Marcus giggled—small, bright, surprised laughter Keisha hadn’t heard in days.
Keisha stood in the doorway of her own kitchen, watching her baby laugh with a stranger, and felt her fear crack open into something else.
Relief.
Mike cleared his throat after they ate, voice low.
“We should tell you who we are,” he said. “Because I know what people think.”
Keisha met his eyes.
“Tell me.”
Mike swallowed. “Most of us are veterans. Different branches. Different years. We came home and… couldn’t fit back into normal.”
A younger man added, “We ride together. Keep each other straight. Keep each other alive.”
“We’re not here to bring trouble,” Mike said. “We were headed to a holiday charity run out of state. Toys. Food. Helping families. Storm hit early. Danny went down. Roads closed.”
Keisha listened, heart thudding.
She thought about how people looked at her—Black woman alone at the end of the block, no husband, always tired, always broke.
