And that one hit harder.
Why do anything good when your reputation pays you better for doing the opposite?
I could’ve given her something simple. Because it’s the right thing. But kids can smell canned answers.
So I told her the truth.
“Because you asked,” I said. “And because nobody should have to ask twice.”
Meera’s eyes got glossy again. She pushed her face into my chest.
Somewhere behind us, a door swung open and a man in a suit walked in with tired eyes and a badge clipped to his belt.
Detective Morrison.
He stopped when he saw us, his expression turning into the kind of skepticism you could spread on toast.
“Thomas,” he said, like my name tasted unpleasant. “Didn’t expect to see you playing guardian angel.”
I kept my voice low so Meera wouldn’t wake fully. “Didn’t expect to be.”
His gaze slid to Meera. His tone changed, not warmer, but more careful. “I need a statement.”
I handed him my phone with the text still open.
He read it. Watched his own assumptions stumble.
Time stamp: 9:47 PM.
Arrival call logged: 9:48.
911 call: 10:05.
