NovelGoldChapter 312 If winter comes, he'll never make it.
Watching him, Claire couldn't help but think of herself.
She gave a bitter, self-deprecating laugh. Her own life was a mess, and yet here she was, finding room to feel sorry for someone else.
But maybe that was exactly why-she'd stumbled through her own darkness, been battered by life's storms. She understood what pain felt like. And because of that, she wanted, more than anything, to shield others from the rain, if only for a moment.
Claire turned, stepping into a nearby convenience store. She bought a loaf of bread and a bottle of water, then walked back to the man.
Her voice was gentle. "That roll's gone moldy-you'll get sick if you eat it. Here, take these instead." Claire held out the bag. Inside were the bread, the water, and smoney.
She'd kept just enough cash for the bus fare-ten dollars, no more. Every remaining bill she'd tucked inside the bag for him.
At the sound of her voice, the man's frantic, hungry movements stopped cold. He froze, as if struck by lightning.
Follow on NovᴇlEnglish.nᴇtHe sat there on the ground, hair falling over his face, and behind those tangled strands his eyes were wild with fear, shame, and helpless confusion.
Claire bent down, her gaze soft, and spoke to him again, even more quietly. "Go on. Take it." But it was as if he hadn't heard her-he didn't move. In fact, his body seemed to tremble.
Claire guessed he'd been bullied so often that even a stranger's approach scared him.
She softened her tone further. "Don't be afraid. I mean you no harm." With that, she reached to take the moldy roll from his grasp.
The man's eyes landed on her slender, almost ghostly-pale hand. Something twisted inside him. Without warning, tears spilled down his cheeks.
One fat tear dropped onto the back of Claire's hand.
She froze, heart aching for him.
He must have gone so long without kindness, she thought. To him, a single act of compassion from a stranger must have seemed overwhelming. That was why he cried.
Claire drew a deep breath, gently pried the roll from his hand, and tossed it in the trash. Then she pressed the bread, water, and money into his arms.
The man never once looked up at her. Not a single word passed his lips. Claire wanted to say something encouraging, but just then, her bus arrived. May tugged at her sleeve. "Con, Claire, we should get on." Claire took one last, lingering look at the man before following May onto the bus.
As the bus pulled away, the man at the curb finally found the courage to lift his head, revealing his face at last. It was Vincent Lewis.
That night, broken and bleeding, Vincent had been dumped at the hospital by Liam.
Liam had been acting on orders from Sean Foster, who'd told the doctors to amputate Vincent's legs.
But when they got to the hospital, the doctors informed Liam that Vincent's legs were already mangled beyond repair-bones shattered, flesh torn, fragments piercing the skin.
Even without Sean's orders, amputation was inevitable.
When Vincent was wheeled out of surgery, both legs had been taken off at the thigh.
The anesthesia wore off, and he awoke to agony.
When he realized his legs were gone, the weight of despair nearly crushed him.
Follow on Novᴇl-Onlinᴇ.cᴏmHe had no money for the hospital bills. They kept him for a day before throwing him out.
His wheelchair had vanished. Without it, he'd been forced to drag himself across the pavement, inch by agonizing inch.
These past few days, he'd scavenged trash bins by day and slept om park benches by night, living a life worse E than a stray animal. But none of that hurt as much as seeing Claire now.
He must look hideous. So wretched that Claire hadn't even recognized him.
God, how he longed for her to know it was him.
But with what face could he meet her, looking like this?
Clutching the bag to his chest, Vincent's eyes never left the Om departing bus. By now, his cheeks were drenched with tears.
Claire, I was wrong.
When will you forgive me? When will you remember me? When will you finally takehome?
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