Chapter 7
Late in the afternoon, while David was quietly checking the latch on the back gate, a soft knock rattled the wooden slats. He froze, his hand tightening on the metal padlock as he pressed his ear against the aged timber. The knock came again, lighter this time, accompanied by the sound of labored breathing. It wasn't the frantic pounding of the desperate stranger from two nights before; this was deliberate, hesitant, and frail. David looked back toward the kitchen window where Martha was watching him through the glass, her expression taut with warning. He slowly lifted the wooden latch a fraction of an inch, peering through the narrow gap into the overgrown alleyway.
Standing on the other side of the weathered fence was an elderly woman wearing a faded yellow windbreaker and holding a small canvas bag. Her face was lined with exhaustion, and her eyes held a look of profound, defeated resignation rather than aggression. She didn't try to force the gate or demand entry; she simply stood there, waiting with the quiet dignity of someone who had nothing left to lose.
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"I don't have much," the woman whispered through the slats, her voice cracking with thirst. "Just looking for a safe place to sit out of the wind for an hour. I won't be any trouble."
David looked back at the house, meeting Martha’s eyes. Martha gave an imperceptible nod, walking away from the window and heading toward the back door with a small bottle of water and a packet of crackers in her hands. It was a calculated risk, but ignoring a fellow human being in such obvious distress crossed a moral line neither of them was willing to erase. Martha stepped out onto the back porch, her movements slow and measured, carrying the supplies to the gate while maintaining a cautious distance.
