Chapter 2 - The Third Floor
Alexander didn't hesitate.
He ran after her, his long strides easily closing the distance to the dilapidated apartment building.
He followed Rosie through the heavy front door and up three flights of dark, narrow stairs.
The hallway smelled of stale cigarette smoke and boiled cabbage, the peeling wallpaper a testament to decades of neglect.
Rosie pushed open a door that was barely hanging on its hinges and rushed inside.
Alexander stopped in the doorway, his heart pounding heavily against his ribs.
The apartment was freezing. The radiator in the corner was completely silent and cold to the touch.
On a worn mattress pushed against the far wall, a woman lay shivering violently beneath a thin, moth-eaten blanket.
She was pale, dangerously thin, and her breathing sounded like dry leaves scraping across a driveway.
Rosie was kneeling beside the bed, desperately trying to warm her mother's hands with her own small ones.
"Mom, please wake up," Rosie cried, her tough exterior finally breaking into genuine terror.
The woman did not open her eyes.
Alexander stepped fully into the room, his eyes scanning the sparse, desperate living conditions.
There was no food in the small kitchen area, and a pile of final notice utility bills sat on a wobbly table.
He pulled out his phone and immediately dialed 911.
"I need an ambulance at 402 Fifth Street, Apartment 3B," he ordered, his voice echoing with undeniable authority. "Severe respiratory distress."
He ended the call and knelt on the other side of the mattress, gently touching the woman's forehead.
She was burning with a severe, dangerous fever.
"Help is on the way, Rosie," Alexander promised, taking off his heavy wool coat and draping it over the shivering woman.
Rosie looked at him through tear-filled eyes, the fierce independence finally giving way to a child's profound need for an adult to fix things.
"She hasn't eaten in three days," Rosie whispered, her voice cracking. "She gave all the food to me."
The wail of an ambulance siren finally pierced the quiet of the snowy street outside.
Paramedics rushed into the small apartment moments later, moving with practiced, urgent efficiency.
They loaded the unconscious woman onto a stretcher and began carrying her down the narrow stairs.
"Who is riding with her?" a paramedic asked, looking between Alexander and the terrified little girl.
"I am," Alexander stated firmly, taking Rosie's hand.
They rode in the back of the ambulance, the harsh fluorescent lights illuminating the terrifying reality of the woman's condition.
The paramedic worked frantically, hooking up an oxygen mask and starting an IV line.
Alexander looked down at the woman's pale face, realizing for the first time how young she actually was.
She couldn't have been more than twenty-five, a mother who had clearly given absolutely everything to keep her daughter alive.
As the paramedic adjusted the collar of her worn shirt to check her pulse, a silver pendant slipped out from underneath the fabric.
Alexander froze, the air completely leaving his lungs in a sudden, violent rush.
It was a unique, custom-made silver locket engraved with a tiny, intricate sunflower.
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He recognized it instantly, because he was the one who had designed it.
He had given that exact necklace to his late wife, Hannah, on their first anniversary.
