Page 122 of When a Soul Cries

Her eyebrows pinched together. “Then why are you taking it?”

“Because you carrying a whole baby, Sol.” I kept my voice gentle, but I didn’t release the strap. “You don’t have to carry every damn thing just because you *can*.”

Something changed in her face.

It was small, but I caught it—the way her lips pressed together and her eyes dropped from mine. For a second, she looked like she wanted to argue again.

Then her fingers slowly loosened around the strap.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

The words were so soft I almost didn’t hear them.

I slid the bag over my shoulder and watched her adjust the sleeping baby against her chest. “You’re welcome.”

Sol glanced up at me, and one corner of her mouth moved. Not quite another smile. She looked too damn tired for a real one.

But it was close.

I’d take it.

When we stepped inside, she stopped just beyond the door.

Her eyes moved slowly across the open living room, then toward the kitchen. The high ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows suddenly felt excessive with her standing there holding everything she had left in her arms.

“You live here by yourself?” she asked, her voice carrying a hint of disbelief.

“Most days.”

She glanced around again. “This house is huge.”

“Nah.”

Her head turned toward me.

I kept my face straight. “You just little.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I’m five-three.”

“Exactly.”

“Shut up.”

That one came with a real smile.

There she was again.

Then the smile disappeared almost as quickly as it had come, and her gaze dropped to her daughter.

I could tell she was becoming uncomfortable again.

Too much unfamiliar space.

Too much kindness she didn’t know what to do with.

So I moved.

“Come on. Let me show you where y’all can sleep.”