Now, three years later, Lisa was almost grateful. The divorce had been a baptism by fire. She emerged stronger, more confident. She had a steady job, a small vegetable garden, and a home filled with love, if not with money. As the twins had just started preschool, she could finally work full-time.

She glanced at her watch and sighed. 7:45 PM. The last bus had left nearly an hour ago. It was a long walk home, but there was no choice. Taxis were a luxury she couldn’t afford. The path led over a pedestrian footbridge that arched over a small river—a shortcut that would save her twenty minutes.

It was on the other side of the bridge that she saw the old woman.

She was perched on a park bench, a solitary figure in the deepening twilight, staring at nothing. Her clothes were a strange collection of what had once been expensive, fine things, now worn to threadbare ghosts of their former selves. There was an air of profound sorrow about her, a vulnerability that called to Lisa’s own protective instincts. She couldn’t just walk past.