Chapter 6: Safe Harbor and Promises

John Carter had been on duty at the Army base outside the city for half a month, so only Ben and I were at home.

The house felt emptier without John’s steady presence, the clock ticking louder in the silence. Still, I did my best to keep routines—dinners together, homework at the kitchen table, the same lullabies at bedtime.

Ben curled up on the couch, clutching his battered Cubs cap, reruns of Wheel of Fortune mumbling in the background. The lamp’s flame stretched long, casting the shadows of one tall and one small figure on the wall.

The old floor creaked as I moved. Ben sat curled in the window seat, knees drawn to his chest, watching the snow collect on the fire escape.

Ben seemed sullen. After carefully applying ointment to my wound, he hugged his knees and sat by the window, the wind making the old blinds rattle.

The antiseptic stung, but Ben’s hands were gentle as he dabbed at my forehead. I winced, then smiled at him to show I was okay. He didn’t smile back.

"You’ll catch cold." I walked over and closed the window.

The cold air seeped in anyway, finding the cracks in our old frame. I drew the curtain, blocking out the city’s neon haze.

Ben looked up, his dark eyes brimming with unshed tears. He choked out, "Are they going to take you away?"

His voice was so small, barely above a whisper. My heart ached to see him so afraid.

I told him no. Ben didn’t seem to believe me. I smiled and said I wasn’t some rare treasure—no one would come to snatch me away.

I tried to laugh, to lighten the mood, but Ben only pressed his lips tighter. His eyes searched mine for something I couldn’t give—certainty.

Ben shook his head. "You’re so good. You make me soup when I’m sick, help me with my homework. Only after Dad brought you home did I know what it was like to have a mom’s warmth. You always think I’m a kid and don’t understand things.

"But I can tell good from bad. Those people today, though dressed in fancy clothes and riding in big cars, are rotten inside. Mom, don’t go with them. You are a good and pure person; don’t let them drag you down."

His words cut through me, sharp and clear. I pulled him into my arms, resting my chin atop his head. I wished I could promise him nothing bad would ever happen again.

Everyone used to say I was trash, that my entering the mayor’s house stained their reputation. Even my own son believed it.

Only John Carter and Ben were different.

John Carter took me home, ignoring others’ stares, and married me openly.

"Whether a person is good or not isn’t determined by birth or gossip, but by their heart."

That night, he’d seen me lying weak in the snow, clutching half a peanut butter sandwich given by a kind passerby, yet not eating it—sharing it with a little homeless kid beside me.

He said, "At that moment, I thought you were very good—purer than snow."

His words still echoed in my mind on the worst days. In this city, kindness was rare currency.

As for Ben, hearing such clear words from a child so young, I was deeply moved.

The teacher at the elementary school often praised Ben’s intelligence, saying he would surely excel in the future. But with me, he was always quiet.

Perhaps because he lost his mom young, and his dad was a quiet man, he kept many things to himself.

But today, faced with hardship, it was as if he suddenly stepped out from behind his inner walls. He still looked like a child, but his heart saw more clearly than many adults.

I felt comforted, stroking his soft hair. "Our Ben will definitely have a bright future."

Ben’s eyes widened with seriousness. He promised, "I will succeed and make Mom proud."

His voice was fierce, determined. I couldn’t help but laugh softly, brushing a stray lock from his forehead.

I smiled.

"Before that, just grow up safe and sound."

Ben broke into a smile through his tears and raised his hand. "Let’s make a promise—Mom must always stay with me and Dad."

I linked my pinky with his, sealing the promise the way American kids do. The shadows on the wall swayed gently, two hands softly coming together.

So it turns out, people without blood ties can still form bonds that are hard to break.

In that moment, I realized family isn’t always born—it’s chosen, built from small kindnesses and shared hurts.