Chapter 8 - THE GATES OF ST. JUDE'STwenty minutes later, Gabriel’s black Maybach pulled up to the familiar curb at 74th and Lexington.
I looked out the tinted window, my breath catching in my throat.
We were parked right outside St. Jude’s Academy.
The afternoon bell had just rung, and a stream of wealthy private school students in plaid skirts and navy blazers were spilling out through the iron gates, laughing, texting on their phones, and tossing empty juice boxes into the recycling bins.
"Why are we here, Gabriel?" I asked softly, turning to look at him.
"Come on," he said, opening his door and stepping out onto the sidewalk.
I followed him out into the warm spring air. We walked across the pavement, stopping right at the corner where the rusted iron gate met the red brick wall. The security camera above still hummed quietly, watching the street below.
Gabriel reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small, foil-wrapped parcel. He held it out toward me.
I looked down at it, my eyes widening.
It was a turkey sandwich on whole-wheat bread, cut neatly in half, wrapped in plastic wrap—just like the ones I used to smuggle out of my lunchbox sixteen years ago.
"Go ahead," Gabriel whispered, his hazel eyes twinkling with mischief and deep, enduring affection. "Push it through the bars."
A warm wave of laughter bubbled up from the depths of my soul. I took the half-sandwich from his hands, stepped up to the iron gate, and carefully slid the wrapped package between the cold black bars, letting it rest on the concrete sidewalk just outside.
A young boy, perhaps nine or ten years old, wearing an oversized hoodie and carrying a battered school bag, was walking past the gate. He stopped, noticing the package on the ground. He looked up, his eyes meeting mine through the iron bars. There was a brief moment of hesitation, just like Gabriel had all those years ago.
Then the boy smiled, picked up the sandwich, and gave a shy, grateful nod before running off down the street.
I turned back to Gabriel, my heart swelling until it felt too big for my chest.
"You didn't have to do that," I said, a tear of pure joy slipping down my cheek.
May you like
Gabriel stepped closer, closing the final inch of space between us. He reached up, his thumb gently catching the tear on my cheek just as he had done in the boardroom weeks ago.
"I wanted to," he said, his voice dropping to a low, tender whisper. "Because that sandwich started a chain reaction that changed the trajectory of two lives. It taught me that no matter how cold the world gets, there is always someone willing to share what they have."
