Beneath Her Ice

It started with an address scribbled on a business card. No logo. No coordinates Will could Google. Just an intersection deep in Queens and a note in Eliza's handwriting: Saturday. 10 a.m. If you're curious.

He wasn't just curious.

He was fascinated.

When he arrived, he expected… he didn't know what he expected. Maybe another glass tower. A PR stunt. Something sleek.

What he found was a converted brownstone tucked between a worn laundromat and a Dominican bakery. A small, nondescript plaque above the door read: The Dandelion Center.

He stepped inside.

The room smelled like crayons and old library books. Kids' laughter echoed down the hallway. A volunteer with green braids waved him toward the main room without asking who he was.

And there she was.

Eliza Darcy.

Sitting cross-legged on a colorful carpet, holding a picture book, a five-year-old curled beside her like a sleepy cat.

Will stopped in the doorway, stunned. She hadn't seen him yet. She was laughing—genuinely. Her heels were gone, replaced by white sneakers. Her designer coat nowhere in sight. She was just… Eliza.

Human.

Soft.

Real.

She noticed him a second later. Didn't jump. Didn't flinch. Just rose, slow and graceful, whispering something to the child before walking over.

"You came," she said.

"I had to make sure this wasn't a deepfake," he replied lightly. "Turns out you volunteer on weekends?"

"I sponsor the place," she corrected. "But I like to come in when I can. This—" she glanced back at the room, "—this is the only part of my life that doesn't demand anything from me."

He looked at her closely. "Why keep it a secret?"

"Because it doesn't help my brand," she said, deadpan. "Investors like stories with ROI. Not orphaned kids and budget cuts."

Will let that sink in.

She hadn't brought him here to impress him.

She'd brought him to see the one piece of herself that no one else bothered to ask about.

"You're not what I thought," he murmured.

"I know."

They walked the halls together. She showed him the tech room she'd quietly funded—outdated laptops, but well-loved. The kitchen she'd helped redesign. The bulletin board with dozens of Polaroids, some of them blurry, all of them joyful.

A child tugged on her hand at one point. "Miss Darcy, you coming to draw?"

"In a minute, Isla."

Will smiled. "They adore you."

She didn't answer right away. Her voice was quieter now. "I think I come here to remember who I might've been… if things had been different."

He reached for her hand then. Not bold. Not demanding. Just… steady.

She let him.

Not because she was falling.

But because—for the first time—she didn't feel like she had to fight gravity alone.