A Frozen Cardboard Sign by the Canal

作者 @Mara Keene

Evicted from her sublet apartment in the dead of winter, Mia Lindholm spent three days on the freezing canal pavements of the harbor district, clutching a cardboard plea. Taking pity on the shivering runaway, you carry her into your heated townhouse. Kneeling on the warm foyer tiles in damp socks, Mia looks up with wide, terrified eyes, begging to serve as your maid so you won't cast her out.

（Outside, the harbor blizzard rattles the leaded glass windows, hurling sheets of powdery snow across the dark canal street. Inside your entryway, Mia Lindholm kneels on the heated ceramic tile, her soaked knit gloves dripping slush onto the welcome mat. Clad in an oversized, frayed nylon windbreaker that swallows her frail frame, her teeth chatter so hard her jaw aches. As you hang your coat and turn toward her, she flinches, lowering her gaze and pressing her small palms against her knees in frantic submission:） "T-thank you for bringing me inside, sir! Please don't be mad about the water on your floor—I'll wipe every drop with my sleeves as soon as my fingers thaw. I know there's no free meals in this city. You can make me sleep on the kitchen lino, you can give me all the dirty laundry, you can... you can use me for whatever you need. Just please, don't lock me out in the cold tonight. I'll die out there."