Chapter 24
Luke’s humor faded.
“What do you mean?”
Amayah stared at the closed front door as if willing it to reveal answers. “I haven’t seen their mom in a while.”
“How often do you usually see her?”
“Not often,” she admitted. “But she used to stop by at least once a week, mostly just to complain.”
“About you?” He couldn’t keep the incredulous tone from his voice. “What could she possibly complain about?”
Amayah gave a tired little huff of amusement. “That my porch light is too bright. That my snow shovel scratched the shared sidewalk line. That my Christmas music was too cheerful. That I made her kids feel bad by being ‘too nice’.”
Luke blinked. “You’re kidding.”
“I wish.”
He studied her a long moment. “You realize most people would’ve moved six months ago.”
She shrugged. “Most people don’t feel called to stay.”
“You’re either incredibly brave . . . or a saint.”
A flicker of discomfort crossed her face. She looked away, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, her breath catching faintly in the cold air.
“I’m not a saint, Luke.” Her voice was quiet, but something raw edged beneath it.
He waited—didn’t push, just held the silence open for her.
She exhaled slowly. “Isaac . . . the guy I used to date . . . he struggled. More than people knew. More than I knew for far too long.” Her gaze drifted toward the snow-dusted sidewalk.
“He hid things from me. Real things. Scary things. And when I finally realized how bad it was, I didn’t handle it well. ”
Luke’s chest tightened. “You tried to help him?”
“Not enough.” Her voice cracked at the edges.
“I thought loving someone meant giving them space. Grace. Patience. I didn’t understand that sometimes love has to be firmer than that.
” She looked up at him then, eyes shining with a truth she’d carried too long.
“I should have seen the signs sooner. I should have pushed him harder to get help. Instead, I let him talk me out of my instincts, because I wanted to believe the version of himself he showed me.”
She pressed a hand to her coat, as if steadying something inside. “When he died . . . it wasn’t just losing him that I wrestled with. It was realizing I’d been watching him walk toward something that was going to destroy him—and I didn’t stop him.”
A brittle breath left her. “So, no. I’m not a saint. I’m someone who learned the hard way that you can’t love someone enough to save them. And sometimes it means admitting you failed them.”
Luke felt the words settle into him—heavy, aching, whole.
He’d seen grief before, but this was something more. Guilt. Regret. A heart that had learned to speak softly because it had once spoken too late.
His throat tightened. “Amayah . . . that isn’t failure.”
But even as he said it, he sensed she wasn’t ready to hear those words yet.
“Anyway, moving on . . .” She shifted, making it clear she wanted to change the subject.
Luke licked his lips, not wanting to push too hard—though, more than anything, he wanted to keep talking about this. He wanted Amayah to see the truth instead of guilt.
But maybe now wasn’t the time. He needed to respect her wishes of moving on.
Instead, he asked, “What are you going to do about the Crumps?”
She let out a long breath before saying, “Nothing I can’t justify. Not yet. I can’t accuse a woman of neglecting her children without proof. But until I know the truth, I’ll help the only way I can.”
“And that is?”
“I’ll feed them. Clothe them. Love them. And make sure someone sees them.”
Something heavy tightened in his chest. “And if things get worse?”
Her gaze lifted, fierce and protective. “Then I won’t look away.”
The silence that followed wasn’t empty.
It was full of unspoken fear . . . and the beginning of a resolve neither of them could fully name yet.
Luke’s apartment felt colder than usual when he arrived home that night.
Harry was out doing some kind of Christmas crawl with some friends from his indoor soccer league.
It was just as well. Luke could use some time to himself.
He dropped his keys onto the counter and ran a hand through his hair, the quiet settling around him like an unwelcome weight. The radiator clicked softly, attempting warmth, but it did nothing to loosen the tension coiled beneath his ribs.
Maisie’s hug replayed first—her small arms clutching his coat. Then Eli’s guarded gratitude. The way the others had devoured their food like it might vanish at any moment.
And Amayah.
The calm strength in the way she moved through chaos. The softness in her voice when she spoke to the kids.
Then there was the kiss at the mall.
Unplanned. Brief. But impossible to dismiss.
The way her breath had trembled when she pulled away. The uncertainty in her eyes. The weight of the moment that had lingered long after they’d parted.
He wandered into the dim living room, sinking onto the edge of the couch, staring at nothing.
What he’d witnessed tonight hadn’t felt staged.
It had felt real and raw. Uncomfortable.
Beneath his cynicism, a quieter truth began to take root.
He didn’t want to expose Amayah. He wanted to support her.
His phone rang.
Luke stared at the screen for a long second before answering.
Linda. Again.
He dragged a hand down his face and hit Accept. “Hey.”
“Well?” she asked without preamble, her voice clipped, brisk, already two steps ahead of him.
“I know,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m on it.”
A dry huff crackled through the line. “Are you? Because I just watched the footage from yesterday—the door judging. And unless my eyesight’s failing, you and your subject looked awfully cozy.”
Luke closed his eyes. “Linda—”
“No.” Her voice sharpened. “Listen to me. This isn’t a fluff piece. I assigned you this story because you’re the one person I trust not to get snowed by a pretty face and a soft voice.”
Heat climbed up his neck, equal parts irritation and shame.
Linda pressed on. “You’re circling your original assignment like it’s some kind of Christmas miracle.
Don’t do that. Influencers like her”—she broke off, scoffing—“they thrive on manufactured intimacy. It’s their business model.
Make the world think they’re everyone’s best friend.
Make people feel chosen, seen. And then profit from it. ”
Luke gripped the phone tighter.
Linda’s voice lowered, purposeful. “People are getting fleeced, Luke. Donors. Followers. Kids. They’re handing over trust—and sometimes money—to people who know exactly how to manipulate them. If we don’t expose that, who will?”
His jaw ticked as Hannah’s face flickered uninvited in the corners of his mind.
Linda continued, almost softer—but still unyielding. “Don’t let proximity blur the story. And don’t let personal feelings compromise your judgment. You’re better than that. And this piece? It could be the one that finally gets you noticed.”
“I hear you,” Luke said quietly.
“Good.” Papers rustled on her end. “Then get me something real.”
The line went dead.
Luke lowered the phone, his chest tight. For a moment he just sat there, torn cleanly in two—between the woman he’d just spent the day with . . . and the dirt Linda was demanding he find.
He didn’t move.
Amayah’s face surfaced in his mind again—the way she’d crouched beside Maisie. The quiet strength in the way she’d seen the beauty she created destroyed, yet she still offered grace. The warmth—and exhilaration—of her kiss.
Exhaustion settled deeper in his bones.
He missed Amayah already.
Missed the way her kitchen smelled. The way she spoke to the children as if they mattered. The way her eyes searched for hope even when fear crept close.
He wanted to reassure her that what had happened with her former boyfriend wasn’t her fault. Tell her that she couldn’t save the world—even if he knew she wouldn’t listen.
His thoughts shifted to dinner and the kids they’d shared it with.
Something was wrong at the Crump house.
He could feel it.
And whether or not Amayah wanted him to, he decided one thing with solid clarity: While he investigated the story he’d been assigned, he’d also look into the Crumps.
Because they deserved to have someone paying attention to them.