Chapter 5

We wandered the streets all night.

By the time dawn broke, we found ourselves at the entrance of an alley in the old part of town — and that's where we met Linda, who was out running a street sweeper along the road.

Linda was the warm-hearted type. One look at Yolanda's lips, blue from the cold, and she immediately brought us inside her home.

When she heard what had happened, Linda exploded. She cursed up a storm and spat on the ground in disgust.

"What kind of monster does that?! That's lower than dirt! Don't you worry — I've got a storage room out back that's just sitting empty. You can fix it up and stay there as long as you need. No rent."

Yolanda was deeply grateful, but she was a proud woman at her core. She insisted on paying monthly rent, no matter what.

The storage room was tiny — dark, damp, with nothing but a hard cot inside.

But every night, I curled up at her feet and pressed my warm, furry body against her to keep her from getting cold.

As long as she was there, it was home.

Once they'd settled in, Yolanda started thinking about how to make a living.

Her family had been known for their handmade pizza for generations. She'd grown up watching and learning, and she made an incredible pizza — and her hot dogs were just as good.

With the little money she had left, she bought an second-hand oven and some ingredients.

Before long, the tiny storage room was filled with a warm, sweet smell.

I'd sit on the edge of the counter and watch her knead the dough. Any rat or cockroach that dared come within a foot of the food got a swift paw to the face — no mercy.

I was her black knight. It was my job.

The first batch of pizzas came out golden and crisp, steaming hot, smelling absolutely amazing.

Yolanda wiped the sweat from her forehead and smiled — the first real smile she'd had in days.

The next morning, Yolanda pushed a borrowed old cart to the entrance of the subway station.

The early winter wind cut at her face like a blade.

The morning rush crowd moved fast, everyone hurrying off to their nine-to-fives. Hardly anyone stopped to give a second glance to an old woman's little food stand.

Day after day, business was slow.

The pizza had gone cold and been reheated so many times that Yolanda's eyes had slowly lost their light.

That evening, the sky hung low and gray, threatening rain.

A young girl in a trench coat stumbled up to the stall, looking completely lost.

Her name was Nicole — a micro-influencer who made food review content.

She had refused to sleep with her agency's boss, and in retaliation, he'd forced her out of her contract. Not only did she lose her job, but the account she'd spent years building — millions of followers — was shamelessly stolen by the company.

She stood in the wind, tears streaming down her face.

I sensed her despair immediately. That suffocating feeling of being abandoned by the entire world — I knew it all too well from my past life.

I jumped down from the tricycle, walked over to her feet, and gently wrapped my tail around her ankle, purring softly.

Nicole froze for a moment, then crouched down and stroked my head.

"Little black cat," she whispered through her tears, "did you lose your home too?"

Seeing this, Yolanda wrapped a warm slice of pizza in wax paper and held it out to her.

"Girl, no matter how hard things get, you still need to eat. Something sweet will take the edge off the pain. Take it — no charge."

Nicole's hands trembled as she took the pizza and bit into it.

The soft, pillowy dough, the creamy richness of the melted cheese, and that rare, simple warmth she hadn't felt in so long — it shattered every wall she'd built around herself.

She crouched right there on the side of the road and sobbed, loud and ugly, not caring how she looked.

Yolanda didn't ask a single question. She just quietly patted Nicole's back, the way you would comfort your own child.