I thought it was just a coincidence.
It had to be.
The city wasn't that small, but somehow… every time I struggled the most, he appeared—silent, calm, never intruding, yet always there.
At the church that day, he didn't approach me.
He simply sat in the last pew, his eyes following me and the children with that same unreadable expression.
When I hurried out into the afternoon heat, my mind still clouded with confusion, I didn't expect to see him again so soon.
But fate, as always, had other plans.
Later that week, the bakery's owner informed me that my hours were being cut.
"Sorry, business is slow," she said with a tired shrug, as if my survival wasn't hanging by the thread of that meager paycheck.
I walked home that evening feeling the familiar weight of failure settle over my shoulders like a lead blanket.
Emma noticed before I even spoke.
"Mommy… are you sad again?" she asked softly, her little hand slipping into mine.
I squeezed her hand back, forcing the tears to stay hidden.
"No, baby. Just… tired."
The next morning, when I returned to the bakery to collect my final small pay, I found something waiting for me.
A neatly folded envelope on the counter with no name, no note—just simple, elegant handwriting on the outside.
"For her next chapter."
Inside was exactly the amount I needed to cover my father's overdue medication.
My hands shook as I held it, my heart thudding painfully in my chest.
I rushed outside, scanning the streets, hoping—desperately—that I might see him.
But there was no trace of that man.
No familiar calm gaze.
No quiet presence in the background.
Just the city… loud, indifferent, and endless.
That night, as I sat by my father's bedside, listening to his shallow breaths finally ease with the help of the medicine, I stared at the ceiling and whispered into the dark:
"Who are you… and why do you care?"
But deep down, I already knew.
This wasn't the last time our paths would cross.
Somewhere out there…
He was waiting.
For me to be ready.