Running Toward Home

Chapter Seven ~ No Net

Lyn carried Juni on her hip, Emma clinging to her hand as they stepped out into the chill morning air. The baby pressed against her back, already kicking, a quiet reminder of the life that depended on her. Her purse was light, almost empty.

Just a few essentials, a handful of dollars she had managed to scrape together, and the divorce papers she couldn’t bear to read again.

The streets were unkind. Every step felt heavier than the last.

She had to find help.

Someone, anyone, who could tell her what to do, who could give her a lifeline.

Her first stop was the local church, a small brick building with snow-dusted steps. She stepped inside, hoping for warmth, guidance, and maybe even a kind word.

Instead, she was met with quiet stares and whispered judgments.

“Are you . . . married?” One woman asked, voice tight.

“Yes,” Lyn said, swallowing, trying to keep her voice steady. “Separated . . . my husband left. I’m . . . I need help.”

The woman’s gaze flicked to Juni, then back to her, suspicion and disapproval clear. “We . . . we can’t help with custody issues, and you’re . . . pregnant.”

She left, feeling the icy chill of shame creeping up her neck. They didn’t even let her explain.

Next, she tried government assistance offices. She filled out forms, waited in lines, and explained her situation again and again. Each desk clerk listened politely, nodded, then shook their head. “We don’t cover that.” “There’s nothing we can do.” “You’ll have to speak to legal aid.”

Legal aid was no better. She spoke to one lawyer after another, each one polite but firm. They shook their heads, repeated the same words: “You’re practically penniless. No home. No job. He has the law, the assets, and the child. There’s . . . little we can do for you right now.”

Hours passed. Her legs ached. Juni fussed in her arms, Emma tugged at her sleeve, hungry and confused.

The weight of judgment, indifference, and bureaucracy pressed down on her.

Every door closed.

Every face she saw reflected subtle disdain, suspicion, or pity. She had nowhere to turn.

By late afternoon, she sank onto a bench outside yet another office building, the winter sun dipping low behind gray clouds. Her back ached, her stomach fluttered nervously with the baby’s movements, and tears she had fought so hard to hold back spilled freely.

Her girls were asleep against her shoulders, exhausted from hours of walking, waiting, hoping. She pressed her hand to her stomach again. She had nothing. No safety net, no money, no support.

And yet, somewhere deep inside, a spark flickered. The same spark that had carried her through humiliation, heartbreak, and betrayal.

She couldn’t give up.

She couldn’t.

Somewhere, somehow, there had to be a way.

She just had to find it.