Altha didn’t respond right away. She just stood there, taking it in. The story didn’t sound exaggerated. It didn’t feel rehearsed. If anything, it felt incomplete — like Sienna didn’t even have the energy to explain everything properly.
Still, a small voice in her head pushed back. This isn’t your problem. You don’t even know her. You have a flight to catch. Altha glanced toward the line. It had moved forward. She could still step back in. Walk away. Forget this ever happened. But then she looked back at Sienna. At the child. And without meaning to, the image from earlier flashed in her mind again. Her mother. For a brief moment, a thought crossed her mind that refused to leave: What if she was out there somewhere… and no one stopped to help her?
Altha exhaled slowly. She tried to shake the thought off. This wasn’t logical. It wasn’t her responsibility. There were shelters. There were services. There were people better equipped to handle situations like this. But none of that changed what she was seeing right in front of her. A woman who had nowhere to go. A child who depended on her. And no one stepping in. Altha hesitated for one last second. Then something in her gave way. “I have a beach house,” she said.
The words came out before she could second-guess them.