"Back so soon, Caleb?"

Spot smiled at the older woman that greeted the as the entered the orphanage. "Good evening, Mrs. Stevens."

"Who is this lovely young lady?" Mrs. Stevens asked, glancing at Ingrid.

"This is Ingrid. I was hoping to introduce her to Stella. Is she still awake?"

"Sure, come this way," Mrs. Stevens said sweetly, ushering them through the large archway into another room.

As they entered the large living room, a small girl with loose sandy blonde curls bounded up to them, leaping into Spot's arms.

"Hey beautiful," he said, lifting her easily, kissing her gently on the cheek.

He approached Ingrid, who was standing silently beside Mrs. Stevens in the archway. "Ingrid, I'd like you to meet Stella. My daughter."

Ingrid's eyes grew wide and she felt as though her legs had been pulled out from beneath her. His daughter? She had slowly acclimated herself to the thought of another woman in Spot's life, but a daughter?

Spot watched her reaction, his heart falling at the shock that filled her features. Masking his disappointment, he turned back to Stella. Her head was resting on his shoulder, her grey eyes falling shut. "I guess we should be getting you to bed, little lady."

"She was on her way," Mrs. Stevens jumped in. "Before her daddy came back to get her all riled up."

Spot smiled shyly. "Sorry about that. So you mind if I help you put her to bed?"

"Sure. Follow me."

When Spot and Mrs. Stevens vanished up the stairs, Ingrid blindly made her was outside, suddenly in need of fresh air.

Spot watched Stella slip into a peaceful sleep after he set her down. Running a hand lightly over her loose curls. How could he have ever let her go?

"Caleb?"

Spot became aware that Mrs. Stevens was standing behind him. Careful not to wake Stella, he stood from the bed and followed the older woman into the hall. He stared at the sleeping child through the open door. "What would it take for me to bring her home with me?"

"A new life," Mrs. Stevens replied with a sweet sigh. "A newsboys lodging house is no place to raise a child, Caleb. You must know that."

He tried to be angry, but it was no use. Mrs. Stevens was right. He just didn't want her to be. "So that is it, isn't it?"

"Not necessarily," she said softly, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Who knows what the future will bring. You will not be a newsie forever, and Stella isn't going anywhere."

"So it is still possible?" Spot suddenly felt a glimmer of hope.

"Yes, someday. But we'll cross that bridge when we get there. For now, you are welcome here anytime that you like."

"Count on it," Spot said, smiling broadly. "Thank you, Mrs. Stevens."

"I met Stella's mother when I was seventeen."

Ingrid jumped when Spot appeared behind her. Removing his jacket, he placed it around her shoulders before taking a seat on the step beside her.

"We were young and foolish and thought we were in love." He sighed and ran his hands through his hair. "The next thing I knew, I was going to be a father."

Ingrid bit her bottom lip, waiting for him to continue, but he only sat in silence beside her. "What happened?"

"She was too young," he replied, his voice hoarse. "We knew that from the get go. It was a risk that she wanted to take, so who was I to question that?"

He took a deep, staggering breath. "After Stella was born, there were complications."

"Oh," Ingrid said softly. He didn't need to say anything else. When it came to having babies, complications usually meant one thing: death.

"I thought that I could raise Stella on my own," he continued, staring off into the snowy street. He was unable to stop now, even if he wanted to. "What could be better than growing up in a lodging house? Apparently someone didn't agree. When she was four months old, they came and took her away. I didn't see her again until today."

Ingrid's heart sank when she caught sight of tears falling down his cheeks. Hesitantly, she reached across the distance that separated them, taking his hand gently. So he had a daughter. It wasn't important anymore. What was important was that she make him feel as comfortable as possible.

"She's nearly two now, walking and talking. And I have missed it all." He visibly broke down, the pent up emotion from two years bubbling to the surface.

The pair sat in silence on the steps for a long time. Ingrid tried as best she could to comfort him. She was taken aback by the Brooklyn newsie breaking down before her eyes. She had not been around the newsies long, but she had heard enough about the great Spot Conlon to be surprised by the raw show of emotion.

When he had finally calmed himself, he looked down at her hand, holding his firmly. A pang of guilt suddenly hit him. "I should have told you from the beginning. I'm sorry."

"Eh, you'll owe me." She cracked a smile.

That was all that Spot needed to relax. A broad smile spread across his features and he began to chuckle. "What a night we have had, huh?"

"I suppose that you could say that." Ingrid began laughing as well. Everything that had happened that night was so unreal that laughter seemed as logical as anything else.

"Well, I suppose that we should get ya to Manhattan. Gunnar's waitin for ya there."

Ingrid frowned slightly, remembering her earlier threat to leave. She sat silently on the step while Spot stood and started down the street.

He hadn't gotten far when he realized that she was not beside him. The frown on her face made his smile fall slightly. He moved back to the steps. "What's the mattah?"

"Are you that anxious to be rid of me?" she asked softly.

He sighed and knelt before her.

"No," he replied hoarsely. "If it were up to me, you two'd stay in Brooklyn with me, but with Striker around, it's too dangerous. It'll be safer fer ya in Manhattan. Jack and his boys'll take good care of ya."

She nodded and stood reluctantly. "I'd rather stay with you."

"I know." He took her hand and led her down the street. "Don't worry, I'll be by to visit as often as I can."

"You'd better."

They walked to Manhattan hand in hand, Spot's free hand resting anxiously on the tip of his cane.