Until he did.
Across the street, in a quiet café, sat a man known by nearly everyone in Oakbridge—though few ever spoke to him. Howard Bellamy, an elderly millionaire who once built half the town’s buildings, now lived alone in a large house up on the hill.
He came to this café every morning, always to the same table, always alone.
He’d lost his wife years ago. His only daughter had become estranged—an old wound he didn’t speak of. His wealth was untouched. His estate, immaculate. But his heart?
Empty.
That morning, as he stirred cream into his coffee, his eyes wandered to the bakery window—and froze.
He saw her.
A small girl. Thin. Still. Her breath fogging up the glass. Her face pale with hunger.
