“Tomorrow.”
The biker nodded.
“Good.”
“Pay?”
He named an amount.
The Mother blinked.
It was more than the diner.
Not enormous.
Enough.
“You're not inflating it because—”
“No.”
“How do I know?”
“Ask the woman who quit.”
The Mother did.
The former employee confirmed the rate.
The Mother returned.
“Fine.”
The biker smiled.
“Welcome.”
“Don't make it emotional.”
“Wouldn't dream of it.”
That afternoon they visited the apartment.
One bedroom.
Tiny kitchen.
Old floorboards.
A bakery downstairs.
The entire place smelled faintly of bread.
The Little Boy ran from room to room.
“Mom!”
“What?”
“There's a window!”
She laughed.
“Most apartments have those.”
“This one looks at the mountains.”
She walked over.
He was right.
Barely.
Between two buildings, a slice of blue mountain ridge appeared.
The Mother looked at the landlord.
“When is it available?”
“Now.”
The Mother calculated.
First month's rent.
Deposit installment.
Food.
Bus.
Wages beginning tomorrow.
Tight.
Possible.
She looked at the biker.
He did not speak.
Good.
This choice belonged to her.
“I'll take it.”
The Little Boy screamed.
Then covered his mouth.
“Sorry.”
The landlord laughed.
“Neighbors downstairs start baking at four in the morning.”
The Mother smiled.
“He won't be their loudest problem.”
They moved in three days later.
Their possessions filled less than one corner.
The biker club brought a used table.
The Mother refused a new couch.
Accepted a secondhand one.
A woman from the bakery gave them curtains.
One biker brought a lamp.
Another brought dishes.
The Mother established a rule.
Anything expensive required repayment.
The bikers complained.
She refused to negotiate.
Eventually they accepted.
The Little Boy hung his Father’s leather jacket beside the front door.
The stitched name faced inward.
The old blanket returned two weeks later.
Most of it was salvageable.
The contaminated corner had to be cut away.
A woman connected to the club repaired the missing section using stronger blue cloth.
The new fabric was darker.
The stars did not match.
One large yellow moon was sewn into the center.
The Little Boy stared.
“It looks weird.”
The Mother worried.
Then he smiled.
“I like weird.”
That night he slept beneath it.
For the first time in weeks, the Mother did not stay awake watching.
She slept too.
Life did not become easy because a biker stopped under a bridge.
That part mattered.
The first paycheck disappeared quickly.
Rent.
Groceries.
Bus passes.
School clothes.