When we walked back into the café, the same people who had looked at us with judgment before were still there. But Tina didn’t flinch. She stood tall and said, clear as day, “This café doesn’t tolerate discrimination. If that bothers anyone, you’re free to leave.”
The room fell silent. And for the first time that morning, Ben smiled again.
We started visiting once a week. Tina always had our table ready — and extra whipped cream on Ben’s cocoa. He’d draw her pictures of dragons and superheroes, and she’d tuck them behind the counter like treasures.
Some days, she’d stop by our little house after work, bringing muffins or second-hand books. Slowly, she became part of our lives.
And Ben, who had been so quiet and guarded since losing his parents, began to laugh again.
A Family Found
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