I didn’t wait for approval.
I opened the front door and stepped outside.
Sarah looked up when she heard it open. Her eyes were red and swollen, her face flushed with embarrassment as much as grief. She looked like she wanted to apologize for being seen at all.
Before she could say anything, I crossed the porch and wrapped my arms around her.
She hesitated for a second—then collapsed into me.
Her sobs came in heavy waves, shaking both of us. I didn’t rush her. I didn’t ask questions. I didn’t offer solutions. I just stood there and held her while she cried, letting her release what she clearly hadn’t been able to hold in any longer.
Eventually, her breathing slowed. She pulled back slightly, wiping her face with her sleeve.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” she whispered. “He took everything. There’s barely anything left. I have bills, doctor appointments, and the baby isn’t even here yet.”
Fear lingered beneath every word.
She wasn’t just sad—she was terrified.
