Dorothy reached for his hand. “He’s not an ex-con,” she whispered. “He’s a promise-keeper. He made a promise to his mother. And he’s keeping it—with me.”
The children were stunned. Legal threats vanished.
Dorothy smiled through tears. “Yes. And Michael remembers. You didn’t.”
I returned to my apartment, door closed, but I kept listening.
No more shouting. Just voices. Then laughter.
I peeked out. The door to 4B was open. The kids were at the table. Michael was making tea. Dorothy told a story about George, voice strong and sure.
No one checked their phones. No one watched the clock.
Michael hadn’t just saved Dorothy from loneliness—he’d brought her back to life. And in doing so, he gave her children back to her.
For the first time, I didn’t need to watch. She wasn’t alone anymore.
