Mrs. Brown’s thin hands rested on the blanket. She tried to lift them, perhaps to fix her hair, but lacked the strength. Everything about her seemed small—her wrists, the hollows in her cheeks, the apologetic way she looked at him. He cleared his throat to steady himself. He’d spent years hiding weakness, but now, none of that seemed worth protecting.
Mia stood quietly at her mother’s side, one hand on the bed frame, watching Ryan with a seriousness too heavy for her age. He wanted to ease her worry, but his mind was blank of the rehearsed lines used in tough meetings.
“I just wanted to check on you,” he said finally, surprised by how strange the words sounded in his voice. “When we didn’t hear from you, I thought I should see for myself.”
Mrs. Brown closed her eyes briefly, her breath catching before she spoke. “I didn’t want to cause trouble,” she said faintly. “I thought if I rested a few days, I could return to work, and no one would need to know.” She opened her eyes, her expression filled with sadness that hollowed his chest. “But I can’t even stand for more than a minute. I don’t know what we’re going to do.”
Ryan looked at Mia, who shifted as if bracing for blame. Instead, he pulled a chair closer and sat, uncaring that his suit wrinkled. None of that mattered here—not his clothing, not his status. He folded his hands, searching for a way to show he wasn’t here to criticize. He noticed how often Mrs. Brown’s eyes flicked to Mia, more concerned for her daughter than her own illness.
“Mia told me you were sick,” he said. Her shoulders pulled inward, ashamed of burdening her daughter. “I’m sorry I raised my voice,” he continued. “I didn’t understand what was going on.”
“You didn’t have to come,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I know you’re busy.”
“But I did come,” he interrupted gently, his voice quiet but firm. He turned to Mia, who stood still, eyes wide. “And I’m glad I came.”
The room fell silent, save for the low hum of the refrigerator. He noticed the apartment’s cleanliness despite her illness—folded laundry, rinsed cups drying on the counter. That quiet order showed she’d spent her life caring for others without expecting help. The thought that she’d tried to work while barely able to stand hit him hard.
“You don’t have to worry about your job,” he said, choosing each word carefully. “You’ll have the time you need to get better. And I’ll make sure you have what you need in the meantime.”
Her lips parted as if to object, but only a soft exhale came. Tears welled in her eyes. She looked down, blinking rapidly, but they slid down her cheeks. Mia stepped closer, curling her small fingers around her mother’s limp ones. Ryan watched that gentle connection, and something settled deep inside him. He wouldn’t walk away from this.
“I don’t want charity,” Mrs. Brown said, more a plea than a protest.
He shook his head. “It’s not charity,” he replied. “It’s the least I can do. No one should face this alone.”
Mia looked up, searching his face as if gauging his truthfulness. He held her gaze, steady and calm. After a moment, she rested her cheek on her mother’s shoulder, her face softening. The quiet trust in that gesture tightened his chest, and he looked away, clearing his throat.
Ryan stayed longer than expected. The living room’s light shifted from dull gray to soft gold. He stopped noticing the time, his buzzing phone, or the meetings he was meant to lead. None of it mattered here. He hadn’t arrived with a plan, but he needed to understand their struggles, to see them, not as a report line but as real.
He asked gentle questions. Mrs. Brown explained how the illness crept in during winter, how she’d kept working, scared of losing her job’s security. She described collapsing in the hallway after pushing herself too far, always checking Mia’s face to gauge how much her daughter could bear. She’d worked hard to shield Mia, though Mia clearly knew the truth.
Ryan watched Mia’s face, her hand never leaving her mother’s arm. Her bravery—braver than a child should need to be—felt like a stone in his chest. When Mrs. Brown’s voice weakened, Mia offered a glass of water with both hands. Ryan steadied it as she sipped, and when she lay back, her breathing eased. She opened her eyes, embarrassed.