Just One More Day

Morning sunlight spilled into my apartment, soft and golden, as if it were determined to chase away my doubts.

I sat at the edge of my bed, staring at my phone screen. My thumb hovered over the number for child services, but I couldn’t press it.

It was the right thing to do. I knew that. Eli wasn’t mine. He had parents somewhere, worried sick, maybe searching desperately. Calling the authorities was the responsible choice.

And yet…

“Auntie!”

The door to my bedroom flew open, and a small bundle of energy came running in. Eli, still in his wrinkled pajamas, hair sticking up in every direction, scrambled onto the bed with surprising strength for such tiny arms.

I blinked. “Hey—don’t you knock?”

He grinned mischievously, dimples flashing. “I was hungry. And Auntie wasn’t waking up.”

Before I could scold him, he plopped himself onto my lap, hugging my waist like a koala. His small body was so warm it melted every ounce of resistance I’d tried to build.

My thumb slipped away from the call button.

“…You really shouldn’t get too attached to me,” I muttered, more to myself than to him.

Eli tilted his head. “But I like Auntie. You smell nice. You made spaghetti. You read me a story. You’re home.”

That word again. Home.

My heart clenched.

“Fine,” I sighed. “Breakfast first. But after that, we’re figuring this out.”

He cheered like I had just promised him candy for life.

---

The kitchen was livelier than it had ever been. Eli sat at the table, feet dangling as he tapped them against the chair, while I fried eggs and warmed bread. He hummed a tune I didn’t recognize, cheerful and off-key, but somehow… it made the silence less heavy.

When I placed the plate in front of him, his eyes widened like I’d served him a feast. “Wow! Auntie’s cooking is better than restaurants!”

I nearly laughed. “It’s just eggs and toast.”

“But it’s yummy!” he insisted, biting into the bread with exaggerated joy. Crumbs scattered across the table, and I had to hand him another napkin before he made a mess.

Watching him eat, I realized how naturally he had slipped into my routine. As if he had always been here, filling the spaces I didn’t even know were empty.

And that was dangerous.

After breakfast, I tried again. “Eli, we need to talk. You can’t just stay here forever. We have to find your real home.”

His little face fell instantly. He hugged his suitcase tightly, eyes watering. “You don’t want me?”

I panicked. “No! That’s not it—I just—”

Tears welled up, glistening like jewels, and his lips trembled. “But Auntie said I can stay. Mommy said warm people are home. Auntie is warm. If I leave… I’ll be cold again.”

My heart broke cleanly in two.

I pulled him into a hug before I could stop myself. His small arms wrapped around my neck, holding on as if letting go would make him disappear.

Just one night, I had told myself.

But maybe… just one more day wouldn’t hurt.

“Alright,” I whispered into his hair. “Just today. But after today, we really have to figure things out.”

Eli sniffled, then pulled back with the brightest smile, like sunshine breaking through clouds. “Okay! Just today!”

I knew then that I was already losing this battle.

Because for the first time in years, my apartment wasn’t just a place where I lived.

It was a home.

And it was all because of one little boy who had knocked on my door.

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