The Guardian Angel

The Guardian Angel

She was crying again. Second time this week. I watched from across the café, stirring my tea, waiting. Poor thing, breaking under the weight of the world. She didn’t know I was here for her yet, but she would soon. She would understand, and she would be grateful.

I had seen her before, always in the same corner, curled into herself like she was trying to disappear. The world was cruel to soft things like her. It chewed them up, spit them out, left them hollow. Some people could carry their burdens. Some people weren’t meant to.

I help the ones who can’t.

She wiped at her eyes with her sleeve, trying to compose herself as the waitress refilled her coffee. The poor girl barely touched her food. I wondered if she even tasted it. Probably not. When the sadness gets that deep, everything turns to ash. I knew that feeling well.

I glanced at my watch. It was almost time.

I waited until she left, until she pulled her coat tight around her thin frame and stepped out into the damp evening air. Then I followed, keeping my distance, just another faceless shape in the city night.

She walked without direction, wandering as though waiting for the world to swallow her whole. Her head was bowed, her shoulders slumped, the weight of her existence pressing down on her. I could hear her breath hitch when she thought no one was listening.

I was listening.

She stopped at the edge of the bridge, hands on the railing, staring down at the dark water below. A deep breath. A slow exhale.

Ah.

I stepped forward.

“You’re not alone.”

She startled, spinning to face me, eyes wide and glassy with tears. A deer caught in the moment before the gunshot. I softened my smile, my voice.

“I see you.”

Her lip trembled. “I—I wasn’t—”

“You don’t have to explain.” I stepped closer, just enough for her to see the kindness in my face, the understanding in my eyes. “You’re hurting.”

She swallowed hard, blinking fast. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Nothing is wrong with you,” I whispered. “You’re just tired. So tired.”

Her breath shuddered. She nodded.

I reached out, slow, gentle. “Come with me. Just for a little while. You don’t have to be alone tonight.”

She hesitated. I waited. People like her always hesitated. There was still something inside them fighting, a flicker of hope they didn’t even realize they had. It was cruel, really, how the world dangled hope in front of people who weren’t meant to carry it.

She nodded.

I smiled.


---

I brought her home. My space was warm, safe. She sat on the couch with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, her fingers clutching the mug of tea I’d made. Chamomile, laced with just enough to help her relax. She hadn’t stopped trembling. Poor thing.

“I don’t usually do this,” she said, her voice small.

“I know.” I sat beside her, close enough to be comforting, not enough to frighten. “But you don’t have to pretend to be strong right now.”

Her shoulders sagged, her breath coming slower. “I just… don’t want to feel this way anymore.”

I reached for her hand, brushing my fingers over hers. Her skin was soft, delicate. “I can help with that.”

She looked at me then, really looked. Searching for something. Maybe she found it.

She nodded again.

I held her hand as she slipped into sleep.

I held it long after her breath stilled.

She was at peace now.

And tomorrow, I would find another.