Altha didn’t answer right away. She stood there, absorbing it. The story didn’t feel exaggerated or rehearsed. If anything, it felt incomplete—like Sienna lacked the energy to tell the whole truth.
Still, a small voice in her head pushed back. Not your problem. You don’t know her. You have a flight to catch. Altha glanced at the line. It had moved forward. She could still slip back in. Walk away. Forget any of this happened. But then she looked at Sienna again. At the child. And without meaning to, the image from earlier flashed in her mind—her mother. A thought surfaced that refused to leave: What if she were out there somewhere… and no one stopped to help?
Altha exhaled slowly. She tried to shake it off. This wasn’t logical. Not her responsibility. There were shelters, services, people trained for this. But none of that changed what stood before her. A woman with nowhere to go. A child depending on her. And no one stepping in. Altha hesitated one last moment. Then something inside her gave way. “I have a beach house,” she said.
The words came out before she could overthink them.
