Only His On Paper

I slip out the back door of the diner, blinking at the glare of the streetlight. It's past midnight and cold as hell, but the chill isn't bothering me as much as the ache in my bones. From behind me, I can hear the clink of coffee cups and a manager's last half-hearted "Good job tonight, Ava." I force a smile but it tastes like chalk in my throat. Another long night, another dollar that disappears as fast as the diner's leftover fries in my stomach.

I carry a coffee in one hand, my purse and a grocery bag stuffed with leftover toast and fruit loops in the other. No gourmet meal for us tonight, but Lily will eat. That's all that matters. By the time I climb into the cab that will take me home, I'll be counting every cent again. Bus fare, Lily's meds, rent, it's a brutal math I have memorized: no wiggle room, no safety net.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. When I pull it out, I see Lily's name, the call already half-over. Her weak voice is just like I left it this morning: patient, a little teasing. "Hey, superstar. Rubbing it in, leaving me alone to start all the morning chores?" I grin, even though it hurts to smile. "Sorry, kid. You know I love you. Just finishing up. How are you feeling?"

She mumbles something about a headache and white walls, and I worry all over again. I hate the damn hospital; hate that we can't afford a private room; hate that this disease turned my sister, my best friend, into a scared child every night. "Everything's gonna be okay," I lie, smoothing imaginary wobbles out of her voice. "I'm on my way. Try to sleep."

I hang up and set the cheap Styrofoam cup down on the curb. The heat faded hours ago, but it'll do for one more minute, just to pretend there's something warm in me.

In the gutter at my feet, I notice something shiny. Busted dreams, maybe. But it's just a rusty old parking token someone dropped. My eyes sting, shouldn't cry here, shouldn't let the tears mix with the street grime. I blink it away and pick up the token, even though it feels wrong, like stealing from a stranger.

The bus stop is lit by a flickering bulb and smells like someone took a shortcut from the dumpster to the restroom. I stand under the sign, shifting from foot to foot, trying to stay awake. Every shadow feels like it's creeping closer, waiting to snatch me down an alley. People pass by in pairs or groups, warm and laughing, looking like they belong somewhere. None of them glance at me, a walking ghost with hollow eyes.

Somebody coughs behind me. I whirl around, thinking maybe a mugger, but it's just Gary from the laundromat. He's been working nights like I have, just me and him and a thousand folding machines. Gary's got red stains on his shirt from the bleach and a tired smile. "Rough night?" he asks me quietly.

I shrug. "Same grind, different day." The lie feels like gravel in my mouth. I want to tell him about Lily's latest blood work, and how my last paycheck didn't even cover two days of food this week. But I clamp my jaw shut. We both know it's survival mode: fake it, keep going.

Gary steps onto the bus just as the engine growls awake. I force myself to smile a thank-you at the driver, holding the token out. "No, Ava. It's okay," he says, interrupting my half-sentence. "You earned it."

I hesitate, I already feel like I've taken so much from this city. But there's such warmth in Gary's eyes, no pity, just plain human kindness. I realize I don't have the words to refuse, so I let him pay the extra fare. Sometimes pride is a luxury we can't afford.

The ride home passes in silence. I study the faces on the seats, each one lost in their own night. Under the streetlights, everyone looks older and lonelier, and for once I don't feel alone. They have their own wars, their debts, their sleepless nights. One man is quietly sobbing into his tie. Maybe he's richer than me, but he might feel poorer inside.

When I finally get off, the sky is still dark and the city's noise seems softer, tired from the night. I'm on 23rd and Park; our apartment is a ten-minute walk north.

My stomach growls. I wonder if I can scrounge something to eat before Lily wakes. A greasy burger at a nearby fast-food joint? But two dollars and thirty-nine cents won't get a meal these days. Never mind. I keep walking, head down.

Every few blocks I drag my feet a little more. I stop at a payphone (I'm too broke even for a car charger), hoping for some loose change for once. But the slot is empty, just like my wallet's last breath.

Ahead, a sleek black sedan slows down beside me. I force myself to look up, thinking the driver's lost or something. I shouldn't be surprised in New York; the city's strange rules let money buy anything. The tinted window slides down, and I freeze.

Behind the wheel is a man in a perfectly tailored suit. His eyes are calm, cool as the city night. "Ava?" he asks quietly. Not a question, more a confirmation. The name sounds strange on his lips, meant for me.

My heart leaps into my throat. Of all the names out there, he knows mine. A bad joke, or a miracle, maybe both.

I don't answer. Instead, I glance at the rest of the car. No police badge, no ambulance lights, just the hum of the idling engine. I recognize the make: something ridiculously expensive I've only seen on men who don't even look down on people like me.

He offers a small smile. "May I give you a ride?" he says, voice like velvet. The question hangs in the air, heavy with something I can't quite place.

I pull my coat tighter around me. Every part of me wants to say No, that nothing ever comes for free, and that I could run faster than he could. But then again, I could also use a miracle.

"I have an offer for you," he adds softly, eyes steady. The words hang between us, heavy with something I haven't dared to hope for.

My hands tremble on the cool metal of the car door. He opens it. I freeze, unsure if I'm dreaming or if he's real. The door swings open beside me.

I breathe deeply, the world narrowing to this one moment. My heart hammers; I hesitate at the threshold, torn between stepping inside and turning back out into the night.