Ethan shrugged, drenched but determined. “I can help, though.”
With a strength born from necessity, Ethan turned and sprinted back towards the overpass. His feet slipped on the slick pavement, but he kept moving, driven by something more powerful than the storm raging around him. Under the bridge, he found the old wheelbarrow he’d seen earlier, rusted but still functional. It was one of the many things discarded by the city, much like himself, but now it had a purpose.
He wheeled it back to the woman, struggling against the wind and rain. When he reached her, he extended a hand, his eyes wide with concern. “Please,” he urged. “Let me help you.”
She hesitated for a moment, fear and pain warring on her face. Then, with a shaky nod, she accepted his help. Ethan braced himself, using every bit of his meager strength to help her into the wheelbarrow. She groaned with the effort, her face pale, but she managed to settle in as best as she could.
“Hold on,” Ethan said, gripping the handles tightly. The wheelbarrow was heavy, the rain making the task even harder, but he pushed forward with determination. One step at a time, he navigated the flooded street, feeling the chill of the water through his shoes.
It was a slow, arduous journey, but Ethan never stopped. The city loomed around them, indifferent and cold, but he refused to be deterred. Each step felt like a victory, each inch forward a testament to the strength he hadn’t known he possessed.
Eventually, they reached the relative safety of the sidewalk. Ethan helped the woman from the wheelbarrow, easing her onto a dry patch of concrete. She lay back, exhausted and in pain, but safe for now. Ethan knelt beside her, his own exhaustion catching up.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice hoarse but filled with sincerity. “You saved me.”
Ethan shook his head, soaking wet and shivering, but there was a warmth in his chest that the rain couldn’t touch. “You looked like you needed it,” he said simply.
The sound of sirens cut through the night, distant but growing closer. Help was finally on the way. Ethan stood, stepping back as the reality of the situation settled over him. In that moment, he was just a boy again, young and vulnerable, but no longer invisible.
Days later, Ethan found himself at the soup kitchen, seeking warmth and a meal. The memory of the woman haunted him, mingling with the countless faces he’d seen in this place. He expected nothing to change, for the world to keep turning as it always did, indifferent and unyielding.
But then the black SUV pulled up, sleek and imposing. Ethan froze, fear twisting his insides. This was not a place for cars like that, for people who looked through boys like him.
The door opened, and she stepped out, her belly still prominent but her eyes clear and determined. She spotted Ethan and smiled—a genuine, radiant smile that cut through the fear. She approached with a careful grace, her hand extended.
“You,” she said, her voice a mixture of gratitude and awe. “I’ve been looking for you.”
Ethan blinked, unsure whether to run or stay. But in her eyes, he saw recognition, not as the invisible boy beneath the overpass but as the hero of that rain-soaked night.
And for the first time, he believed it.
