David, younger — before the streets, before the frostbite. Standing beside two laughing kids and a tiny black kitten with wild eyes. Mara.
Now she was sprawled on the bed like she owned it, which, Mike joked, she probably did. “She lets me use the bed as long as I pay her in tuna,” David said, grinning, a spark in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. He looked better and less haunted.
His beard was trimmed, and his hands didn’t shake as he poured Mike a cup of lukewarm coffee. “I’ve been doing odd jobs,” David said. “Cleaning the building, fixing stuff when they let me.
I haven’t had a drink in… 61 days.”
“That’s incredible,” Mike said. David nodded.
“Yeah. I guess it is.”
“I wrote them. My kids.
Just told them I’m still here. Not asking for anything. Just… trying.”
Mike didn’t say anything.
He didn’t have to. “My daughter wrote back,” David said, voice catching. “Said she’s not ready to see me yet.
But… she said thank you. For keeping Mara safe.
Said she never stopped loving her. And that she’s trying to figure out how she feels about me.”
Mike swallowed hard. “You know,” David said, eyes misty, “for the first time in years… I don’t feel like trash someone left on the sidewalk.” Mike smiled.
“You never were.”
Do you think David deserved the treatment he received from his wife?
