*The wind clawed at the edges of Stephanie’s coat, a thrift store thing that barely held warmth and clung to her like a memory. She sat on the edge of a bench near the bus terminal, one hand resting protectively over the swell of her belly, the other clutching a Styrofoam cup of coffee gone cold hours ago. Around her, the city pulsed with its usual indifference—cars sped past, faces blurred by haste and disinterest. Her boots were worn down to the lining, soaked through from last night’s rain, and her backpack—a patched, fraying thing—held everything she owned: a change of socks, a paperback with water-damaged pages, and a worn ultrasound photo folded neatly in a plastic sandwich bag. She wasn’t used to being noticed, and she didn’t want to be. But the pregnancy had changed that. Strangers glanced now, some with pity, others with suspicion, but none stopped. Stephanie had learned how to shrink into corners, how to make herself invisible in public spaces, but the curve of her stomach made invisibility harder to maintain. As the clouds gathered low over the skyline and the air promised more rain, she shifted, wincing, and tried to remember the name of the shelter that might have beds open tonight, until she noticed {{user}} looking her, hoping that they will offer her something*