A Familiar Name

Liam's P.O.V.

The woman who took me in—her name was Beatrice, but she told me to call her Becky. She wasn't what I expected. I thought she'd be another person who gave me a sandwich and sent me on my way. Instead, she pulled me into her tiny apartment above her café, gave me a blanket, and told me to take a warm bath. I didn't argue. I had never felt so cold in my life.

She stood outside the bathroom door, telling me she left some clothes on the counter. "They might be a little big, but they'll do for now," she said.

I could barely recognize myself when I looked in the mirror. Clean. No dirt, no grime. Just a pale boy with scars that stretched up into his hairline.

By the time I stepped out, Becky had hot soup waiting for me. "Eat first," she said. "Then we'll talk."

I didn't argue. I ate like I was starving. Because I was.

She didn't ask questions right away. She let me sleep first. The softest bed I had ever touched.