Her face crumpled.
“Oh, Claire.”
She covered her mouth with one hand, and tears began running down her cheeks.
I moved around the table and knelt beside her chair as carefully as my pregnancy allowed.
“Please don't cry.”
“I can't help it.”
She reached for me, and I wrapped my arms around her.
For a moment, we simply held one another.
She was so small that I could feel the bones of her shoulders through her sweater.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you so much.”
“You're welcome.”
“I don't know what I would have done.”
“You don't have to worry about that tonight.”
She drew back and wiped her face.
“I wish I could give you something.”
“You don't need to give me anything.”
“But you've done so much.”
I smiled.
“You made Emma cookies. You brought me soup. You have spent hours listening to me talk about Daniel. You have helped me more than you realize.”
She shook her head as if she could not accept the comparison.
“Those were little things.”
“Sometimes little things are exactly what someone needs.”
She looked at me for a long moment.
Then she nodded slowly.
“I suppose you're right.”
I stood and helped her move the blankets away from the door so she could get to the hallway more easily.
The payment had been made, but the electricity was not yet back on. I told her that we should call the company to confirm the reconnection process and ask how quickly service could be restored.
She agreed.
We contacted customer service, and after a short conversation, she was told that the payment had been received and that reconnection would be arranged according to the company's process.
I wrote down the information for her.
Before leaving, I checked that she had a working phone, enough food for the evening, and a plan to keep herself comfortable until the electricity returned.
I also told her that she should call me if she felt unwell or needed help.
“I don't want to wake you in the middle of the night,” she said.
“Then call me in the middle of the night.”
She gave a small, watery laugh.
“You make that sound very simple.”
“It is simple.”
I pulled my coat back on.
At the door, she took my hand again.
“Claire, I want you to know that I will never forget this.”
I smiled.
“You don't have to remember the bill. Just remember that you can ask for help.”
She nodded.
I stepped out into the cold evening and walked back to my house.
The wind was still blowing, and the night seemed darker than before.
But I felt strangely peaceful.
8. The Fear That Followed Me Home
When I returned, Emma was sitting on the living-room rug, arranging her stuffed animals in a neat row.
She looked up immediately.
“Is Mrs. Harper okay?”
“She is, sweetheart. She had a problem with her electricity, but we found a way to help.”
“Will her lights come back?”
“They should. It may take a little time.”
Emma thought about that.
“Can we give Oliver a blanket?”
I smiled.
“Mrs. Harper has plenty of blankets for Oliver.”
“Can we give him another one anyway?”
I looked at my daughter and felt a sudden ache of affection.
“Maybe tomorrow. We can ask Mrs. Harper whether he needs anything.”
Satisfied, Emma returned to her stuffed animals.
I went into the kitchen and checked my phone.
The payment confirmation was still open.
$218.
I stared at the number for a long time.
The money was gone from my savings, and I could not ignore the consequences.
I returned to the laptop and opened my budget.
I moved money from one category to another. I adjusted the amount I had planned to spend on a few nonessential items. I made a note to compare prices on baby supplies and postpone a purchase until the following week.
The numbers eventually balanced.
Barely.
I closed the laptop and leaned back in my chair.
For the first time that evening, I allowed myself to acknowledge how frightened I was.
What if the car needed repairs?
What if the baby arrived earlier than expected?
What if I had misunderstood my financial situation and there was less money available than I thought?
What if another emergency came along before I had time to rebuild my savings?
I pressed my hands against my eyes.
I wanted to believe that doing the right thing would somehow make life easier. I wanted to believe that kindness would be rewarded, that people would look out for one another, and that the world would not ask too much of a person who was already struggling.
But I knew better than to expect a reward.
Sometimes, doing the right thing cost you something.
Sometimes, you helped someone even when you were worried about yourself.
And sometimes, there was no immediate answer to the question of whether you had made the wisest decision.
I thought about Daniel again.
He would have approved of what I had done.
He also would have reminded me that I needed to take care of myself.
Both things could be true.
I stood up and began preparing Emma for bed.
We brushed her teeth, changed into pajamas, and read a story together. She asked whether her baby brother or sister could sleep beside her when the baby arrived.
I explained that newborns needed their own safe sleeping space, but that she could help me choose a special blanket.
She seemed satisfied.
After tucking her into bed, I kissed her forehead.
“Good night, my love.”
“Good night, Mommy.”
She reached for my hand.
“Are you sad?”
The question caught me off guard.
“Sometimes,” I admitted.
“Because you miss Daddy?”
I swallowed.
“Yes. I miss Daddy very much.”
She looked at me with serious eyes.
“I miss him too.”
I sat on the edge of her bed and brushed a strand of hair away from her face.
“It's okay to miss him.”