Kids that age—twelve, maybe thirteen—they're still growing. They need real food, not junk.

I was just about to drizzle the sauce and bring out the next round when—

Smack!

A small table near the cart flipped over outta nowhere.

"Look at you. No mom, crappy dad, and you're out here eating like you matter?"

A bunch of kids had crowded around Rory, all looking for a fight.

"Boss told you to wait by the gate after school. You stupid or something?"

One of them—buzz-cut, uniform half-untucked—stepped forward, smirking.

"Since Rory's so into burritos, let's give him a little extra. Make sure he's real full."

He yanked the tray out of my hands, dumped the burritos on the ground, and smashed them under his shoe.

"You think some charity case like you can go after the girl I like? Nah. Time for a reality check. Get him!"

The other boys clamped down on Rory's shoulders.

He was too small, too worn-out to fight back—just totally helpless.

"Let me go!"

"Let you go?" Buzz-cut snorted. "Yeah, right. I brought you something SPECIAL today."

He grabbed a fistful of burritos mashed with dirt and moved to shove it into Rory's mouth.

They were bullying him—right in front of me.

Like I wasn't even standing there.

I grabbed the kitchen knife from the side and slammed the flat of the blade against one kid's wrist.

They all jerked back, stunned. The muddy burritos hit the ground again.

"Are you crazy, lady?!"

"You trying to kill someone with that knife?"

I lifted the blade again. "You mess with people just 'cause you can? Cool. I can do the same to you. Fair trade."

Buzz-cut froze. "What's he even got to do with you? Stay out of it!"

I slammed the knife against the table beside me. The wood splintered with a sharp crack.

"I'm his mom. Touch my kid again, and I'll be on you with this knife every single day."

Everything went dead quiet.

Next thing they knew, I was swinging the knife like a maniac.

The punks scrambled back.

I yanked Rory behind me. "Get lost. Or you want a few cuts to go?"

Buzz-cut sneered but backed off. "You losers can't even handle one chick?"

His crew muttered, trembling. "Bro, forget it... She's really swinging that thing..."

Still grumbling, they finally took off.

I exhaled hard.

When I turned around, Rory was staring up at me, eyes red and glossy.

"Ma'am... I'm sorry for the trouble."

"What?" I brushed my hair out of my face, faking a dramatic sigh. "I was AWESOME back there. Aren't you gonna say something nice?"

I grinned. "Just kidding. Maya Murphy. You can call me Miss Murphy. I'm twenty-three—not that much older than you."

He smiled, and just like that, his whole face softened.

I packed up the cart, ready to bounce. "If you're ever hungry, come find me. I'm here after school."

He tugged at his shirt, eyes down. "But... I don't have any money left."

Watching this kid—who'd one day wreck the world—treat one meal like it was gold, I blurted, "Spring break's coming. Want to help at the stand? I'll cover your food."

His whole face lit up. "Really?"

"Yup. We'll be at the tourist spot. It gets insane, and I need backup." I ruffled his wild hair. "You're hired. Kill it and I'll throw in extra shrimp."

He snapped to attention. "Miss Murphy, thank you."

I meant to walk him home, but he wouldn't let me—insisted on pushing the cart instead. Only when we got to my place did he finally take off, backpack slung tight.

I watched his skinny frame fade down the street, this ache curling in my chest. Whatever it took, I'd rewrite his ending.

He wasn't a villain yet. Just a broken kid trying to survive.

Spring break hit, and Rory showed up before sunrise. Every. Single. Day.

He'd scan yesterday's numbers like a tiny CEO, then pick the best money spot. Wiped tables, cleared dishes, scrubbed plates—fast, smooth, like he'd done it forever. Kid had just turned thirteen, but he moved like he was twenty-five.

The mini burritos were flying. After the rush, I handed him a set and wiped the sweat off his forehead.

"Eat. I've got cleanup."

Out of nowhere, he said, "Miss Murphy... you remind me of my mom."

I kept it light. "Yeah? What was she like?"

He froze mid-plate. "She was kind. Treated everyone right... just not herself."

The novel mentioned her—every time her drunk husband got violent, she'd throw herself between him and Rory.

She did that for ten years.

But even the toughest break eventually. After a lifetime of work and beatdowns, she just... couldn't anymore. She died before she could protect him one last time.

Tears welled in Rory's eyes. I didn't even think—just said, "Then take care of yourself. That's what she'd want."

He nodded, a small smile breaking through. "Yeah. I will."

I ruffled his hair again. "If you're ever hurt or hungry, come find me. I don't have much, but I've always got burritos."

He ducked his head, ears going red. "Miss Murphy... you're really nice."

How did a kid this sweet end up the story's big bad?

The novel barely touched his past. I had no clue what came next.

But I knew one thing—I was gonna protect him anyway.

***

Last day of spring break, I waited by the cart.

Rory never came.

A tight, ugly feeling crawled into my chest.

I went to the address he gave me.

Even from down the block, I heard the yelling.

"You little bastard! I'm drowning in debt! Mr. Menzer doesn't care that you're a boy—he still wants you! Just spend a few nights with him and I'm off the hook! And you refuse? I raised you for what? You're just like your useless mother—ungrateful trash!"

I knew instantly—it was Donald, Rory's dad.

He was beating Rory with a broom, swinging like a maniac.

The neighbors didn't even blink. This wasn't new.

I sprinted over and grabbed the broom mid-swing. "He's a kid. You lay another hand on him, I'm calling the cops."

Rory looked up at me, eyes full of pain.

Donald sneered. "I'm his dad. It's family business. I feed him, raise him—why can't I smack him around?"

I pulled Rory to his feet.

My voice shook, but I held the line. "A doctor can list every bruise on him. That's enough to put you behind bars. If you won't take care of your son, then I will."

I turned to leave, guiding Rory with me.

Donald's face twisted.

"Rory, I raised you! You really walking out? Gonna let me rot? Fine—then you don't want this either?"

I turned back, frowning—

Donald stumbled out holding an urn. The photo on it was of a young woman who looked so much like Rory it punched the air out of me.

Rory panicked. "Give it back! You don't deserve to touch my mom's ashes!"

Crack!

The urn shattered. Ash exploded across the floor.

I froze.

Something in Rory broke.

"I'm gonna kill you!" He lunged, full feral, but Donald kicked him hard, sent him flying.

"You walk out and leave me to drown? You're going to Mr. Menzer. You're paying my debt."

Rory hit the ground, blood spilling from his mouth. Still, he crawled, hands trembling, trying to gather the ashes.

Then the wind came—and scattered what was left.

Rory hugged himself, shaking. The light in his eyes flickered out, one piece at a time.

My chest burned. "How much did you sell him for? I'll pay."

Donald looked me over, scoffing at my plain clothes. "Fifty grand. You got that?"

"I do."

I still had my old family house outside town—been in the family forever. Someone once offered me a hundred K for it when I was drowning. I didn't take it.

But houses? They're just walls.

The kid in front of me was alive.

Rory looked up, shattered and desperate.

Donald's eyes gleamed. "You pay, he's yours."

"Deal."

I called the buyer, signed the papers, wired the money. Just like that, Rory was mine.

Before he could even wrap his head around it, I grabbed his hand. "You're my kid now. Come on."

He stared at me, then just broke. First time he ever cried in front of me.

"Miss Murphy... Mom left. She said she'd get better, come back for me... but she didn't. That day, so many people came. All for her. But she never came home."

I pulled him close. "She didn't break her promise. She sent me."