Day One - Evening
Martha showed up at the motel at dinner time with her casserole and a determined expression.
"This room is no place for a child," she announced, not waiting for permission before walking in. She looked around the dingy space and her face did something complicated. "Henry and I have a guest house. Empty for two years now. You and Anna could stay there."
"We can't—" Evan started.
"Rent-free until you get proper work," Martha continued like he hadn't spoken. "It's just sitting there gathering dust. Might as well be useful."
Anaya looked up at Evan with those enormous hopeful eyes. "Papa? Can we? Please?"
How could he say no to that face?
Day Two - Morning
The cottage was small but perfect. One bedroom, a tiny kitchen, a bathroom with actual hot water. Anaya stood in the middle of the main room, turning in slow circles.
"Papa... is this ours?"
"For now, yeah."
She ran to the bedroom and squealed. "A REAL BED! Papa, look! It's so big!"
She flopped onto it dramatically, spreading her arms wide. "It doesn't smell weird! It smells like flowers!"
Evan leaned against the doorframe, watching her. She looked so happy. So normal. Just a kid excited about a bedroom.
"Can we really stay?" she asked, suddenly serious.
"For a little while."
"How long is a little while?"
"I don't know, kid."
She studied his face, reading him the way she always did. "You're scared. But also happy. Like you want to stay but you're afraid to want it."
Too perceptive. Way too perceptive.
"Yeah, something like that."
She patted the bed beside her. "Come sit. This bed is SO bouncy."
Day Two - Afternoon
Henry found them organizing the cottage and put Evan to work immediately—fixing the leaky faucet, replacing a broken window pane, small repairs that made the place feel more like home.
Meanwhile, Martha taught Anaya to make cookies in her kitchen. Through the window, Evan could see them—Martha showing Anaya how to crack eggs, Anaya getting flour everywhere, both of them laughing.
"She's a good kid," Henry said, handing Evan a wrench. "You're doing right by her."
"Trying to."
"That's all any of us can do. Try." Henry wiped his hands on his jeans. "You two planning to stay in Riverside?"
"I don't know. Depends."
"On whether you're safe here," Henry finished. Not a question.
Evan looked at him sharply.
"I'm old, not stupid," Henry said. "I know when people are running from something. I also know when people deserve help anyway." He clapped Evan on the shoulder. "You're welcome here as long as you need. That's all I'm saying."
Day Two - Evening
After dinner, Anaya insisted on showing Evan everything in the cottage—every cabinet, every corner, every light switch.
"This is the sleeping place," she announced, gesturing at the bedroom. "And this is the washing place." The bathroom. "And this is the everything place!" The main room with its old couch.
She flopped on the couch beside him. "Papa? I love it here."
"Yeah, kid. Me too."
"Can we stay forever?"
"Probably not forever."
"But for now?"
"For now."
She snuggled against his side, content. "That's good enough."
Through the window, the sun set over Riverside. Normal and peaceful and temporary.
But for now—for these two days—it was home.
And that was enough.
Day Two - Late Night
Anaya was asleep in the bedroom, curled up under Martha's quilt. She'd made Evan tap her nose three times before bed—a ritual she insisted on every night now.
"Papa, you have to tap my nose or I can't sleep," she'd said seriously.
"That's ridiculous."
"It's not! It's magic. Three taps means good dreams."
So he'd tapped her nose. Once. Twice. Three times.
"Sleep tight, little light," he'd said.
And she'd smiled, eyes already closing. "I carry you with me, Papa. Always."
Now Evan sat at the small kitchen table, a cup of terrible instant coffee cooling beside him. In front of him was a small notebook he'd found at the general store—cheap, spiral-bound, nothing special.
He picked up the pen, hesitating.
He hadn't written anything personal in years.
But something made him want to remember. To record. To prove it had been real.
He started writing.
The morning they had to leave Riverside felt like mourning.
Evan woke before dawn, watching the first gray light creep through the curtains of their little cottage. Beside him, Anaya was still asleep, her golden hair spread across the pillow, one pointed ear twitching occasionally. She looked peaceful. Happy.
He was about to ruin that.
"Kid," he said softly, shaking her shoulder. "We need to talk."
Anaya's eyes opened slowly. She looked at him, then at the room, then back at him. Her expression fell. "We're leaving today."
It wasn't a question.
"Yeah. We have to."
"I knew it." She sat up, pulling her knees to her chest. "I felt it yesterday. Your heart was saying goodbye to everything." She looked around the cottage—their cottage, for one perfect week. "Can I at least say goodbye to Mrs. Martha and Mr. Henry? Please? Really goodbye?"
Evan thought about the risk. About Morrison's search teams getting closer. About every minute they stayed being one minute closer to getting caught.
But he looked at Anaya's face and couldn't say no.
"Yeah, kid. We can say goodbye."
They packed their few belongings—which didn't take long since they barely had anything. Anaya carefully folded the quilt Martha had given her, pressing it to her face one last time.
"It smells like home," she said quietly. "Not my real home, but... this home."
"We can take it with us."
"Really?" Her face brightened. "We can?"
"Yeah. Martha said it's yours. So it's coming with us."
They walked to Henry and Martha's house one last time. The morning was cold and misty, making everything look softer, dreamlike. Like maybe if they walked slowly enough, this moment wouldn't have to end.
Martha was in her garden already, tending to her roses. She looked up when she heard their footsteps, and something sad crossed her face.
"Ah. So it's today then."
"Yeah," Evan said. "We need to... we have to go. It's not safe to stay longer."
"I figured as much." Martha set down her gardening shears and wiped her hands on her apron. "Henry! They're here!"
Henry emerged from the garage, oil rag in hand. He took one look at them and his weathered face crumpled slightly. "Moving on, are you?"
"We have to," Anaya said, her voice small. She was wearing her cap already, even though she hated it. Being prepared. "But I wanted to say goodbye for real. Not just disappearing."
"That's very brave of you, sweetheart," Martha said, her voice thick with emotion.
Anaya walked up to Martha slowly, like she was trying to memorize everything. Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out the lumpy scarf she'd knitted.
"I made you this," she said, holding it out. "It's not very good. The stitches are all wonky and one end is bigger than the other, but Mrs. Martha said the imperfect things are the ones made with the most love."
Martha's eyes filled with tears. "I did say that, didn't I?" She took the scarf, holding it like it was made of gold. "This is the most beautiful scarf I've ever received, Anna."
"It's not Anna," Anaya said quietly. Then, before Evan could stop her: "My real name is Anaya. I wanted you to know my real name before we left. Because you were so nice to me and I don't like lying to nice people."
Evan's heart stopped. What was she doing? They'd talked about this—about keeping her identity secret, about—
"Anaya," Martha repeated, testing the name. "That's a beautiful name. Much prettier than Anna, if I'm being honest."
"Do you—" Anaya hesitated. "Do you want to know why I have a fake name?"
"Only if you want to tell me, sweetheart."
Anaya looked back at Evan, seeking permission. He wanted to say no, wanted to grab her and run, wanted to keep their secrets safe. But Anaya wasn't going to stop this time.
"Okay," Anaya said, turning back to Martha. "But it's a secret. A really big one."
"I'm very good at keeping secrets," Martha assured her.
Anaya took a deep breath. Then, slowly, she reached up and adjusted her cap. It had shifted during their walk, and in fixing it, she deliberately let one of her pointed ears slip free.
Just for a second.
Just long enough.
Evan's blood turned to ice. His hand went instinctively toward Anaya, ready to pull the cap down, to cover the evidence, to run—
But Martha's hands got there first.
She gently, carefully, adjusted Anaya's cap, tucking the ear back under with the tenderness of a grandmother fixing a child's collar. Her fingers lingered for just a moment on the cap, making sure everything was hidden properly.
"There we go," Martha said softly. "Can't have you catching cold, can we?"
She met Evan's eyes over Anaya's head. And in that moment, Evan understood.
She knew.
She'd known, maybe from the first day, maybe from the moment she'd seen how carefully they guarded Anaya's appearance. Maybe from the way Anaya sometimes said things no human child would know.
And she didn't care.
"Martha—" Evan started, his voice rough.
"John. Or whatever your real name is." Martha smiled, sad but warm. "That little girl has been the brightest thing in our lives in years. Elf or human or Martian—it doesn't matter to me. What matters is she's loved. And she is loved, isn't she?"
"More than anything," Evan managed.
"That's all I needed to know." Martha cupped Anaya's face gently. "You listen to me, Anaya. You're special. Don't ever let anyone make you feel like you're not. And your papa —" She glanced at Evan. "—he's doing right by you. I don't know the whole story, and I don't need to. But I know love when I see it. And you two have it."
"Henry knew too?" Evan asked quietly.
"Henry's been around long enough to know when to mind his own business and when to help good people." Martha straightened, becoming practical. "Now. You'll need supplies. I packed some food—sandwiches, fruit, those cookies Anaya likes. And there's money in here too. Don't argue," she added when Evan opened his mouth. "You're going to need it more than we do."
Henry approached, carrying a backpack. "Got some clothes that might fit you both. Nothing fancy, but clean and warm. And there's a map in there—old-fashioned paper kind. Harder to track than GPS."
"We can't accept—" Evan tried.
"You can and you will." Henry's voice was firm. "Listen, son. I know exactly what you're running from, but I know that you'd risk everything for this little girl. That tells me all I need to know about your character."
Anaya threw her arms around Martha's waist, pressing her face against her apron. "I'm going to miss you so much. You're the nicest not-grandma I ever had."
"Oh, sweetheart." Martha knelt down, pulling Anaya into a proper hug. "I'm going to miss you too. But listen—" She pulled back, looking Anaya in the eyes. "—wherever you go, whatever happens, you remember that you're loved. By your papa, by everyone who's lucky enough to know you. Okay?"
"Okay," Anaya whispered, tears streaming down her face.
Martha adjusted Anaya's cap one more time, making absolutely sure both ears were hidden. Then she pressed a kiss to the child's forehead. "There. Now you're ready for your journey."
Henry shook Evan's hand, pressing something into it. An envelope. "There's $500 in there and an address. Friend of mine, two towns over. Owes me a favor. Tell him Henry sent you. He won't ask questions."
"Henry, Martha—I don't know how to thank you."
"Don't thank us. Just keep that little girl safe. That's thanks enough." Henry's eyes were misty. "And son? Whatever they say you did—I don't believe it. I think you're a good man doing his best in a bad situation. That counts for something."
Anaya ran to Henry, hugging him too. "Mr. Henry, will you tell Whiskers and Mittens that I said goodbye? And that I love them?"
"Every single day, sweetheart. Every single day."
They said their final goodbyes—long, tearful, heartbreaking goodbyes. Martha pressed another bag of cookies into Anaya's hands. Henry gave Evan a compass "for when you can't trust technology." And they both stood in their driveway, waving, as Evan and Anaya walked away.
Anaya looked back three times. On the third time, she stopped walking completely.
"Papa, I changed my mind. I don't want to go. Can we stay? Please?"
"I wish we could, kid. But we can't."
"But they KNOW and they don't care! They like me anyway! They—" Her voice broke. "They're like grandparents and I never had grandparents and now I have to leave them and it's not FAIR!"
Evan knelt down, pulling her close. "I know it's not fair. None of this is fair. But staying would put them in danger. Morrison would find us eventually, and then Martha and Henry would get in trouble for helping us. We can't do that to them."
"So we just leave? Forever?"
"Maybe not forever. Maybe someday, when things are safer, we can come back. Visit."
"You're lying again. I can feel it." But she let him pick her up, let him carry her away from the only real home she'd had in the human world.
As they reached the edge of town, heading for the highway that would take them to Pine Hollow, Anaya spoke again.
"Papa? Do you think mama remember me?"
"What do you mean? Mamas always remember their kid and I bet she misses you alot "
"You really think so?"
"I know so."
They walked in silence for a while, leaving Riverside behind. The sun climbed higher, burning off the morning mist. The road stretched ahead of them, leading to Pine Hollow, to whatever came next.