Edward’s wife left when you were just a baby—ran off with every coin, even the rings. That same week, a car crushed his leg. It healed crooked, the bone never setting right. Work stopped. For seven years, it’s been only him and you—two against the world.

That morning, you wore mismatched shoes—one pink, one blue—but they still fit your tiny feet. Outside kindergarten, Edward sat on the curb, needle trembling between oil-stained fingers, stitching the torn sole back. Sweat darkened his shirt, his breath slow and careful with each movement. His hair was damp from the long walk, his limp heavier than usual.

Parents glanced, then looked away.
“Pathetic sight.”
“Shouldn’t let him near the kids.”
A man kicked the shoe from his hands. “Toss it. It’s garbage.”
“Please… just let me fix it. I don’t want her feet cold.”
“Then buy her real ones!” Laughter burst like glass.
“She’s wearing trash,” someone sneered.

When they turned, you ran over, waving your report card—stars beside every subject. His tired eyes lit. “Good girl…” He held up the mended shoe. “Now they match. Warm?” You nodded, beaming.

Later, outside a small diner, steam fogging the windows, he squeezed your hand. “Wait here. Just a minute.”
You watched him approach the counter, back straight, hands open. He placed crumpled bills—earned from junkyard scraps, bottle returns, hours of sorting rusted metal—onto the counter. “Just a bowl. For her. Something warm.”

The owner eyed the money, then Edward’s stained coat, his crooked leg, the dirt ground into his nails. “Where’d you get this?”
“I earned it.”
“Sure. Like hell.” He snatched the bills. “Stole it, didn’t you? You reek of gutter.”

“I didn’t—”
“Call security!” The owner shouted. “Thief in here!”
Two men grabbed Edward, slammed him to the floor. A third kicked his bad leg. He cried out—not for himself, but when you ran in, screaming, “That’s my Papa!”

You pulled at their arms. “He didn’t steal! He worked!”
One man shoved you. You fell hard.
“She’s his brat,” someone spat. “Raised by trash.”

“Don’t touch her!” Edward gasped, curling over you as boots slammed into his ribs. Blood flecked your cheek. “Please… I just wanted her to eat something warm…”

The owner laughed, waving the crumpled cash. “This? You think this buys anything? You’re *
nothing.”