Page 5 of Protected By Her Daddy

We spend the next few hours together, moving through the city as a group. There’s safety in numbers, and a tiny bit of the tension in my shoulders eases. We visit spots known for generous handouts—soup kitchens, churches, and a park where volunteers sometimes come to distribute food.

As the day turns into evening, I start to feel a sense of camaraderie with Sam and the others. The cohesion of the group provides me with a fragile shield against the chaos of the streets. With each interaction, I lower my guard slightly. Naively, I begin to believe that maybe I’ve found a small community to lean on.

However, my trust is shattered later that night. We’re holed up in an abandoned building, Sam and the others huddled around a small fire they somehow started in a metal can. The crackling flames light up their faces with an eerie glow. I’m sitting a little away from the main group, tightly gripping my backpack—the only possession I have left.

“Hey, Wren, we need to talk,” Sam says, her tone serious. She steps closer, and I notice a hardness in her eyes for the first time.

“What’s up?” I ask, a prickle of unease skimming down my spine.

“Look, we know you’ve been stealing food. We don’t tolerate freeloaders.” She glances at the others, and they nod in silent agreement.

“I-I shared everything I took,” I stammer, backing away slightly. “I’m not freeloading.”

Suddenly, one of the guys—tall with a cold sneer—lunges at me, grabbing my backpack and wrenching it from my grip. “Then you won’t mind sharing everything you’ve got.”

Panic surges through me. “Please, no. That’s all I have!” I cry, trying to snatch it back.

Another girl pushes me roughly, causing me to trip and fall hard on the dirty ground. My knee slams against the rough concrete, and pain shoots up my thigh. I taste blood and realize I’ve bitten my tongue in the fall.

Sam looks down at me, her expression devoid of her previous kindness. “It’s nothing personal. We don’t need dead weight.”

Her words are like a knife to my chest. I thought I’d found allies, maybe even friends.

They ransack my backpack, taking the little food and money I have, along with my cell phone. The battery is long dead, but they’ll undoubtedly be able to sell it for a bit of cash. I guess I could’ve done that, too, but I have pictures on there of Mom and me. Memories.

I struggle to my feet, tears stinging my eyes. “I thought we were looking out for each other,” I say, my voice trembling with betrayal and pain.

Sam shrugs. “Survival of the fittest, Wren. If you don’t know that by now, you soon will.”

They turn their backs on me, returning their attention to the fire.

As I bend to pick up my empty rucksack, I notice a small metallic object lying a few feet away. Grabbing it, I realize it’s the USB drive I shoved in there—was it only a few days ago? Seems like forever. It was just before I left the house that morning. I was scrambling to gather my textbooks, notes, and the USB drive I used to store my assignments. But when I searched my backpack, I couldn’t find my drive anywhere. Panic set in, knowing I couldn’t afford to lose more time on this assignment. I needed something to save my work, anything.

In desperation, I rifled through the drawers in the living room, hoping Gregory might have something lying around. My fingers moved quickly, rummaging through the mess of old batteries, crumpled receipts, and random junk. But nothing turned up. Frustrated, I slammed the last drawer shut and was about to give up when something caught my eye—a small metallic object lying on the floor by the edge of the couch.

It was a USB drive, half hidden under a pile of old magazines. I hesitated for a moment, wondering how it had ended up there. But with no time to spare, I quickly grabbed it and shoved it into my backpack, mentally reminding myself to check it later before using it.

But then Gregory and Jerry had happened. And everything had spiraled out of control.

Zipping the USB into a small pocket of the empty backpack, I take off. I’m limping from my fall, but I don’t stop until I’m far away from Sam and the others, the weight of another betrayal pressing on my heart.

Exhausted and disheartened, I wander aimlessly through the night, trying to find some semblance of safety. The thin light of dawn filtering through the dirty windows of shops and buildings is like a cruel joke—how can the world look so normal when mine has been turned upside down? All I ever wanted was for someone to look after me. Love me. Everyone who was supposed to take care of me left, either died like Dad or checked out like Mom.

Deciding to head to a quieter part of the city, I find a park with a small pond, the early morning light casting a serene glow on the water. Birds chirp happily, oblivious to the struggles unfolding in the lives of those around them. Sitting on a bench, I take a moment to rest and gather my thoughts.

After a while, an elderly man sits beside me to feed the ducks, his movements slow and deliberate. He glances at me, a knowing look in his eyes. “Rough time, huh?” he asks gently.

“Yeah,” I reply, not wanting to delve into details.

He nods, offering me a piece of bread he’s been using to feed the ducks.

“Thank you,” I say, accepting the bread with gratitude. His kindness, like Ethan’s, is a reminder that there’s still good in the world, even in the darkest times.

We sit in silence for a while, watching the ducks gliding on the pond. It’s a peaceful moment, a fleeting respite from the chaos of the streets.

Eventually, the man gets up to leave. “Take care of yourself,” he says, pressing a ten-dollar note into my hand.

“Oh, I couldn’t—” I’m about to hand it back, then remember I can’t afford to refuse his kindness.

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