Michael resisted.
Arthur insisted.
"This isn't charity."
"What is it?"
"A temporary room for a new employee."
Michael smiled.
"You're impossible."
"So I've been told."
At midnight, Michael checked on Lily.
She was awake.
"Daddy?"
"Yes?"
"Who was the old man?"
"Mr. Whitmore."
"Is he rich?"
Michael laughed.
"Very."
"How rich?"
"I don't know."
Lily thought about it.
"Does he have a big house?"
"Probably."
"Does he have a swimming pool?"
"Probably."
She smiled.
"I like him."
Michael sat beside her.
"Why?"
"Because he gave me bread."
Michael kissed her forehead.
"You know what?"
"What?"
"Sometimes the nicest people don't give you what you ask for."
Lily frowned.
"What do they give?"
"Something you need."
She thought about it.
Then asked:
"Daddy?"
"Yes?"
"When I grow up, can I give bread to people?"
Michael smiled.
"Yes."
"Even if I'm rich?"
"Especially then."
Lily nodded.
Then she closed her eyes.
Michael watched her sleep.
For the first time in months, he wasn't afraid of tomorrow.
But he didn't know that tomorrow would bring something unexpected.
At 7:30 a.m., Arthur called.
"Michael?"
"Yes?"
"Come downstairs."
"Why?"
"There's something you need to see."
Michael went down.
Arthur was standing inside the kitchen.
Beside him was a stack of old photographs.
Arthur handed him one.
Michael stared.
It showed Arthur at twenty-nine.
Thin.
Exhausted.
Standing outside a bakery.
Holding a loaf of bread.
Michael looked at him.
"That's you."
Arthur nodded.
"That's the night everything changed."
"Who gave you the bread?"
Arthur smiled.
"I never found out."
Michael looked at the photograph again.
Then noticed something.
In the background stood a man.
Wearing a white chef's coat.
Michael's face changed.
"Wait."
Arthur looked at him.
"What?"