The rain had just stopped. The air smelled of wet concrete and metal, and puddles reflected the dull glow of shop windows. Nora walked slowly down the street, collar turned up, clutching her bag against her side. It had been a long day — work, pharmacy, tram, the same route as always, like an old song she no longer wanted to hear.
She didn’t hear the footsteps. Only a short “hey” — then a yank.
The strap slipped from her hand, the bag flew, her body answered with pain. A young guy in a hoodie was already running ahead, sliding across the asphalt as if on ice.
The first thing she felt wasn’t fear. It was anger.
Not at him — at herself. At all those days she’d kept quiet, given in, let things be taken. Something snapped inside her, and she ran.
Her heels slipped, her breath faltered, her heart pounded in her temples. The alley was narrow, the drainpipe hummed in the dark. The guy turned, but too late — she caught up. Grabbed the strap with both hands, with unexpected strength.
He jerked — she struck. Short, awkward, but precise.
They both fell. He cursed, raised his arm, but she didn’t back down. Her hands trembled, but she didn’t let go.
“Let go, you idiot!” he shouted.
“No,” she rasped. “It’s mine.”
He shoved her, but she grabbed the bag again, yanking it toward herself. The fabric tore, the strap snapped. The thief staggered back, stunned. Nora stood up — dirty, soaked, but with the bag in her hands.
A car drove by, headlights catching them both — she stood upright, breathing heavily; he stood with his head down. He looked at her like someone he was never meant to meet. Then he spat, cursed, and ran off.
Nora stood in the alley for a long time. The rain began to drizzle again. She opened the bag — everything was there: wallet, keys, pills, phone.
And a small child’s jacket — faded, with a mended sleeve. Wet, but intact. She took it out, pressed it in her hands, and breathed in the scent — faint now, but still the same: soap and strawberry shampoo.
On the lining, a name was stitched: Sophie.
She stared at it, and time seemed to stop. Her eyes filled — not with tears, but with something dense, heavy, that couldn’t spill.
“I promised I wouldn’t let anyone take you away again,” she whispered.
From the next street came the laughter of teenagers, the screech of brakes, a dog barking. The world went on. But for her, none of it mattered anymore.
She walked home slowly, clutching the bag to her chest as if her heart had finally returned to where it belonged.
In the morning, in the mirror, she saw a bruise on her cheek. She touched it with her finger and smiled.
“Well, Sophie,” she said softly. “Looks like your mom can still fight.”
And for the first time in a long while, she didn’t want to look away from her reflection.
