The morning sun spilled golden light through the torn curtains of Sophie’s small room. The tin box was hidden away safely beneath her clothes, but in Sophie’s heart, the weight of their savings felt lighter each day. She awoke with a renewed sense of purpose.
Rohan was already awake, sweeping the little front yard with a handmade broom. His back was straight, his movements deliberate. For a man who pretended to be a laborer with no hope, he carried himself with dignity, though he worked in silence.
Sophie opened the door and leaned against the frame, watching him.
“You know,” she teased softly, “you don’t have to do that every morning.”
He looked up, smiling. “If I don’t, who will? You deserve to come home to a clean place, Sophie. It’s the least I can do.”
Her heart fluttered. The le
