Rain hammered mercilessly against the black umbrellas gathered in the graveyard, but none of it drowned the heartbreak in Aurora Hail’s chest. She sat silently in her wheelchair, her hands curled tightly in her lap, staring at the gravestone that bore her father’s name. Victor Hail, billionaire CEO, widowerower, and the only person who had ever protected her.

 She couldn’t move her legs. She couldn’t stop shaking. She couldn’t stop remembering how he used to hold her hand during storms like this. But now he was gone. Her stepmother, Melissa, stood a few feet back, pretending to cry. People whispered condolences to her, shaking her hand, offering comfort to the wrong woman. Aurora knew the truth.

 Melissa never loved her father. She loved his money. And now she was the one who controlled it. Thunder rolled across the sky as the funeral ended. One by one, people left until Aurora sat alone beside the fresh grave. No one stayed with her. No one offered her a ride, not even Melissa. Minutes passed, then an hour.

Finally, Melissa approached, heels clicking sharply on wet stone. “You done sulking?” she asked coldly. Aurora swallowed the pain. “I just need a moment.” “You’ve had plenty?” Melissa crossed her arms. “Now listen carefully. You’re no longer staying in the house. Aurora’s breath caught. What? My father is dead, Melissa cut her off.

 And the house is mine now. Everything is. You were never legally adopted, so pack your things. I don’t have the time or energy to take care of a paralyzed girl. Aurora’s heart dropped to her stomach. But where will I go? Melissa leaned down, voice dripping with venom. Not my problem. A security guard approached with an umbrella.

 Ma’am, the car is ready. Good. Take her home. Let her pack. Then drop her wherever she wants. She’s not staying under my roof another night. Aurora felt the world tilt. You can’t do this. Oh, I already have. and Melissa walked away, leaving her in the rain as if she were not thing. The driver helped push her wheelchair toward the car.

 Aurora’s clothes were soaked, her dark hair plastered to her cheeks, her body trembling uncontrollably. By the time they reached the house, the mansion she grew up in, her room was already half empty. Boxes with her name sat in the hallway, and her late father’s picture frames were tossed aside carelessly. “Mrs. Hail told us to hurry,” one guard said stiffly.

 “We need to escort you out.” Aurora clutched her father’s photo frame tightly. “Dad, what do I do?” Her voice cracked. Nobody answered. Minutes later, she was sitting on the sidewalk outside the mansion, her few belongings packed beside her in a cardboard box, rains soaking at it until it sagged. The guards drove away.

 The lights in the mansion turned off, and Aurora sat there, paralyzed, grieving, abandoned, unable to push herself anywhere. Cars passed. People stared. No one stopped. Her phone battery was dead. She had no wallet, no shelter, no family left. The storm grew heavier. Wind whipping through the trees. That’s when she heard a small voice.

 Daddy, that girl looks sad. Aurora slowly turned her head. A car had pulled over on the opposite side of the road. A single dad stepped out, holding an umbrella with one hand and shielding his little daughter with the other. The little girl pointed at Aurora. Why is she sitting in the rain? The father, Ethan, looked at Aurora with concern, then immediately jogged across the road.

 He knelt in front of her, umbrella shielding her from the rain now dripping down her pale face. Are you all right? Do you need help? I I have nowhere to go, she finally whispered. Ethan looked at her soaked clothes, the cardboard box, the wheelchair stuck in mud, her trembling hands, his jaw clenched, not in anger at her, but in anger at whoever had abandoned her.

“Okay,” he said softly, but firmly. “You’re not staying out here any debt.” Ethan lifted the soggy cardboard box with one hand and held the umbrella over Aurora with the other, doing his best to shield her from the storm. His little girl, Mia, hurried behind them, her tiny boots splashing through puddles.

 Aurora couldn’t stop shivering. Water dripped down her hair, her clothes clinging to her thin frame. Embarrassment burned in her cheeks, but she had no strength left to hide it. Ethan opened the back door of his small, aging car. “Let’s get you warm first.” Aurora hesitated. “I I don’t want to trouble you.

” “You’re not,” he said firmly. “You need help, and I’m here.” His voice was gentle, but carried the steady strength of someone who had learned to stand through storms of his own. He carefully lifted her from the wheelchair, warm, steady hands supporting her back and legs, and helped her into the seat.

 She gasped softly, unused to being handled with care. Mia climbed in beside her, holding a soft blanket. You can use my warm blanket,” she said with a shy smile. Aurora’s throat tightened. “Thank you.” Ethan folded the wheelchair and placed it in the trunk, then slid into the driver’s seat. The heater came on, warm air filling the car.

 “Where can I take you?” he asked gently. Aurora stared down at her trembling hands. I I don’t have anywhere to go. Ethan exchanged a glance with Mia in the mirror. Mia whispered, “Daddy, we can help her, right?” Ethan nodded slowly. “You can stay with us for tonight,” he said. “It’s not fancy, but it’s safe and warm.

” Aurora’s heart clenched. “You barely know me.” Ethan glanced at her again. “You didn’t deserve to be left on the street. No one does. The sincerity in his voice broke something inside her. As they drove, Aurora told him everything in a halting voice. The funeral, the stepmother being kicked out, the inheritance stolen. Ethan listened silently, jaw tight, knuckles whitening on the steering wheel.

 She dumped you out in the storm after your father’s funeral. He finally said, “Dabble to hide the anger.” Aurora nodded. “I I couldn’t stop her. I can’t move my legs. I couldn’t.” Her voice cracked. Ethan’s voice softened. “You’re stronger than you think. You survived tonight. That’s strength.” Tears filled her eyes, but she blinked them away.

They arrived at Ethan’s small home, a cozy singlestory house with warm lights glowing from inside. Mia rushed in ahead of them, bringing towels and socks. Ethan lifted Aurora again, carrying her gently inside. “She felt her face heat up. “I’m sorry. Don’t apologize,” he said softly. “Just let me help.

” He set her in a comfortable armchair near the heater. Mia wrapped a blanket around her legs and handed her a cup of hot chocolate with marshmallows. Aurora stared at the cup, overwhelmed. I haven’t had this since I was a kid. Mia grinned. Daddy makes the best one. Ethan sat across from her. So, he said lightly. What’s your plan now? Aurora looked down.

 I don’t know. without my father, without money, without a home. I’m trapped. You’re not trapped,” he said gently. “You’re just at a hard chapter, not the end of the story.” Aurora’s eyes filled again. Ethan continued, “Tomorrow, we’ll look for a safe place for you to stay. A lawyer who can help, whatever you need.

” Aurora shook her head. “You’ve already done too much. Why are you being so kind to me? Aurora looked up at him. My wife died 3 years ago, he said softly. Suddenly, I had no one, no money, just Mia and a tiny house. People walked past me like I didn’t exist. I swore that if I ever saw someone going through that same darkness, I’d help them.

 Aurora’s breath hitched. I’m sorry, she whispered. You don’t have to be, he said with a faint smile. It’s life. We get through it by helping each other. A quiet moment settled between them. Warm, fragile, healing. Then Aurora whispered, trembling, “Thank you for seeing me.” Ethan shook it. Aurora woke up to the scent of pancakes and the soft hum of a cheerful voice.

Morning sunlight filtered through Ethan’s small kitchen window, bathing everything in warm gold. The contrast between last night’s storm and this gentle morning felt unreal. She blinked, adjusting to the brightness. She had slept on the couch wrapped in warmth, safe for the first time since her father died.

 “Good morning,” Ethan said softly when he noticed her awake. “Hope you slept well,” Aurora nodded. “Better than I have in weeks.” Mia rushed over with a plate stacked with pancakes shaped like hearts and stars. I made these for you,” Aurora’s lips quivered. “They’re beautiful.” “Just like you,” Mia said proudly.

 Aurora felt her heart flutter, something she thought wasn’t possible anymore. After breakfast, Ethan wheeled her outside to feel the sunlight. Birds chirped, flowers swayed. It was peaceful. Almost too peaceful. Ethan, what if this doesn’t last? She whispered. What do you mean? What if everything falls apart again? I lost my father, my home, everything.

I don’t know how to stand back up. Ethan crouched in front of her. You don’t have to stand alone. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere. Before she could speak, a black luxury car screeched to a stop in front of the house. Aurora’s blood turned to ice. Melissa stepped out. Her stepmother dressed in diamonds.

 Anger twisting her face. “There you are,” she snapped. “I’ve been calling the police. You disappeared.” “I was kicked out,” Aurora said with trembling but steady voice. Melissa scoffed. Stop exaggerating. You left on your own. Ethan stepped forward, calm but firm. That’s a lie. I found her abandoned in the rain. Melissa glared.

 Who are you? Some charity case? Ethan didn’t flinch. I’m the man who brought her to safety. Mia stepped in front of her dad, tiny fists clenched. You’re mean. Melissa ignored the child. She stormed toward Aurora. Your presence is causing trouble. Get back in the car now. Aurora’s heart raced. She felt the old fear creeping in.

 The fear that Melissa owned her future. But Ethan placed a steady hand on her shoulder. She’s not going anywhere she doesn’t choose to. Melissa’s lips curled. She has no legal rights. Everything belongs to me. Aurora shook her head, eyes burning. My father wouldn’t leave me with nothing. Melissa smirked.

 And yet, actually, a deep voice interrupted. You’re wrong. Another car pulled up. This one black, sleek, and official looking. A man stepped out. Mr. Grant, her father’s longtime lawyer. Aurora gasped. Mr. Grant, what are you doing here? He held up a folder. Your father left explicit instructions in his will.

 I’ve been trying to reach you, but your stepmother cut off all access. Melissa froze. What are you talking about? Grant opened the folder. Mr. Hail transferred control of the company and estate to Aurora one month before his death. He knew he was dying. He wanted to ensure his daughter was protected. Aurora’s breath stopped. I I’m the owner. Grant nodded.

 And Melissa, she receives nothing. Melissa’s face twisted in horror. This is a mistake. No, Grant said sharply. It’s the law, and attempting to evict Aurora Aurora from her home is a crime. Two officers stepped out of Grant’s car. Melissa backed away, trembling with rage. “You can’t do this. She’s a useless, paralyzed.

” “Enough,” Aurora said suddenly. Her voice wasn’t loud, but it was strong. “I may be paralyzed,” she said. “But I am not disposable.” Ethan’s eyes shone with pride. Melissa screamed in frustration as the officers escorted her away. Her screams faded into nothing. For the first time, Aurora breathed freely. Mr. Grant approached her gently. “You have a home again.

Security. Everything your father left.” Aurora nodded slowly, tears slipping down her cheeks. But she turned to Ethan and