Not because she asked.
Because her car looked one pothole away from retirement.
The apartment building wasn’t terrible.
But it wasn’t easy either.
Inside, her brother greeted us with a huge smile.
The moment he saw me, he pointed at Charlotte.
“She’s my hero.”
Charlotte laughed.
Embarrassed.
I just smiled.
Because he was right.
Heroes don’t always look like heroes.
Sometimes they look like exhausted delivery drivers.
Sometimes they wear worn-out jackets.
Sometimes they spend years helping someone else while quietly falling apart themselves.
Over the following months, everything changed.
