Beatrice stared into her terrible coffee. "My son," she said, the words slow and deliberate. "He insists I am no longer capable of independence. He surrounds me with nurses, security, drivers. I am treated like a fragile piece of porcelain waiting to shatter." She touched the messy bandage on her forehead, a bitter smile touching her lips. "I suppose today I proved him right."
Sadie snorted softly. "Or you just tripped. The pavement out there is garbage; city hasn't fixed it in five years. Don't let one bad step convince you you're broken."
Beatrice looked up, her blue eyes locking onto Sadie's brown ones. For a second, the diner, the smell of grease, and the hum of the fridge faded. It was just two women separated by decades and tax brackets, recognizing a shared refusal to surrender.
Headlights cut through the gloom outside, washing the diner in blinding white light. A massive, sleek black car—a Bentley, though Sadie didn't know the make, only that it looked like it cost more than the entire building she was sitting in—pulled up to the curb.
Beatrice sighed. The brief moment of vulnerability vanished, replaced instantly by the rigid posture of a woman who commanded rooms.
"That will be Thomas," Beatrice said.
She reached into her coat pocket, feeling around for something.
"Don't worry about it," Sadie said quickly, standing up and stepping away from the booth. She didn't want a few crumpled dollars from this woman; it felt wrong. It would turn the last twenty minutes into a transaction.
Beatrice pulled her hand out empty. She looked at Sadie—really looked at her, taking in the exhaustion under her eyes, the cheap shoes, the blood on the apron.
"You saved me a great deal of indignity today, Sadie."
"I just patched a cut. Take some Tylenol when you get home."
The door chimed violently. A man in a tailored dark suit stepped in, his eyes scanning the diner with aggressive efficiency before landing on booth two. He rushed over, ignoring Sadie completely.
"Madam," he said, his voice clipped and panicked. "Are you all right? Mr. Hayes is going to—"
"Quiet, Thomas," Beatrice snapped, holding up a hand. "I am perfectly fine. I had a slight stumble. This young woman assisted me."