Chapter 4 - The South Side Apartment
The sleek, midnight-black SUV pulled up to the curb on 47th Street just as the sun began to dip below the Chicago skyline. Rain had started to fall, slicking the cracked asphalt and reflecting the dull neon red of a nearby laundromat sign.
This was a part of the city Daniel had never visited. Broken streetlights, peeling paint on brick tenements, and rusted fire escapes hanging over narrow alleyways.
Daniel looked out the window, his heart heavy as lead. He had spent the last two years living in a twelve-million-dollar penthouse overlooking Lake Michigan, drinking fifty-year-old scotch, believing his ex-wife had run off with a multi-million-dollar divorce settlement. Meanwhile, his daughter was growing up here.
In the back seat, Sofie was strapped into a brand-new child safety seat that Marcus had rushed to buy. She was chewing softly on a warm croissant Daniel had bought her on the way, her dark brown eyes watching her father with cautious wonder.
“Is this where you live, sweetie?” Daniel asked softly, turning around in his seat.
Sofie nodded, pointing her tiny finger toward a basement-level doorway beneath a crumbling concrete staircase. “Down there, Daddy. Apartment B. The heater doesn’t work good, so Mommy puts three blankets on me when it rains.”
Daniel closed his eyes, pressing his fingers against the bridge of his nose to stop the sudden, agonizing surge of grief.
Three blankets. While he had central heating, heated marble floors, and fireplaces in every room.
“Marcus,” Daniel said, his voice raw. “Stay near the vehicle. If anyone approaches, let me know.”
“Understood, Mr. Sterling,” Marcus replied softly, his own eyes showing deep sympathy. “Take all the time you need.”
Daniel unbuckled his seatbelt, stepped out into the chilly autumn rain, and opened the rear door. He unbuckled Sofie, gently lifting her small frame into his arms. She wrapped her tiny arms around his neck, resting her head against his shoulder. The feeling of her small body against his chest sent a wave of fierce, protective warmth through his veins.
They walked down the slippery concrete steps into the dark basement hallway. The air smelled of damp mold, cheap detergent, and old soup.
Sofie pointed to a faded green door with a rusted number '2B' hanging crookedly on a single nail.
“Here, Daddy,” she whispered.
Daniel stood outside the door for five seconds, his hand hovering over the wood. His knuckles were trembling. How could he face her? What could he possibly say to the woman he had loved with every fiber of his being—the woman he had allowed his mother to drive out into the cold?
He took a deep breath and knocked softly.
Inside, the light sound of footsteps paused.
“Sofie?” a tired, breathless voice called out from behind the door. “Sofie, is that you? Oh, God, where did you go?! I’ve been calling the neighbors—”
The lock clicked. The door pulled open.
Sarah stood in the doorway.
She wore a faded gray sweatshirt that was two sizes too big, frayed jeans, and worn-out slippers. Her long, dark hair was pulled back into a messy bun. Her face was thin, pale, and exhausted, dark shadows under her eyes telling the story of endless sleepless nights spent working to keep a roof over their heads.
Yet, as she saw her daughter standing there, relief flooded her face—until her eyes drifted upward and locked onto Daniel.
May you like
Sarah froze. The color drained completely from her face. She took an involuntary step back, clutching her hand to her throat, her lower lip trembling violently.
“Daniel?” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the old building’s refrigerator. “How... how did you find us? Did Mrs. Vance send you to take Sofie away?”
