SHATTERED💔

Chapter 10 — The Stranger With Kind Eyes

‎Myra Asante had three great loves in her six years of life.

‎Her mother. Jollof rice. And cotton candy.

‎Not necessarily in that order.

‎Today was her birthday and the world — in Myra's considered opinion — was absolutely perfect.

‎The recreational park was everything a six-year-old could dream of. Color and noise and movement in every direction. Children shrieking in the bouncy castle. The warm sweet smell of fried plantain and popcorn mixing in the afternoon air. Balloons bobbing above vendor carts in red and yellow and blue.

‎And there — at the center of Myra's entire universe right now — a cotton candy cart spinning pink clouds of sugar into the most beautiful thing she had ever seen in her life.

‎"Maa," she said with great solemnness, tugging Abena's hand. "I need that."

‎"You don't need it Myra, you want it," Abena said automatically, already reaching into her bag. "There's a difference."

‎"I need it AND I want it," Myra clarified firmly.

‎Abena paid for the cotton candy, handed it to Myra and turned to check her phone — one missed call from the station, a reminder about a case file she needed to review Monday morning.

‎Just one minute, she told herself. One minute to reply.

‎She turned back.

‎Myra was gone.

"That is the BIGGEST one," Myra announced with great authority, pointing at the cotton candy display with her entire arm. "That pink one. The big, big one."

‎The vendor stared at the small person who had appeared at his cart from apparently nowhere.

‎"Where is your mother, small girl??"

‎"She's there," Myra waved vaguely behind her. "She said I could come."

‎This was not entirely accurate.

‎"I don't have money," she added with complete honesty and zero shame. "But I really, really need it. It's my birthday."

‎"Is it really your birthday??"

‎The voice came from beside her — low and warm and genuinely amused.

‎Myra turned.

‎A young man was crouching down to her level, his forearms resting on his knees, looking at her with a deep set warm brown eyes that crinkled slightly at the corners. He was tall — even crouching, she could tell — broad shouldered with dark mahogany skin and a clean-shaven jaw. His clothes were simple and well-fitted. Nothing flashy. He smelled good.

‎Myra studied him with the thoroughness of a government inspector.

‎"Yes," she said. "I'm six today. Last year I was five."

‎"That's generally how it works," he agreed seriously.

‎"I know," Myra said. "I'm very smart."

‎He pressed his lips together, hiding a smile. "I can tell."

‎"My name is Myra," she announced. "What's yours??"

‎He smiled — slow and genuine, the kind that meant something.

‎"You'll know eventually," he said.

‎Myra frowned. "That's a funny answer."

‎"I'm a funny person," he said simply.

‎Myra considered this and decided she liked him anyway.

‎He straightened to his full height — six feet and then some — and looked at the vendor. "The big pink one please."

‎He paid before Myra could say another word and handed it to her with a small formal bow.

‎Myra's eyes went wide with the reverence of someone receiving a sacred object.

‎"Thank you," she breathed.

‎"Happy birthday Myra."

‎She took an enormous bite and regarded him with cotton candy on her nose.

"Where is your mummy??" he asked, looking around the park with calm, observant eyes.

‎"Somewhere there," Myra gestured broadly at the entirety of the park. "She was on her phone. She does that sometimes, and then she panics and looks for me." She said this with the fond exasperation of someone twice her age. "She'll come."

‎"Should we go find her??"

‎"She'll find me," Myra said with absolute confidence. "She always does."

‎He looked down at this small certain person and felt something shift quietly in his chest.

‎"She sounds like someone worth finding," he said softly. Almost to himself.

‎Abena was moving fast.

‎Not running — she was a police officer, she didn't run through crowds, she moved with controlled urgent purpose that cleared a path without causing panic — but her heart was doing something entirely uncontrolled in her chest.

‎Myra.

‎Where is she??

‎She scanned faces, heights, afro puffs—

‎There.

‎The pink cotton candy was visible from twenty meters — a ludicrous cloud of sugar held by two small hands attached to a little girl sitting on a low wall swinging her legs talking with complete comfort to a stranger.

‎Abena covered the distance in seconds.

‎"Myra."

‎Her voice came out in a particular tone that made grown men at the police station stand up straighter. Myra recognized it immediately and had the grace to look slightly guilty.

‎"Maa!! He bought me cotton candy!! It's the big one!!"

‎"I can see that," Abena said, her hand already firmly on Myra's shoulder, her eyes moving to the man now straightening to his full height.

‎He was taller than she expected.

‎Those warm brown eyes that had been laughing with her daughter shifted to her face and something changed in them — something quiet and attentive that Abena's instincts registered before her mind did.

‎He was looking at her the way people look at something they weren't expecting.

‎"I'm sorry," he said immediately, his voice calm and unhurried. "She came to the cart alone. I didn't want her standing there by herself."

‎"Thank you," Abena said shortly. "Myra, let's go."

‎"Maa he's NICE—"

‎"Myra."

‎He extended his hand with an easy smile. "I promise I'm harmless."

‎Abena looked at the hand.

‎Did not take it.

‎"Thank you for looking after her," she said politely and with complete finality.

‎Something flickered in his eyes — not offense, more like genuine amusement. Like a man who had just encountered something unexpectedly interesting and had quietly decided to pay attention.

‎He dropped his hand without awkwardness.

‎Crouched down instead to Myra's level.

‎"Happy birthday small one," he said warmly, opening his arms.

‎Myra launched herself at him with zero hesitation, cotton candy and all, wrapping her small arms around his neck with the complete trust of a child who had made her decision and was sticking to it.

‎He hugged her back — carefully, genuinely — and when he stood his white shirt had a perfect pink cotton candy smear on the shoulder.

‎He looked at it.

‎Looked at Myra.

‎"Worth it," he decided.

‎Myra beamed with her gap-toothed smile.

‎He straightened, looked at Abena one last time — those warm eyes steady and unhurried — smiled slowly and excused himself, disappearing into the crowd with his hands in his pockets and a cotton candy stain on his shoulder like a badge of honor.

‎Abena watched him go for exactly two seconds longer than she intended.

‎"I like him Maa," Myra announced through a mouthful of cotton candy.

‎"You like everyone," Abena said briskly, taking her daughter's hand and turning away.

‎"Not everyone," Myra said wisely. "Just the good ones."

‎Abena said nothing.

‎But she didn't look back.

‎She almost did though.

‎

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