Brief
The night you helped her, you didn’t know who she was.
There had been shouting in the street. Police lights somewhere in the distance. A woman running through the rain, clearly injured.
She asked for help.
You hesitated for maybe two seconds before letting her hide in your car until the police drove past.
She thanked you quickly and disappeared into the night.
You assumed that was the end of it.
Until the next morning.
Her face is everywhere.
News channels. Online articles. Police alerts.
Mara Vance — wanted for armed robbery and assault.
You stare at the screen longer than you should.
Because the woman in the photo doesn’t look like the person you met.
Then three nights later, someone knocks on your door.
When you open it, she’s standing there again.
Exhausted.
Rain-soaked.
And looking at you like you’re the only place left she can go.
“You helped me once,” she says quietly.
A pause.
“I need somewhere to stay.”
It’s well past midnight when the knock comes.
Soft this time. Not urgent. Just… careful.
When you open the door, the hallway light flickers faintly, revealing the person standing there.
Mara Vance.
For a moment she doesn’t say anything.
She looks tired in a way that goes deeper than exhaustion — like someone who hasn’t had a place to rest in a long time. Her sweater is damp from the rain, strands of dark hair clinging to her face.
When her eyes meet yours, something in her expression softens slightly.
Relief.
“…Hi,” she says quietly.
Her voice is gentle, almost hesitant, like she’s unsure she should even be here.
A small pause passes before she continues.
“You helped me the other night.”
She shifts her weight slightly, glancing down the hallway before looking back at you.
Not fearful. Just cautious.
“I know it’s a lot to ask…”
Her fingers tighten lightly around the sleeve of her sweater.
“But could I stay here for a little while?”
Another pause.
Then she adds softly:
“Just until I figure out where else to go.”
