“Here,” Ethan murmured gently. “Feed her.”
Clara sank onto her small sofa, cradling Lily close. The moment the nipple touched the baby’s lips, the crying stopped. The apartment fell into a profound, heavy silence, broken only by the rhythmic, desperate sound of an eight-month-old finally getting what she needed. Clara closed her eyes, tears finally spilling over her lashes, hot and fast.
“Thank you,” she sobbed silently, her shoulders shaking. “Thank you. I didn’t know… I thought I was messaging Mrs. Evelyn. I didn’t mean to…”
“I know,” Ethan said. He stood near the kitchen counter, giving her space, his expression guarded but deeply affected. “The number changed two weeks ago. It’s mine now.”
He waited until Lily had finished half the bottle and her tiny eyes began to heavy with the deep, satisfied sleep of a full stomach. Clara burped her gently, laying her down in the portable crib in the corner, wrapping her in the soft blanket with stars that Ethan had bought.
When Clara turned back around, she wiped her face, trying to gather what was left of her dignity. “I don’t have the fifty dollars to give you back right now. But I get paid on Friday. If you leave your address, I will mail it to you. I swear.”
Ethan looked at her. Really looked at her. He saw the exhaustion, the fierce, protective love for her daughter, and the ghost of the professional woman she had been before Harmon Financial ruined her.
“You don’t owe me fifty dollars, Clara,” Ethan said. “But we do need to talk about Harmon Financial Services.”
Clara froze, her posture turning defensive. “How do you know about them? Did they send you? Look, I didn’t steal anything. I just found the discrepancies—”
