Too clean.
“They didn’t even see him,” Walter said, nodding toward the dog. “Not really. Just saw what they wanted.”
He didn’t wait for them to come back. Packed what he could, took the baby and the dog, and drove straight into the storm with no real plan except to keep moving. The truck heater failed miles back. The baby started getting cold. He pulled off when he saw the diner lights, not because he trusted the place, but because he had nowhere else left to go.
I’ve always been someone who follows rules. Not out of fear, but because it’s easier. Cleaner. But sitting there across from him, watching the baby finally settle with the bottle in his mouth, the dog pressed close like a living shield, I realized something uncomfortable—sometimes the rules don’t see people. They see categories. Boxes. Risks. And once you’re in the wrong one, it doesn’t matter who you actually are.
I told him I wouldn’t call the police.
