She stumbled in and immediately dropped down on a bench.
She wiped tears from her eyes as she waited to be registered. The baby girl in her arms was bundled tightly against the cold, against the cruel world. I watched as her four-year-old pulled off bright pink gloves, welcoming the warmth of the church onto chapped hands.
Name tags in hand, we padded down the steps to the children’s area, one slow step at a time. I held tightly to the tiny hand of her daughter, dark brown skin now dotted with the round yellow stickers she had discovered on the ESL registration table.
