…The door opened slowly.
Marlene stood there in a worn hoodie, her hair pulled into a messy knot, Juniper heavy and warm in her arms. The hallway light flickered, casting shadows across her tired face. When she saw the pharmacy bags in the stranger’s hands—and the familiar blue-and-white formula container on top—her breath caught.
“You… you said you had formula?” she asked, barely above a whisper.
“Yes,” Miles said gently. “The one for sensitive stomachs. Juniper, right?”
Marlene nodded. Tears spilled before she could stop them. She stepped aside, letting him in.
The apartment was small—too small for two adults and a lifetime of worry. An unmade bed. A cracked table. Past-due notices taped to the fridge. Miles set the bags down carefully, as if sudden movements might break something fragile in the air.
Juniper’s cry grew louder when she sensed the bottle.
“Just a minute, sweetheart,” Marlene murmured, hands shaking as she prepared the formula. When Juniper latched on, the crying faded into soft, desperate gulps.
Marlene slid down the wall and sat on the floor, pressing her fist to her mouth. She cried silently—relief, exhaustion, shame, gratitude all tangled together.
Miles didn’t rush her.
“I’m sorry,” she said finally. “I texted the wrong number. I thought you were someone else.”
“I know,” he replied. “But sometimes mistakes find the right person anyway.”
She looked up at him then, really looked. He didn’t seem dangerous. Just… sad. Familiar in a way she couldn’t explain.
Fireworks thundered outside. Miles’s phone vibrated softly.
Midnight.
“Happy New Year,” Marlene said weakly.
“Happy New Year,” he answered.
Juniper fell asleep mid-feeding, milk dribbling down her chin. Miles reached into one of the bags and pulled out a soft blanket, laying it gently over the baby.
Then he placed an envelope on the table.
Marlene’s eyes widened. “I can’t—”
“It’s not a loan,” Miles said quietly. “No expectations. Just enough so tonight doesn’t happen again.”
Her throat tightened. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Get some sleep,” he said. “That’s thanks enough.”
He walked to the door, then paused.
“Marlene?”
“Yes?”
“You weren’t wrong at your old job,” he said. “Asking questions is never wrong.”
The door closed behind him.
Marlene sat there long after the sound of his footsteps faded, Juniper breathing softly against her chest. The city kept celebrating outside, loud and bright.
But in that tiny apartment in the Bronx, something had shifted.
For the first time in months, she believed tomorrow might be kinder.
