Ethan walked in, carrying bags filled with groceries and baby supplies. He placed them gently on the small kitchen table, careful not to crowd the tiny space. Clara watched, still wary but grateful, as he unpacked the items with a meticulous precision, setting the formula cans prominently in front.
“I added a few extra things,” Ethan said, his voice carrying a warmth that contrasted with the cold steel of his public persona. “I hope you don’t mind.”
Clara shook her head, her voice barely a whisper. “Thank you. I don’t know how to repay you for this.”
“No repayment is necessary,” Ethan replied. “Just take care of your daughter.”
