Chapter 6 -Give Without Expectations
1039 Words
Lorraine slowed her run as Mara’s porch came into view. The incline of the street had warmed her muscles, but the sight of the house cooled her pace almost instinctively. The morning air was crisp, sharp enough to sting the back of her throat, and she let her breath settle before stepping onto the porch.
The box sat exactly where Mara had said it would be, anchored against the railing as though it had always belonged there.
For a moment, Lorraine did nothing. She rested her hands on her knees, studying the grain of the wooden lid, the way the light fell across it. Mara had mentioned the box lightly, almost in passing, as if it were an afterthought. Standing here now, Lorraine felt the opposite. It wasn’t large, but it carried a gravity that pulled her attention inward.
She bent and lifted it. The weight surprised her, not heavy, exactly, but substantial. Inside, envelopes were stacked with precise care, each one addressed in the same calm, familiar handwriting.
Adrian Hale.
They were aligned perfectly, edges flush, as though disorder had been consciously denied entry. On top rested a small card.
Good luck. Do be kind.
Lorraine exhaled softly. She turned the card over once, then again, before slipping it into her pocket. She did not take the entire stack. Only the first envelope came with her as she carried the box inside.
The living room was quiet in a way that suggested intention. Nothing felt abandoned. The cushions were arranged, the throw folded neatly along the arm of the sofa. Lorraine placed the box beside the bed and removed her jacket.
The book waited on the bedside table.
It was leather-bound, softened by use, the spine creased just enough to show it had been opened often and thoughtfully. Lorraine picked it up, letting the pages fall open without guiding them.
The handwriting shifted between Mara’s careful script and Lorraine’s smaller notes in the margins. Today’s page was marked.
Notice him before he speaks. Patience lasts longer than irritation. Guide without rescuing. Today begins gently.
Lorraine closed the book.
She slid the envelope into her jacket and left shortly after.
By evening, Adrian’s office stood illuminated above the city: a rigid rectangle of light in a tower of dark glass. Inside, the air carried the faint scent of polished wood and cold coffee. Adrian stood near the window, hands clasped behind his back, eyes tracking the slow movement of traffic below.
The envelope rested in his desk drawer.
He had not opened it yet.
Lorraine arrived at exactly eight. Her knock was light, controlled. When Adrian opened the door, she stood with her hands folded loosely in front of her, gaze level, observant without curiosity.
“You brought it,” he said, more statement than question.
She stepped inside and placed the envelope on his desk without ceremony.
Adrian picked it up, running his thumb along the edge before opening it. He read quickly, then again more slowly.
Task One
Help someone in need anonymously.
Expect no acknowledgment.
He folded the paper with care and slipped it into his jacket.“Let’s get going,” he said.
Lorraine didn’t respond. She simply waited while he retrieved his coat.
The car ride stretched longer than Adrian expected. The city gradually shifted around them, streets narrowing, storefronts changing, light refracting differently against older windows. He adjusted the radio once, then turned it off. The silence returned, thicker this time, as though it had weight.
He checked the folded letter again, memorizing the language. Anonymously. The phrasing irritated him. Too open-ended. Too imprecise.
The grocery store came first.
A young woman stood at the counter, her movements hurried and unsure. Coins scattered across the surface as she tried to gather them again. Adrian stepped forward, paid without looking at her, and moved aside.
The relief came faster than he anticipated.
It was loud. Disruptive. The cashier leaned over, whispering thanks, eyes shining with something Adrian had no interest in receiving. He stepped back, shoulders tightening, coat brushing a shopping cart as he left.
Outside, the night air hit his face sharply.
Lorraine followed without comment.
The second attempt unfolded at a youth shelter. Adrian had already calculated what constituted helpful but appropriate. He transferred the donation electronically and walked out before anyone could speak.
The thank-you email arrived ten minutes later.
He deleted it without opening the attachment. The irritation surprised him more than the message itself.
Lorraine watched the set of his jaw but said nothing.
The third encounter wasn’t planned.They were walking past a bus stop when Adrian noticed the boy sitting on the bench, hands shoved deep into his pockets, shoulders hunched against the cold. His coat was too thin. His eyes were fixed on his phone, screen dark, as though he were pretending not to be there at all.
Adrian slowed. His instincts urged him forward, away. Public spaces were unpredictable. Exposure carried risk.
Lorraine stopped beside him.
He stood there longer than he liked, aware of the moment stretching without structure. Finally, he removed his coat and placed it on the bench. Not handed. Not offered. Just set down.He walked away immediately.
Behind them, the boy’s breath caught.
Half a block later, Lorraine spoke. “That one counts.”
Adrian didn’t answer. But his pace changed. His shoulders dropped a fraction.
They moved through the city for another hour, smaller moments stacking quietly. None of them fit neatly into categories. By the time Adrian parked near Lorraine’s temporary residence, Mara's house, the tension in his chest had shifted into something harder to name.
“This counts,” she said again, stepping out of the car.
He nodded once.
Back in his penthouse, Adrian sat at his desk, the envelope open in front of him.
He did not reach for Laptop or Notepad. There were no figures to log, no outcomes to chart.
Only sensation.
The moment his coat left his shoulders. The absence of thanks. The boy’s startled expression.
He closed his eyes. Mara’s voice surfaced, not instructing, not correcting. Simply present.For the first time, the thought did not provoke resistance.
It unsettled him.
Adrian straightened slowly, saying to himself,
How hard could it really be?
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