"What are you doing in here?"
The coachman flung the tarp aside and was met with the sight of me, curled up and fast asleep. My frail little body lay beside a nearly empty fruit basket, only a few apple cores left inside.
My eyes snapped open at the sound of his voice. Panic surged through me, and I instinctively backed into the farthest corner of the wagon.
"These are the boss's goods! You little thief..."
Fury twisted the coachman's face as he realized he'd have to answer for the missing fruit. His glare darkened. Without hesitation, he reached for me and yanked me out of the wagon with a violent jerk.
His rough hands clamped around my wrists as he pulled me down.
Morning light stung my eyes. I had clearly spent the entire night hidden in the wagon.
We were in a bustling market street now, surrounded by stalls and townsfolk.
"You dirty little thief! I ought to hand you over to the Military Police!" the coachman roared. I tried to wriggle free, but his grip was too strong.
Half-dragged, half-thrown, I was slammed onto the hard stone road. My knees scraped open on impact, blood oozing from the raw wound.
People began to gather around.
"Excuse me..."
A calm voice broke through the tension.
A man stepped forward. He had long hair, a pair of glasses, and a composed, scholarly air about him. He was holding a leather case in one hand.
"This little girl... What exactly did she damage?"
The man crouched beside me, gently steadying my shaking body. I couldn't stop trembling.
"Half a crate of apples!"
The coachman was furious, hands planted on his hips, ready to stomp on me like I was some rat underfoot.
"Then don't hurt her. Here, this should be enough."
The man swiftly handed over a coin pouch. The coachman ripped it open, checked the contents, grunted, and stormed off without another word.
The man knelt by me again. He touched my forehead, and concern flickered in his eyes.
"She's probably hit her head. She needs rest," he said, turning toward the woman behind him.
"Carla..."
The woman he called to was standing nearby, holding the hand of a small boy. The child blinked wide, curious eyes up at me, clinging tightly to her side.
"Dear... Can we take her in for now?"
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
I awoke someplace warm.
The man—Dr. Grisha Yeager—had cleaned my wounds, wrapped my knees, and given me medicine to help my body recover.
"Look at how thin she is... Poor thing," Carla murmured, gently dabbing my forehead with a warm cloth.
Her eyes were soft, filled with genuine kindness.
Their son, Eren Yeager, sat by her side, watching me with wide-eyed confusion.
I blinked slowly, my vision hazy from sleep. The first thing I saw were those gentle faces, those pure and innocent eyes that stared at me without judgment.
Startled, I instinctively turned my body away, pressing myself into the nearest corner. I was tense, my entire being coiled with suspicion.
"Hello there... I'm Carla Yeager. Are you feeling alright? Does anything hurt?"
She was so kind. So gentle. She took a few cautious steps toward me, closing the distance.
I didn't know how to react.
After being betrayed by my own father, I had forgotten what kindness even looked like. I just stared at her in silence.
"I'm Grisha Yeager. I was the one who found you at the market," the man added with a calm smile.
Then came the boy.
"I'm Eren Yeager!" he grinned, missing a few teeth, his voice full of youthful pride.
They didn't seem to notice how tense I was. Their warmth overwhelmed me. My body trembled. I couldn't even speak.
Were they... good people?
The thought appeared in my mind like a candle in the dark.
My wounds had been tended. My filthy rags replaced. The room was clean. The people were kind.
And yet, I couldn't let my guard down. Not yet.
Not after what I'd been through.
"What's your name?"
Eren was the easiest to talk to. We were both six years old, after all.
I hesitated, glancing at each of them, then opened my mouth slowly.
"S... Sandra..."
"Sandra? That's a beautiful name," Carla said, her voice full of warmth.
"Hey, Dad! Can she stay here with us?" Eren turned to Grisha, eyes shining with excitement.
Grisha looked between his son and me. He had a father's gentleness in his gaze.
"Well then... Sandra, do you have any family?"
The question struck me like a cold wind.
My eyes dimmed. I bit my lip, hard.
Even now, I didn't know whether to count my birth parents as "family."
But one name, one memory, still clung to me.
"...Sandra... Sandra Gant. I think my full name is... Sandra Gant. I..."
My voice wavered. I didn't know how to finish.
"...They've already abandoned me."
By the time I found the words, I had steadied myself. My gaze lifted, clear and empty, meeting the eyes of the Yeager family.
Grisha and Carla exchanged a glance.
In that look, they had already made their decision.
"Then... Sandra, would you like to become a part of our family?"
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