“It’s already paid for.”

“Give it to somebody else.”

She turned toward the door.

Then stopped.

Maya.

Six candles drawn on paper.

Pink frosting.

Four letters.

Claraara shut her eyes.

Sometimes morality was easier when no child was waiting at home.

She turned back.

“What do you want?”

“Nothing.”

“Nobody like you does something for nothing.”

A strange expression passed through his eyes.

“Nobody like me.”

She wished she could swallow the words.

Instead she said, “You know what I mean.”

Gabriel pushed the box toward her once more.

“Take your daughter her cake.”

Claraara hesitated.

Then lifted it.

“Thank you.”

He gave a small nod.

No smile.

No demand.

She left.

Outside, rain had softened to drizzle.

The cardboard box was large enough that she had to carry it with both arms.

She walked quickly.

The streets around the industrial district were nearly empty.

Shuttered warehouses.

Yellow lamps.

Steam hissing from vents.

Five minutes later, Claraara heard footsteps.

Slow.

Even.

Behind her.

Her pulse quickened.

She changed streets.

The footsteps changed streets.

She walked faster.

So did they.

Her fear sharpened.

She turned into the alley behind her building and immediately regretted it.

Too dark.

Too narrow.

No witnesses.

She shoved one hand into her pocket and threaded her house keys between her fingers.

“You walk too fast for someone wearing shoes with no grip.”

Claraara spun.

Gabriel Rossy stood at the entrance.

Rain glittered across his coat.

“What do you want?”

His gaze went to her fist.

“Put the keys away before you slice your own fingers.”

“Why are you following me?”

“To make sure nobody takes the cake.”

She almost laughed.

It came out bitter.

“You bought me a cake and now you’re escorting it?”

“This neighborhood steals nice things.”

“You know this neighborhood?”

“I grew up six blocks from here.”

That surprised her.

He stepped closer.

Not too close.

Claraara noticed then that his right hand was bloodied.

Not much.

A dark line along the cuff.

“You’re hurt.”

Gabriel looked down as though he had forgotten.

“Not mine.”

Her stomach tightened.

He noticed.

“That was the wrong answer.”

“Yes.”

He reached slowly inside his coat.

Claraara tensed.

He removed a crushed cigarette and a silver lighter.

“My sister would have been thirty today.”

He flicked the flame.

Claraara remained silent.

“She died when she was six.”

Something inside her shifted.

“How?”

“Pneumonia.”

He stared into the flame before lighting the cigarette.

“We had no heat.

My mother had too much pride to tell anyone how bad things were.”

His voice became flatter.

“By the time she asked for help, Sofia was unconscious.”

Claraara looked at the cake.

“I’m sorry.”

“It was twenty four years ago.”

“That doesn’t make it less terrible.”

Gabriel looked at her.

Really looked.

For a moment, the feared man disappeared.

She saw a boy instead.

Standing beside a small bed.

Listening to a room become too quiet.

Gabriel inhaled once from the cigarette.

“My mother bought her a cake that morning.”

Claraara’s eyes went back to him.

“She never got to eat it.”

Rain tapped softly against a metal fire escape above them.

Gabriel stepped aside.

“Take it home, Claraara.”

She went rigid.

“I never told you my name.”

“No.”

He looked toward the building.

“Your cleaning company badge was clipped inside your coat at the bakery.”

She checked.

The plastic badge was visible through the opening.

Her heartbeat slowed.

A little.

Gabriel turned away.

“Tell Maya happy birthday.”

“How do you know her name?”

He stopped.

For the first time, something unreadable crossed his face.

Then he nodded toward the bakery bag tucked beneath the cake box.

Claraara looked.

Albert had written in marker:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MAYA.

She exhaled.

“Right.”

Gabriel walked back toward the street.

Claraara watched him disappear into the rain.

Then she climbed three flights of stairs to apartment 3C.

The door opened before she could knock.

Maya stood barefoot in oversized pajamas.

Her dark curls were tangled.

Her face transformed when she saw the box.

“You got one?”

Claraara nearly broke apart right there.

Instead she smiled.

“A huge one.”

Maya screamed.

Not loudly.

Joyfully.

The sound filled the miserable apartment like sunlight.

They placed the cake on an overturned crate they used as a coffee table.

Claraara found six mismatched candles in a kitchen drawer.

One blue.

Two red.

Three white.

Maya insisted on placing them herself.

The chocolate smelled rich and warm.

“Make a wish,” Claraara whispered.

Maya closed her eyes.

Her face became very serious.

Then she blew.

All six flames vanished.

“What did you wish for?”

“I can’t tell.”

“Then it won’t come true?”

“That’s what cartoons say.”

Claraara cut a slice.

Maya ate two bites.

Then stopped.

“Mama?”

“Yes?”

“I wished you didn’t have to be scared anymore.”

Claraara’s smile disappeared.

Children were cruel that way.

Not intentionally.

They simply noticed everything adults sacrificed themselves to hide.

Claraara pulled her daughter into her arms.

For a long time, they sat together while rain moved across the windows.

Across the city, Gabriel Rossy stood inside the back seat of a black sedan and stared through rain streaked glass toward apartment 3C.

His driver, Marco, watched him in the mirror.

“Boss?”

Gabriel said nothing.

Marco waited.

Finally Gabriel whispered, “She looks exactly like him.”

Marco’s hands tightened around the steering wheel.

“You’re sure?”

Gabriel’s jaw hardened.

“I’m sure.”

And suddenly, the cake had nothing to do with kindness.

PART 2

Claraara woke the next morning to pounding on the apartment door.

Her first thought was landlord.

Her second was police.

The third was worse.

Gabriel Rossy.

She slipped from the mattress carefully so she would not wake Maya.

The clock read 6:42.

The apartment was freezing.

Claraara opened the door two inches with the chain still fastened.

A woman in a navy wool coat stood outside holding two paper bags.

She was in her sixties.

Silver hair.

Brown eyes.

Severe posture.

“You’re Claraara?”

“Who are you?”

“Teresa.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

Something softened in the woman’s face.

“Good.”

“What?”

“You don’t let strangers walk in.”

Claraara began closing the door.

Teresa lifted one bag.

“I brought breakfast.”

“No.”

“And an inhaler.”

The door stopped.

Claraara stared.

“What did you say?”

Teresa reached into her coat and displayed a pharmacy package.

The exact brand Maya used.

Claraara’s body went cold.

“Who sent you?”

Teresa hesitated.

That was enough.

“Gabriel Rossy?”

“Yes.”

Claraara slammed the door.

Maya woke.

“Mama?”

“It’s okay.”

The pounding continued.

Not loud.

Persistent.

“Claraara,” Teresa called through the door.

“I know this looks terrible.”

“It doesn’t look terrible.

It is terrible.”

“He asked me to deliver food.”

“And medication he somehow knows my child needs.”

Silence.

Claraara unlatched the door and stepped into the hallway, closing it behind her.

“Tell him to stay away from us.”

Teresa studied her.

“That might be difficult.”

“Why?”

Teresa’s eyes dropped.

Then rose again.

“Because Gabriel believes your daughter may be family.”

Every sound in the building seemed to vanish.

Claraara stared.

“What?”

“I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No.

You’re going to explain.”