A Conversation Under the Tree
Luciana looked up when the tall man in a tailored suit approached, his honey-colored eyes filled with concern.
“Are you alright?” he asked gently.
Luciana gave a faint, almost ironic smile. “I’m fine. Just resting.”
His gaze flicked to her suitcase, then back to her face. “Do you need help?”
“I don’t need charity,” she answered quickly. Pride was the only thing left intact.
“I’m not offering charity,” he replied, surprising even himself. “I’m asking if you need help. There’s a difference.”
“What kind of difference?”
“Charity comes from pity. Help comes from humanity.”
Something in his voice felt different. Not like the men who looked at vulnerable women with the wrong intentions.
“What I need is a chance,” she said quietly. “A job. I studied literature for three years. I can write, organize, edit. I may not look like the perfect hire right now—” she glanced down at her belly “—but I’m hardworking, and I learn fast.”
Rodrigo’s respect deepened. Even at rock bottom, she asked not for handouts, but for work.
