His Dangerous Touch

The stale air of the small storage closet smelled faintly of dust and old floor wax, but to me, it was the scent of survival.

I sat on the cold concrete steps just outside the door, my knees pulled up to my chest in a futile attempt to conserve warmth. In my hand, I held a solitary slice of bread. It wasn't the fluffy, fresh kind that the other students bought from the cafeteria; the crust was hard, and the center was beginning to dry out, the expiration date stamped on the plastic wrapper dangerously close to the current date.

I took a small, tentative bite, chewing slowly to trick my stomach into feeling full. It was a meager meal, but every penny I saved was a penny that could go toward the life growing inside me.

"Aurora," a voice cut through the silence, heavy with concern. "Didn't the school pay you the monthly allowance? Then why are you eating this nearly expired bread that was kept to be thrown out?"

I looked up to see Mom Amanda approaching. She wasn't my biological mother, of course, but in the years since I had enrolled at St. Jude's College, she had become the closest thing to family I had. She worked as the head custodian, a woman with a kind face weathered by years of hard labor and a heart that seemed too big for her frail frame.

She was holding a large trash bag, having just finished sweeping the main school compound, but she stopped dead in her tracks when she saw me.

I offered her a weak smile, trying to hide the gnawing hunger that constantly plagued me. "Mom Amanda, you see, after the baby is born, things are going to get expensive. Diapers, formula, clothes... the costs are endless. I'm trying to save whatever I can right now. Besides," I looked down at the bread, "it still looks fresh enough, and it'll fill my stomach for now."

I finished speaking, keeping the smile plastered on my face, but I could see right away that she wasn't buying it.

She called my name, her tone dropping from gentle to deadly serious. "Aurora."

"I flinched at the sound."

"It's not about you or the bread," she said, setting down the trash bag and sitting down heavily beside me on the stairs. The concrete groaned under our combined weight.

"It's about the unborn baby. I don't want you to let any harm come to your child. You need nutrition, not... this." She gestured disdainfully at the bread in my hand.

I sighed, the weight of the world pressing down on my shoulders. I reached out and patted her hand, which was rough and calloused. "You don't have to worry about the baby that much. The baby will be in good health, I promise you. I'm being careful."

I hesitated for a moment, looking into her eyes, which were filled with a maternal worry I hadn't known since I was a little