how to approach a child in distress, knelt on the damp grass, struggling to think of what to do. The sudden movement caused Liam's jacket to slip from her legs, sending a sharp chill through her. But then, her gaze flickered back to the little girl. She was wearing nothing but a thin dress, visibly shivering from the cold.
A sudden desperation filled Sara—a need to cover her up, to protect her.
"Hey, come out, please," she coaxed. "I have... I have some almonds with me. And cake, too."
The child hesitated, lifting her face slightly, revealing delicate features—so adorable it felt almost unreal.
"Is it for my birthday?" she asked, her voice small, hopeful.
Sara's breath hitched. Wow… she can talk?
She plopped onto the grass, completely taken aback, an unfamiliar warmth bubbling in her chest.
"It's your birthday?" Sara asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Yes." The girl pouted. "It's already past twelve, so it's finally my birthday."
Sara's eyes widened. Past twelve? A sharp pang of alarm struck her. What is a child doing outside alone at this hour?
She wanted to demand answers, to panic, but she held back, afraid of scaring the girl away. Instead, she forced a smile.
"Well, then," she said gently, "this cake is definitely for you. Come on out and take a look."
She glanced toward the towering cake still sitting on the bench, its unlit candles waiting for a wish.`