Whispers of a Former Life: Episode 76

The tabletop beneath Charity felt impossibly wide, a lacquered field of wood grain stretching in every direction. The air was warm with the scent of fresh espresso and pastries, but it did little to settle the tight coil of nerves in her stomach. Her feet, bare and aching, stood on a patch of condensation from Alejandra’s iced drink. She backed away from it absently, not wanting the cold seeping into her soles while trying to stay alert. 

Alejandra and Chloe sat above her, chatting quietly. Charity only caught snippets of the conversation, the parts that weren’t drowned out by the clinking of cups or the ambient murmur of the café. Every now and then, Chloe would glance down at her with a smile that was polite but unreadable. Charity hated it. Hated the feeling of being a curiosity, something tiny and fragile sitting between a sugar packet and a ceramic mug. 

The conversation stalled for a moment. Charity’s ears perked. A new sound, measured footsteps approaching, hard soled shoes against tile. 

She stiffened. 

Panic crawled up her spine like an insect. The footsteps echoed in her mind. Visions of Sara Reeves popped in her mind once again, it had to be Sara. Or worse, someone who knew her, Ellie Montgomery-Ward perhaps, someone who knew the real her. Before. Before this. Before she became what she was now: a thing carried in a plaid handbag. A helper. A pet. A Little. 

Her mind kept going back to  What if it was Sara again? Her name still clung like a ghost to her skin, one that only Chloe had spoken aloud. It echoed in her head, hollow and damning. 

But then Chloe stood. 

“Mark,” she said brightly, rising to greet him. 

Relief washed over Charity in an abrupt, almost nauseating wave. It wasn’t Sara. It wasn’t one of her high school tormentees or a former classmate with a camera phone. It was just a man, older, with a  kindness spread across her face. He looked familiar, and it took a second before the pieces clicked together. 

Her father’s friend. 

Her body loosened a fraction. 

“My dad sends his regards,” Chloe said, reaching for a warm, familial hug. “He’s itching for a pickleball rematch next time he’s back in town.” 

“Anytime,” Mark chuckled. “He’s got my number.” 

Charity stepped back further on the table, closer to the salt shaker. She didn’t want to be in the way. 

“Well, I appreciate you coming out on such short notice,” Chloe said, sitting again, her voice smoothing into something more professional. “I know you’ve been looking into the Stevens situation… I’m sorry.” 

Alejandra turned slightly, her eyes flicking between Chloe and the man now seated across from her. Charity could see the tension in Alejandra’s shoulders, the way her fingers curled around the rim of her drink. 

“Alejandra,” Chloe continued, “this is Mark. He works in immigration. He’ll be helping us with your work visa, and eventually, citizenship. Like I said, you were honest about your misdeeds, and that’s something I appreciate. They won’t hinder our process.” 

Mark nodded. “Not at all. I haven’t been fully briefed, but from what Chloe’s told me, they’re whitepaper violations. Nothing actually on your record. The fact that you disclosed them voluntarily says more about your character than anything else.” 

Then his eyes fell on Charity. They didn’t widen. He didn’t flinch or make a face. Instead, he studied her with something close to… recognition. 

“I’ve been looking for Charity here,” Mark said softly. “I understand she’s registered to you under Mexican law, which actually helps. She’s legally considered an asset, something we can process. I also know you’ve been sending money home. I’d like to offer you a deal.” 

Charity felt her breath catch. 

Chloe folded her hands on the table, her tone shifting, gentler now, more deliberate. 

“Alejandra, before you hear him out, I want to be clear. This isn’t coming out of nowhere. After our phone call a few days ago, when you told me about your family, about the work you’ve done just to keep them afloat… it stuck with me.” 

She looked over her shoulder at Mark, her posture straightening with something close to pride. 

“I mentioned your situation to Mark. He’s a family friend I trust, someone who understands how complicated this all is. We talked it through. And he wanted to help.” 

The man, older, well-dressed, but approachable, moved toward Alejandra, nodding with the kind of familiarity that put people at ease. 

“Mark’s been working in immigration for years,” Chloe continued. “But he’s not here in any official capacity. What he’s about to offer… it’s personal.” 

Mark offered Alejandra a soft smile. 

“Chloe told me about your parents. Your siblings. The way you send money back home to keep things from falling apart. If you’re open to it, I’d like to buy the land they’re renting. Build them something real. A four-bedroom home. One for each of your siblings, a master for your parents, and a room for you when you go back to visit. All in your name. No debt. No mortgage.” 

Alejandra blinked, stunned. “Why? Why offer this… for her? If you can afford that, you can buy any Little you want.” 

Mark smiled sadly. “Family matters to you. It does to me, too. Her father helped me at a low point in my life. And just before he transformed, he asked one thing, that I take care of his daughter. I couldn’t tell him no. I have a daughter of my own now, guardian trained, and she’s taken a liking to Charity. I’m here today not in any official capacity. I’m just a man trying to do right by a friend… and something kind for my little girl.” 

There was silence for a moment, heavy and strange. Charity felt all eyes shift to her. 

“Patrona,” Alejandra asked, voice softer now, “do you know this man? Do you trust him?” 

Charity nodded. “Y-yes. He worked with my father for years. They used to take guy weekends together. I… I should’ve paid more attention back then.” 

She looked up at Alejandra, feeling something crack inside her. 

“Alejandra, don’t worry about me. This is a good opportunity for you. I didn’t treat you right. And I’m sorry. I know my words don’t fix anything. But if giving me up means your family gets a home… I’d do the same.” 

“The honesty sat thick on her tongue like ash.” 

Chloe cleared her throat gently. “This isn’t part of your job, Alejandra. Whether you agree or not, there’s no pressure.” 

Alejandra looked down at Charity, the lines of conflict etched deeply into her features. For weeks now, that tiny girl had slept in her bag, eaten scraps of her food, rolled joints with tired fingers on her coffee table. A Little who had once barked orders helped with her laundry, picked up bits to help clean, and looked to her for every need. 

She was hers. Truly hers. 

But the thought of her siblings with their own beds… with walls that didn’t crack when it rained… her mother not needing to pick between medicine and food, she couldn’t look away from it. 

“Y-yes,” she whispered, still looking at Charity. “Yes.” 

“You did the right thing,” Charity said with a weary kind of grace. “This is how the world works.” 

Mark nodded. “Great. I’ve got the papers here.” 

He pulled a small folder from his coat. Chloe reached for it. 

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to review these. Just to make sure everything’s in order.” 

Alejandra nodded. “Of course.” 

Chloe flipped through the forms, her eyes scanning rapidly before she handed them over. “Looks clean.” 

Alejandra took the folder, but for a moment, the pen hovered motionless in her hand. 

Her fingers tightened around it. Her heartbeat unevenly, not from fear, but from weight. She could see it so clearly in her mind: her mamá sitting on the edge of the lopsided bed, hands red from work and joints swollen from age, still pretending not to hurt. Her siblings crammed into the back room with one working fan and a leaking roof. The smell of damp concrete and drywall after rain. The bills that never stopped. The land they tended but didn’t own. How many times had she sent her paycheck home and still felt it wasn’t enough? How many times had she gone hungry so her siblings didn’t have to as she knew her parents would spend what little she could send back on them. She looked down at Charity, tiny, quiet, oddly brave in this moment, and felt the sting of shame that it was this girl’s fate she was weighing. But what did it mean to care for someone if she let her own family rot in a place they didn’t deserve to die in? 

“Y-yes,” she whispered finally, still looking at Charity. “Yes.” 

Alejandra signed. 

And in that instant, it was done. 

Mark extended his hand, lowering it like a lift. Charity took a breath and began walking toward it, her legs trembling. 

“One moment,” Chloe said, rising. “May I have a word with her?” 

Mark nodded, stepping away. “let me settle the tab,” 

Chloe stood still for a moment, her gaze fixed on Charity like she was trying to reconcile the girl in front of her with the one from the stories. Her voice, when it came, was quiet, but it didn’t waver. 

“Charity,” she said. “I’ve tried. I really have. I’ve read your Generitech file. I’ve listened to Alejandra. I’ve seen what you’ve endured. And I believe you’ve suffered. I believe you’ve maybe even changed, at least, I want to. But every time I start to believe it, I remember Sara.” 

Her voice caught, just slightly, like a stone skipping across a smooth surface. She steadied herself. 

“I remember holding her hand in the ER. I remember watching her shake in her hospital bed, unable to say your name without crying. So weakened she could barely move without great effort. You don’t know what it’s like to see the person you love… broken like that. To know someone you knew did that to them, for laughs. For power. Because you could.” 

She took a breath, slow and intentional. Then leaned in slightly, not out of menace, but to make sure Charity heard every word. 

“So, no. I can’t forgive you. Maybe one day someone will. Maybe you’ll find grace through some miracle. But not from me. I’m not that big.” 

Charity’s lips parted. She opened her mouth as if to speak, to say something, anything, but the words caught. Her throat tightened. Nothing came. Her eyes shimmered, but she blinked quickly, refusing to let herself cry. Not now. Not in front of Chloe. 

Chloe saw it all. And for just a second, something flickered across her face, not forgiveness, but recognition. The weight of what had been broken. The long, splintered shadow of the past. 

“But I’m not here to punish you,” she continued, softer now. “I don’t need revenge. I just need space. For me. For Sara. For the people who still carry your damage like splinters under their skin.” 

She took a step back, the distance deliberate. 

“Some things can’t be undone, Charity. Not with time. Not with apologies. You carved your name into people’s pain, and some of us are still bleeding.” 

Chloe’s voice wavered, just slightly, but she held firm. Her eyes searched Charity’s face, not with hatred, but with the ache of someone who had once tried to believe in second chances. 

“They say grace is getting what you don’t deserve. Maybe someday, someone will give you that. But it won’t be me. Not after what you did to her.” 

Then, without another word, Chloe turned and walked away, her steps even and unhurried, her back straight. She didn’t look back. 

Charity stood alone, her chest rising and falling with shallow, uneven breaths, her unspoken words hanging in the space between them like a weight she might carry for the rest of her life. 

Charity stood alone on the table, the silence closing in like a soft cloth. 

She wasn’t sure if she’d ever see Chloe again. 

But she knew she’d never forget her. 

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