Edward Vaughn sat in the leather armchair in his office, surrounded by silent walls and expensive furniture that no longer meant anything. Hanging directly above the fireplace was the portrait of his wife, Eleanor, with that gentle smile that seemed to gaze at him even from beyond the grave. Two years had passed since the accident that everyone believed had killed her. Two years of flowers on an empty grave. Two years of sleepless nights talking to a photograph.

He raised his glass of whiskey, more out of habit than enjoyment. Nothing tasted like anything after that.

The silence was so thick you could almost touch it, until a voice tore through it like a knife: —She’s alive, sir. I saw that woman.

Edward blinked, thinking he had imagined those words. He turned, annoyed, toward the office door. There, standing trembling, covered in dust and with his clothes almost in tatters, was a boy of about ten. He was clutching a worn-out cap tightly in his hands.

“What did you say, boy?” Edward asked, frowning.

The boy swallowed, but did not take his eyes off the man’s face.

“The woman in that photo,” he said, nodding his chin at Eleanor’s portrait. “I saw her yesterday… She’s alive.”

Laughter erupted instantly from two nearby security guards. One of them snorted:

—Come on, kid, don’t talk nonsense. That lady died years ago.

Edward also smiled, but it was a dry, incredulous, almost hurt smile.

“Listen, boy,” he said, rising slowly. “That woman is my wife. And she’s dead. Don’t joke about something like that.”

The boy took a step forward. His eyes, dark and sunken with hunger, shone with something Edward couldn’t define. Fear? Courage? Truth?

“I’m not lying, sir,” the boy said, his voice breaking but firm. “I saw her on a deserted street near the old train station. She was lying on the ground, weak and dirty… but alive. She asked me for water… and food. She told me her name was Eleanor. She asked me to come here… that you would listen if I said her name.”

The glass slipped from Edward’s hand and shattered on the floor. The sound echoed off the office walls like a gunshot. The guards stopped laughing. For a moment, no one breathed.

Edward felt something in his chest that he thought he had buried forever: hope. But hope hurt.

“What’s your name?” he asked, trying to hide the tremor in his voice.

—Gabriel, sir.

—And what do you want in return for continuing to talk, Gabriel?

The boy looked down at his own stomach, which growled at that moment as if it were answering for him.

—Just… a plate of food, sir. Let me eat… and I’ll take you to the place where I saw her.

Those words fell into the room like a sentence. Edward looked at the boy, thin as a thread, his hands dirty, but his eyes filled with a truth impossible to feign. Something inside him broke… or perhaps it began to mend.

Somewhere, very close by, the past was about to start stirring again. And with it, a truth that would turn her whole world upside down.

The maid brought Gabriel a plate overflowing with food. The boy sat on the floor, oblivious to the expensive rug, and began to eat with an urgency that was painful to watch. Edward observed him silently, with a strange mixture of tenderness and fear.

“Tell me exactly where you saw her,” he finally asked.

Gabriel wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

—Near the old bridge, sir, next to the old factory, where hardly anyone goes anymore. She was with a big black dog. I brought her water from a fountain, but she just kept saying she was hungry and that I should come and get you. And she told me to tell you that… that the dog was still with her.

Edward’s blood ran cold. Ranger.

No one outside the family knew the dog’s name. Ranger had disappeared the same day as Eleanor’s accident. The police assumed he had driven off the cliff with the car. They never found him. Just like they never found Eleanor’s body.

“Bring the car,” Edward ordered one of the guards without taking his eyes off the boy. “And get him some warm clothing.”

Gabriel looked at him, surprised.

—So… do you believe me?

Edward didn’t know what to answer. Not entirely. Not yet. But the mere thought that there was even the slightest possibility that Eleanor was alive pierced his chest.

“I believe you enough to check,” he finally said. “And if you’re lying to me, kid, you’ve chosen the wrong man.”

Gabriel swallowed. But his eyes did not waver.

Minutes later, a black car sped along the city’s cobblestone streets. Edward drove silently, his eyes fixed on the road. Gabriel, in the passenger seat, clutched his old cap, trying not to think about what would happen if he was wrong.

“Do you usually lie, Gabriel?” Edward asked without looking at him.

“No, sir,” the boy replied almost instantly. “On the street, if you lie, sooner or later you’ll get beaten up… or you’ll go hungry.”

Edward turned his head, just for a second, to get a better look. Then he recognized him: it was the cook’s son, the one who worked at the mansion some days. He always saw him from afar, helping his mother carry bags. He’d never paid him any attention.

Until today.

The city was left behind and the landscape became drier, more desolate, filled with abandoned buildings and overgrown grass. The car turned onto a dirt road that made the chassis vibrate.

“It’s that way,” Gabriel said, pointing toward some ruins in the distance. “Near that broken factory.”

Edward slowed down. The wind whistled through the broken windows of the old building, producing an eerie sound. Everything smelled of rust, dampness, and neglect.

When the car stopped, Gabriel was the first to get out. The boy walked forward purposefully, as if he knew every stone in the road.

“She was there, sir,” he said, pointing to a peeling wall. “Lying on the floor, on an old blanket. And here, next to her, the dog.”

Edward walked slowly, his heart pounding in his ribs. On the floor, just as Gabriel had described, lay a threadbare blanket, a bowl with dried food scraps, and fresh, small paw prints. He knelt and ran his hand over them.

“My God…” she whispered.

Suddenly, a bark sounded in the distance. A hoarse, worn-out bark, but unmistakable. Gabriel and Edward looked at each other.

“It’s him,” said the boy. “It’s the dog.”

They ran toward the sound. From behind a half-collapsed wall, among torn sacks and damp boxes, appeared a black dog, thin, dirty, but alive. As soon as it saw Edward, it whimpered and wagged its tail with a mixture of joy and relief.

—Ranger… —Edward’s voice broke—. Is it really you?

He knelt down and hugged him tightly, burying his face in his matted fur. The dog, between licks and whimpers, seemed to both reproach and forgive him for all those years of absence.

Gabriel smiled silently. For him, there was no doubt: no one could fake something like that.

Edward then noticed a piece of fabric under the blanket. He pulled it out. It was a piece of scarf with hand-embroidered edges. He recognized it instantly; Eleanor always wore it over her shoulders.

He brought it to his face, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. It smelled of dust and dampness… but, in his mind, it still smelled of her.

“She was here,” he murmured. “Eleanor… you were here.”

Gabriel approached cautiously.

—If he left… do you think he escaped, sir?

“Eleanor wouldn’t run away from me,” Edward replied, almost automatically. But doubt gnawed at him. “Or at least… she wouldn’t have before.”

The dog barked again, this time near some stacked boxes. He began to dig furiously. Gabriel helped him, pushing aside damp earth with his small hands. From there they pulled out a small wooden box, covered in dried mud.

Edward took it with trembling fingers. He opened it.

Inside was a silver necklace and a folded piece of paper. The necklace had the initials “E & E” engraved on the back, a wedding gift. The paper, on the other hand, took her breath away.

It was Eleanor’s handwriting.

“If anyone finds this, tell Edward I’m alive. I need help. But I can’t go back. They’re still looking for me.”

Edward’s world tilted. He clung to a box, gasping for breath.

“So… so it’s true,” Gabriel whispered. “She’s really alive.”

Edward clutched the paper to his chest. Tears he had vowed never to cry again began to well up.

Somewhere, his wife had been on the run for two years. And he had continued living surrounded by luxury, convinced that nothing could be done. The echo of that guilt would be the driving force behind everything that followed.

That night, Edward barely spoke. They returned to an old, half-abandoned gas station, the only place open on that highway. He bought bread and water for Gabriel, and, while the boy ate, he called an old acquaintance: former investigator Detective Reynolds, who had handled Eleanor’s case back then.

—Reynolds —he said without even saying hello—, I need you to reopen what happened with my wife.

—Edward, it’s two in the morning —protested the voice on the other end—. That case is more than closed.

“She’s alive,” the millionaire blurted out. “The note is hers, I found the dog, I found her scarf. And someone was manipulating everything.”

There was a long silence.

“You know playing with that is dangerous,” Reynolds warned. “The last time I tried to go further, I was taken off the case. There are powerful people involved. Your lawyer, for example.”

Edward felt a chill.

—Alan? My lawyer?

—He asked for the case to be closed. He negotiated with the mechanic, Robert Sanders. Afterward, they both disappeared. I couldn’t do anything more.

The line went silent for a few seconds. Edward looked at Gabriel, asleep in the back seat, with the dog curled up beside him.

He stroked the boy’s head with a vacant expression. A poor child had just opened a door that should never have been closed.

The next day, after leaving Gabriel at his mother’s house for a few hours to rest, Edward showed up unannounced at the mansion of lawyer Alan Cooper. The guards let him in immediately. No one imagined that this encounter would mark the beginning of the end.

Alan was in his office, reading the newspaper. When he saw Edward, he smiled with that perfectly rehearsed courtesy.

—Edward, what an unexpected visit.

The millionaire didn’t return the greeting. He walked straight to his desk and placed on the table Robert’s old identification badge, the mechanic’s badge, which they had found at the factory the night before among scattered papers and remnants of the torn note.

“Does this name ring a bell?” Edward asked.

The lawyer adjusted his glasses.

—Robert Sanders… your wife’s mechanic, if I’m not mistaken.

—Exactly. I found her ID in the same place where I found Eleanor’s necklace. And her note too. She’s alive, Alan.

The lawyer paled for barely a second. Just long enough for Edward to notice. Then he forced a smile.

“You’ve been suffering for years,” he said. “It’s normal that you want to believe…”

Edward slammed his fist on the table.

—I found evidence. I found the dog. And I know you closed the case and paid the mechanic. Why?

Sweat began to appear on Alan’s forehead.

“I was just following orders,” he murmured. “It was for the best for everyone. There was a lot at stake.”

“Orders from whom?” Edward insisted.

The lawyer fell silent. The silence grew heavy with tension. From the hallway came a bang: Gabriel, unable to bear waiting in the car, had walked over and accidentally knocked over a vase.

Alan peeked out and saw the boy.

—And this boy?

“He was the one who saw her,” Edward replied. “Thanks to him, I found Eleanor’s trail.”

The lawyer’s eyes fixed on Gabriel in a way the boy didn’t like at all. There was something cold there, something he knew well: the same glint he saw in the eyes of the dangerous men in the neighborhood when they looked at something valuable.

Alan put down the newspaper, sighed, and said softly:

—Okay, I’ll tell you something… but not here. Tonight. In the old shed by the river. The same place where I used to meet with Robert.

Edward looked at him suspiciously.

—And why should I believe you?

—Because if you don’t go today, tomorrow might be too late. For you. And for her.

The night wind cut through their skin as Edward’s car approached the rusty shed by the river. Gabriel was in the back seat, hugging the dog, who kept growling into the darkness.

“Are you sure we should come?” the boy whispered.

“I’m not sure about anything,” Edward replied. “But if it all started here, it can end here.”

The shed was a large, old building with broken windows and a half-fallen fence. A flickering light shone through one of the cracks.

They entered slowly. The beam of the flashlight swept over boxes, rusty tools, a dirty mattress thrown in a corner… and a scarf identical to Eleanor’s, folded on top of a box.

—Eleanor… —Edward whispered, taking her in his trembling hands.

A metallic noise sounded from behind some boxes. Edward turned the flashlight.

—Who’s there?

From the shadows emerged a thin man with an unkempt beard and old clothes: Robert Sanders, the mechanic everyone thought was missing.

Upon seeing him, he took a step back.

“Relax,” he said. “I don’t want any trouble.”

“You already have them,” Edward replied, approaching. “Where’s Eleanor?”

Robert looked around, paranoid, as if he expected someone armed to appear at any moment.

“She saved me,” she said softly. “They cut her car’s brakes. I was going to warn you, but they got there first. They wanted to kill me too. ‘Run,’ she told me. ‘Disappear.’ And she… escaped as best she could.”

Gabriel listened with wide eyes.

“And where is he now?” he asked.

Robert hesitated.

“He was here until two days ago. He said he was going to get help. But he left this to you.”

He took a crumpled envelope from his pocket and gave it to Edward. The millionaire opened it. Inside, a letter written in Eleanor’s shaky handwriting.

“Edward, if you’re reading this, it means the danger is still there. I’ve uncovered the truth behind the contract you signed. Don’t trust anyone, not even those who have dined at your table. If anything happens to me, the proof is in the company records. That’s where the reason for everything lies.”

Edward felt the name of the contract—that major merger he had closed shortly before the “accident”—stab him like a dagger. Money laundering. Illegal use of his company. And he, blind, trusting.

He was about to ask more questions when a car’s headlights illuminated the shed entrance. The dog barked furiously. Gabriel clung to Edward’s arm.

“It’s them,” Robert whispered, livid. “They found me.”

The gunshots pierced the night. The metallic clang echoed inside the shed. Robert tried to run to the back, but he fell to the ground with a thud, like a puppet being cut. Gabriel screamed. Edward held him tight.

“Don’t look,” he told her. “Run!”

They left through a side exit, stumbling over planks and cans. They climbed into the car almost blindly. Edward started the engine with trembling hands. In the distance, the lights of the shed were getting smaller, but the echo of the gunshots kept bouncing around in the boy’s head.

“He died… for helping us,” Gabriel said, his voice breaking.

“He died because of them,” Edward replied. “And I’m not going to let his death go unpunished.”

Hours later, with his arm burning from the gunshot wound he would later receive, his mind racing and his heart shattered, Edward parked near the river, in a secluded spot that Robert had mentioned before dying: an old house, almost hidden among the trees.

The fog enveloped everything. Gabriel slept in the back seat, exhausted, hugging the dog. Edward reread Eleanor’s letter in the car’s dim light. Her trembling words seemed to speak directly into his ear.

A crackling of branches made him look up. Through the fog, a small, hunched figure approached slowly, wearing a light coat and with a weary gait.

—Eleanor… —Edward whispered, in disbelief—. Eleanor.

The figure stopped. Then it took two more steps forward. The flashlight illuminated a pale, thinner face, marked by fear and time, but unmistakable.

It was her.

Edward ran towards her, stumbling over the stones. When he reached her, he took her in his arms as if he feared she might vanish.

—My God… it’s you. It really is you.

Eleanor smiled weakly and stroked his cheek.

“I told you I’d come back to you… if you were still alive,” he joked, his voice cracking with exhaustion.

Gabriel, awakened by the noise, got out of the car and stood still, staring at the scene with wide eyes. The dog, seeing Eleanor, rushed towards her, wagging its tail and whining.

—Ranger… —she whispered, hugging him too—. You did it, kid.

After a long while, Edward stepped back just to look at her better.

“Why, Eleanor?” he asked. “Why fake your death? Why not go home?”

She lowered her gaze.

“I tried to protect you,” she replied. “I found out what Alan and that international fund were doing with your company. They wanted your signature to launder money. When I refused to stay silent, they cut the car’s brakes. They thought I was dead. Robert helped me escape. If I had gone back to you… they would have killed you too.”

Edward closed his eyes. He remembered every time he had doubted her “intuitions” about the partners, every conversation he had avoided to keep his work and personal life separate. The weight of that guilt was almost physical.

He didn’t have time to say anything else.

The sound of an engine came from the road. Powerful headlights pierced the fog. Eleanor paled.

“They found us…” he whispered.

Edward looked around, searching for a way out. Eleanor pointed to a narrow path behind some trees.

—That way. You can cross the river over some rocks. I did it once.

“Come on,” said Gabriel, grabbing Eleanor’s hand. “Quickly.”

The three of them took off running, with the dog in front, barking nervously. Behind them, a voice amplified by a makeshift megaphone echoed through the trees:

—Edward Vaughn, don’t run away! You know too much!

It was Alan.

The bullets began whizzing overhead, kicking up dirt and sparks as they struck the rocks. Eleanor stumbled, but Edward caught her.

They reached the riverbank. The current was strong, but there was a stone path across, slippery but passable. Gabriel jumped in first, with the dog nimbly following.

Edward was helping Eleanor put her foot on the first rock when he felt a burning blow to his shoulder. A bullet had hit him. He staggered, but gritted his teeth.

“I’m fine…” she lied. “Go on!”

They crossed as best they could. Once on the other side, they hid behind a fallen tree trunk. Eleanor tore a piece of her dress and pressed the wound with trembling hands.

“You should have left me,” she said through tears. “I should have stayed hidden.”

Edward looked her in the eyes and, even with the pain still throbbing in his throat, he smiled.

—I haven’t spent two years dying inside… just to leave you alone now.

On the other side of the river, Alan appeared with two armed men. He raised a megaphone.

—Turn yourself in, Edward. The police will think you killed the mechanic. You’re lost anyway.

Edward took Eleanor’s letter out of his pocket and held it up in the air.

“I have proof,” he shouted. “The contract, the documents, your signature, your accounts. You can kill me, but the world will know.”

Alan laughed.

“Pray that the world will want to listen to you,” he replied, signaling one of his men to take aim.

Just then, the wail of a siren pierced the fog. Another. And another. Blue lights began to blink among the trees that faced the main road.

Alan cursed under his breath.

Gabriel looked at Edward and whispered:

—They’ve arrived.

“Who called them?” Edward asked, troubled.

The boy lowered his voice, almost ashamed.

—Me. When you spoke to the mechanic, I took the phone from one of the men at the gas station and called 112. I didn’t know if we’d have time, but…

Edward looked at him as if he were witnessing a miracle.

Within minutes, several police cars blocked the road. Alan and his men tried to flee, but they were stopped. Shouts, orders, handcuffs. It all happened in the distance, on the other side of the river, as the fog began to lift.

Edward felt his strength leaving him. Blood trickled down his arm. Eleanor held him tightly.

“Don’t fall asleep,” he pleaded. “Not now.”

He looked at her, tired, and managed to manage a smile.

—Promise me that… you will live. Without hiding.

“I promise,” she replied, her voice breaking. “But you’re coming with me.”

When it was all over, the sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon. The river seemed calmer. The sirens gradually faded away. The air smelled of smoke, damp earth, and something no one could yet name: beginning.

Edward sat in an ambulance, his shoulder bandaged and his face pale, but conscious. Eleanor, sitting beside him, held his hand tightly. Gabriel, covered in mud up to his knees, stood with the dog beside him, watching as Alan was led away in handcuffs to a patrol car.

An inspector approached.

“Mr. Vaughn,” he said, showing his badge, “in the lawyer’s car we found a USB drive with documents, cash, and several forged contracts. Your partner had been looting your company for years.”

Edward closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and murmured:

—Eleanor tried to warn me… and I didn’t want to listen to her.

The inspector looked at him with a certain humanity in his eyes.

—You will have to testify, but… from what we have seen, you are more of a victim than a suspect.

Eleanor stroked his face with a pained tenderness.

“You found me,” she whispered. “Even without knowing if I was alive… you came.”

Edward looked towards the boy, who was further away, pouring water for the dog from a bottle.

“It wasn’t me,” he said. “It was him.”

Gabriel approached with his usual shyness.

“Sir…” he stammered. “If you’d like… I can take care of the dog while I’m in the hospital.”

Edward smiled, tired but sincere.

—Of course, son. I think he’s already chosen you.

The boy scratched the animal’s ear, and it wagged its tail happily.

—I like him… and you too, although sometimes you look unfriendly.

Eleanor couldn’t help but laugh. Edward reached out and ruffled the boy’s hair.

—You are brave, Gabriel. You did what many adults didn’t dare to do.

“My mother says you don’t have to be grown up to do the right thing,” the boy replied.

Hours later, at the hospital, while the doctors attended to Edward and finally offered Eleanor a clean bed where she could sleep without fear, Gabriel waited in the hallway with the dog. His mother, the cook, came running in, her apron still stained with flour.

—Gabriel! What have you done? I almost had a heart attack when they called your name at the police station!

The boy hugged her.

—I helped, Mom. I just helped. And everything turned out fine.

She didn’t quite understand what had happened, but when she looked into his eyes, full of life and something new, her heart softened.

“You have your father’s heart,” he whispered. “Always helping those in need.”

Across the corridor, Edward looked out the window and saw Alan’s hunched figure drive by in a patrol car, handcuffed and staring at the ground. Strangely, he felt no hatred. Only a heavy sadness.

—Blind ambition and fear finish off what’s left—he murmured. —But good… good always finds a way.

Sometimes, that path is only ten years old and goes with dirty clothes and a worn-out cap in hand.

The following days were a whirlwind of news, interviews, headlines: “Corruption scandal uncovered by injured millionaire”, “Wife declared dead reappears after two years”, “Prestigious lawyer arrested for money laundering and attempted homicide”.

But the most important thing wasn’t in any newspaper.

In a bright hospital room, Edward and Eleanor gazed at each other as if everything were starting anew. Outside, in the hallway, Gabriel played with the dog, laughing heartily. Life, little by little, was finding its own way back.

The police chief arrived one morning with an envelope in his hand and a more relaxed smile.

“I have two pieces of news,” he said. “First: the lawyer confessed. He admitted to the plan, the sabotage of the car, and the attempt to launder money using his company. Second… this is for you, Gabriel.”

The boy opened his eyes in surprise when the inspector handed him the envelope. Inside was a simple but solemn certificate and a letter.

“It’s an official acknowledgment of your help,” the inspector explained. “And a scholarship. The court, along with Mr. Vaughn’s company, has decided to pay for your studies.”

Gabriel was speechless.

“A… scholarship?” he repeated. “But… I didn’t ask for anything.”

—That’s how life works sometimes— Edward chimed in. —Every now and then, it rewards those who do the right thing without expecting anything in return.

The dog barked softly, as if in agreement. Eleanor approached, kneeling in front of Gabriel.

“The world needs more kids who listen with their hearts,” he said, handing her a small wooden box.

Inside was a leather bracelet with a small silver plaque that read: “Translate what the heart says.”

“That’s what you did for us,” she added. “You turned fear into courage, doubt into action.”

Gabriel clutched the gift to his chest, fighting back tears.

—Thank you… —she whispered.

Weeks later, with the case closing in court and life trying to regain its rhythm, Edward walked through the city’s main square with a briefcase under his arm. Sunday dawned slowly, with the smell of freshly baked bread and church bells.

Among the children running around selling paper flowers, he saw him: Gabriel, sitting on a bench, with the dog lying at his feet and a small pile of handmade flowers beside him.

“Look who’s rich now,” Edward joked, approaching. “You sell flowers to everyone.”

Gabriel laughed.

“It’s to help the school, sir. The teacher said we need to save up for a field trip.”

“And how much does a flower cost for me?” Edward asked, sitting down next to her.

—Nothing. You already paid… with dinner the other night.

They remained silent for a moment, watching the people come and go. The dog rested its snout on their knees, asking for affection.

“Are you still dreaming about the woman from the river?” Gabriel asked suddenly.

Edward smiled.

“Not anymore,” she replied. “She’s home now. This morning she told me she’s going to teach me how to live slowly. I think I need it.”

—Yes —Gabriel agreed—. You were always going too fast.

“And you?” Edward asked. “Is the idea of being a mechanic still on the table?”

The boy shook his head.

—No, sir. I want to be a translator.

Edward raised an eyebrow, amused.

-Translator?

—Yes. To help people who don’t understand each other. Like I did with you and Mrs. Eleanor. I think the world needs more people who listen before they speak.

Edward looked at him, with a mixture of pride and amazement. Sometimes, wisdom comes in very small packages.

—You’ll go far, kid.

He then opened the briefcase and took out a folder.

“I want to show you something,” he said, handing her a sheet of paper with his company logo. “I’ve decided to change the name of one of the workshops. From now on it will be called ‘Gabriel & Ranger Workshop.’”

Gabriel’s eyes opened wide.

—But… sir… I’m just a child.

“A child who did more for me than many adults in suits and ties,” Edward replied. “This is a thank you… and an invitation. I want you to grow up knowing you’ll always have a place to come back to. The world needs honest people. And so do I.”

Gabriel held the paper as if it were a treasure. He couldn’t find the words. And perhaps none were needed. Silence, sometimes, speaks louder than any words.

Then, on the other side of the square, Eleanor appeared with a headscarf and a bag of bread in her hand. She raised her arm to greet them. Edward stood up and waited for her. When she arrived, she leaned toward Gabriel and hugged him.

“I don’t know if the world has gotten better,” she said, looking at them both. “But I do know that, thanks to a ten-year-old boy, we have another chance.”

The three of them started walking across the square, side by side. No one who saw them would have imagined the story that bound them together: a millionaire who almost lost everything, a woman who had to fake her death to save herself, and a child who arrived asking for a plate of food and ended up changing their lives.

Life doesn’t always shout. Sometimes it whispers. It whispers in the voice of a child who dares to say, “I saw her.” It whispers in the bark of a dog that remembers a home. It whispers in the heart of someone who chooses to believe, even though it hurts.

And when you least expect it, what seemed like the absolute end becomes a new beginning.

Because, in the end, kindness exists. Sometimes it hides. Sometimes it’s afraid. But it always, always finds a way to appear. Even if it’s in the form of a barefoot child who knocks on your door and says:

—Sir… her story isn’t over yet. I saw her. And she’s alive.