That night, Ethan sat at the kitchen table after the kids went to bed, staring at the eviction notice until his words began to blur. He prayed for a miracle, but miracles are for other people. Miracles don’t happen to exhausted single fathers who struggle and still fail.
Exactly seven days later, on the morning of the eviction, there was a knock on the door.
Ethan felt a knot in his stomach. He assumed the landlord was going to throw them out.
He slowly opened the door, already in a mental apology and a pleading plea for more time.
But it wasn’t the landlord.
A distinguished older man in a smart gray suit stood on the porch carrying a leather briefcase. He had gentle eyes and gray hair neatly combed to the side.
“Mr. “Ethan?” the man asked, smiling cautiously.
“Yes?” Ethan’s voice was hoarse with anxiety. “My name is Charles. I’m a lawyer. Can I come in?” “I have something very important to discuss with you.”
Ethan was scared, because lawyers never brought good news. Had he done something wrong? Had someone sued him?
He stepped aside to let the man in, his mind racing with all sorts of disasters.
Charles sat at the small kitchen table, looking around the modest apartment with its peeling wallpaper and worn furniture. Nina peered curiously around the corner of the hallway. Ruby held Sam’s hand by the bedroom door.
“Okay, kids,” Ethan said, trying to stay calm. “Go have fun.”
They reluctantly disappeared. Charles placed the folder on the table, opened it with two silent clicks, and pulled out a photo.
He slid it across the table toward Ethan.
The photo showed Ethan in the park, spreading a pile of blankets on a bench in the early morning light.
Ethan’s mouth went dry. His head spun. Was it illegal to help the homeless? Had he been booked for littering? For trespassing?
“Ethan,” Charles said quietly, “please don’t worry.” “You’re not in trouble. Quite the opposite.”
Ethan stared at him, eyes wide.
