“He will,” Angela said, though her stomach still tightened with fear. “Something good is coming. I can feel it.”
Two days later, Angela was still walking street to street, asking for any small job. Her legs hurt, but desperation doesn’t respect pain.
Near a kiosk, she saw Papa James again, sitting calmly on a stone.
“Papa!” she called, surprised and relieved.
He smiled gently. “My child.”
“Where do you stay?” Angela asked, suddenly realizing she didn’t even know his story.
Papa James looked away for a moment, then pointed. “Behind that big shop. The owner allows me to sleep there at night when they close.”
Angela’s heart dropped. “Papa… you sleep on the floor?”
He shrugged lightly, as if the floor and dignity were old friends. “Don’t worry yourself. I am fine.”
“Have you eaten today?” she asked, already knowing the answer by the way his smile looked thin.
He exhaled. “No, my child.”
Angela stood immediately. “Okay, Papa. Let me go home and bring you food. I will come back quickly.”
He stopped her gently. “But you said you are job hunting.”
“Please,” she insisted. “Let me help.”
Papa James studied her face, then nodded slowly.
“All right,” he said, “but give me your phone number before you go.”
