Struggles and conflicts were part of everyday life for a homeless girl, she'd come to terms with that. Alice had learned to pickpocket, steal fruit from stalls, and cheat cashiers in markets with the greatest of ease. She was used to the rush, the screams of “Get her!”, and the adrenaline of running away, with the blood rushing in her ears every time someone came close to catch up with her.

They mostly never did.

Mostly being the keyword.

Because that's usually how she ended up when "mostly" failed her: dumped in an alley, her head spinning and her ears ringing, not feeling some parts of her body and feeling too much in other parts. Blood drying on the only clothes she owned and sweat pouring off her body by the gallons. She tried to get some air into her lungs, but her newly broken ribs hurt too much. She tried to shift position, but she couldn't feel her arms.

If I die here, she thought, I hope someone tells Abigail. Stupid old crane.

The falling rain was so heavy that she didn't even hear when someone approached.

"Are you ok?"

It was a male voice, but not an adult one. It sounded like a little boy. She opened her eyes with difficulty, the blurred vision allowing her to just make out the blond hair and white skin.

"If you're going to rob me…" she whispered. “My hair is probably the only thing worth anything"

The boy didn't find it funny:

“You look awful".

“Wow, thank you so much"

“Wait here,” he ordered.

Alice would have laughed if she could get herself to breathe properly again. She sure wasn't going anywhere.

He returned a while later with a bag in one hand.

"Here," he said, pushing it toward her. "It's food"

Alice tried. But after swallowing the first piece of meat, she threw it all up on the floor. The boy grimaced but said nothing. He handed her a bottle of water. It took Alice a while to get it down, and when she did, she nearly threw up again. But she was determined to keep at least the water in her stomach.

"Don't you have a home?"

She just shook her head. He stopped to think for a moment, and Alice felt a little self-conscious, having thrown up the food he had bought her. She waited, silent, while the boy seemed to have an internal conversation with himself. There wasn't much else she could do, after all.

Finally, he looked up and asked:

"Would you like to come with me? My house is not far from here"

Alice didn't trust people. She'd done it once, and in return, been dropped off a cliff top to certain death. But she knew she didn't have much time left. This wasn't just another case of letting time heal her wounds. She could feel the hole in the flesh of her thigh throbbing, the ribs out of place...

The boy helped her stand up. He was shorter than she was, and he looked skinny, though she couldn't tell for sure with all those expensive clothes. They moved forward together, very slowly.

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He pulled up in front of a beautiful two-story house with a white picket fence protecting the well-tended garden.

“It's here,” he said.

Getting through the gate was a difficult task, and she came very close to fainting twice, but they finally made it. The boy looked exhausted when they reached the steps leading to the front door. With three last efforts, he managed to help her up, and he slammed his free hand on the door, shouting:

"Mom!"

Hurried steps were heard, and it didn't take long for the door to be opened by a beautiful lady, with long black hair and an impeccable lilac dress around her frame. Her eyes widened at the sight of them, quickly pulled Alice out of his arms and gently but firmly inside. He followed them, panting with weariness.

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“Dylan, my love.” She looked as confused as she was lost. "Who is the girl?"

"My name is Alice. I don't know who your son is either"

Dylan took off his sodden coat and hung it on a hook on the wall. He looked at her for a moment before answering:

“She was hurt, just left there on the street, Mom…” he said. "I thought that..."

“It's okay, sweetie.” The woman waved her hands frantically. “You did the right thing. How are you holding up right now, Alice?"

The woman ordered Dylan upstairs to his room, which the boy promptly did, and helped Alice undress, looking horrified at each new wound she found. She tried to take care of them, at first, but soon realized that they needed a real doctor. She covered Alice with a clean overcoat and left for another room in the house.

As she waited, alone, Alice looked around. She had never been much interested in wealth or luxury, but she had to admit the place was beautiful. There were pictures on the walls, the coffee table's tablecloth was a soft-looking fabric, and the couch she was sitting on smelled good.

"I called Mrs. Rowan," Dylan's mother returned. "She should be here in a moment. Now, come on, you need a shower and clean clothes, Alice"

Alice didn't remember the last time she had a real bath. Warm water ran over her body like a novelty. Dylan's mother scrubbed her hair with soap and was careful not to pick at the wounds and properly cover the worst ones with bandages. Then she gave her a pair of underwear, a baggy skirt (too baggy, after all, it belonged to the woman), and a clean blouse. Alice already felt a little better.

“Thank you so much,” she said, as the woman dried her hair.

"You don't have to thank me. You are very welcome here" and, after a moment of silence, she seemed to notice something: "Oh! How rude of me! My name is Rosabella Haywood. My son's name is Dylan".

Dylan. Alice nodded her head, deep in thought.

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"Mom?" He knocked on the washroom door. "The doctors are here!"

Mrs. Haywood hurriedly finished getting Alice in a presentable state, then helped her out of the room. Dylan followed close behind.

Sitting on the couch was a couple and a little girl, who didn't look much older than her, or Dylan.

"Mrs. Haywood,” they greeted. “Dylan!"

"Mr. And Mrs. Rowan,” she replied.

She and Dylan laid Alice down on the couch, under the doctors' instructions. Afterward, the two children were dismissed to the kitchen, where they stayed until the end of the exam.

Alice stopped counting at the seventh broken bone, but she had a pretty good idea that her situation wasn't pretty. They covered the wounds with bandages, put her arm in a splint, and bandaged her torso, but asked Mrs. Haywood to buy the prescription drugs, to which she readily agreed. She then ran upstairs, returning with a pair of crutches that she claimed were from "when Dylan broke his leg" and handed them to Alice.

“Friends,” she called, and the couple turned to her . "Would you like to join us for dinner?"

The couple accepted, and they found their daughter eating some cookies with Dylan in the kitchen. They were all talking about something Alice didn't understand, so she was quiet throughout the meal. When Mr. Haywood arrived home and listened to the explanation of events, he welcomed Alice with a smile and congratulated his son on the good deed.

Alice still couldn't eat real food so she just sipped at the soup Mrs. Haywood had cooked.

And she'd been quite distracted stirring a piece of carrot in the bowl when she heard Dylan's voice whispering:

"Alice! Hey!"

She was surprised to see him crouched in the doorway of the kitchen, a finger to his lips, and even more surprised to see Ms. Rowan, the little girl, beside him.

She excused herself from the adults and left the kitchen with the help of her crutches.