Early the next morning, when Clara woke up, Steve had already finished a full run around the town.
"Mr. Steve, I'm heading to the morning market to buy a few things. Can you help me carry them?"
She planned to buy a full bag of rice. With free labor available, there was no need to trouble the shop assistants.
"At your service," Steve replied readily.
The rice-and-flour shop was run by an elderly immigrant. He had a strange temperament and rarely smiled, but he was kind at heart. He'd been running the shop for over a decade, and the neighbors were long used to his perpetually stern expression.
The shop assistant, Jimmy, was dark-skinned, skinny, and sharp-eyed—a capable and enthusiastic worker, though hopelessly talkative. Whether he knew the customers or not, he could chat with anyone for ages.
Clara asked Steve to wait inside the shop for a moment while she went next door to the vegetable market. She promised she'd be quick.
"Hey—are you Clara's dad?"
Jimmy suddenly leaned in toward Steve, catching him completely off guard.
"Huh? What?"
"You definitely aren't her dad. You don't look old enough to have a kid that big. You must be her uncle or something, right?"
"I… guess you could say I'm her uncle."
"Guess you're her uncle? What kind of answer is that?" Jimmy clicked his tongue. "What's wrong with you adults these days? You have kids and then just don't raise them? You should really tell Clara's parents to stop working all the time. I pass by her house every day and never see them—oh! You kind of look like Captain America! Are you him?"
"No."
"Of course you're not. You know, when it comes to fashion, I think Captain America loses to Iron Man. His suit looks like a stage costume. If Tony Stark's armor were on me, I'd be way cooler!"
"Jimmy," the shop owner interrupted coldly, "stop slacking and get back to work. If I hear you rambling one more time, you're fired."
"I'm coming, I'm coming! You've said that like thirty times already—I've got calluses in my ears from it!" Jimmy muttered as he shuffled off to help another customer.
Across the street, Clara waved to Steve, her arms weighed down by a large shopping bag.
Steve glanced back at the still-busy Jimmy, then lifted the sack of rice at his feet. When he reached Clara, he smoothly took the heavy grocery bag from her hands as well.
"Clara's uncle really looks like Captain America," Jimmy muttered to himself behind the counter. "I bet he gets mistaken all the time."
"You've got no eye for people," the shop owner snorted without looking up, tapping away at his calculator.
Jimmy froze—then realization hit him like lightning.
"Oh my god… after everything I said… would he still give me an autograph if I asked?"
…..
Because of Jimmy's words, Steve started paying closer attention.
There was only one set of toiletries in the bathroom. The towel and toothbrush he was using had clearly just been bought from the supermarket. The wardrobe in the master bedroom held nothing but spare blankets—no adult clothes, shoes, or socks anywhere.
This house bore the unmistakable signs of one person living alone.
"Clara," Steve said carefully, "tell me the truth. Are your parents divorced? Did they just leave you here by yourself?"
It was the most reasonable explanation he could come up with.
"They… could be considered divorced," Clara replied after a pause.
Tony and Laura's situation was far more complicated than that—but this was close enough.
"Where are they now?" Steve said firmly. "I'll take you to them. Even if they're divorced, they can't just abandon their child!"
Steve's strong sense of justice flared. He stood up, grabbing Clara's hand and heading for the door.
"No, no, no! I'm really fine on my own! Nobody controls me, nobody nags me—it's great! You don't need to find them! They send money every month, I won't starve!"
Clara panicked and leaned back with all her strength. But she was no match for Steve's grip; they were already near the door.
"Money isn't enough!" Steve snapped. "What if you run into bad people while living alone?!"
He was determined—today, those irresponsible parents were getting a lecture.
"Enough!"
Clara suddenly dropped into a squat.
"I'll tell you the truth. I don't have parents."
"What?" Steve thought he'd misheard.
"I don't know who my father is—and I don't want to know. My mom, Laura, passed away this January. I didn't want to go to an orphanage, so I wrote to a wealthy philanthropist. He arranged this house, my school, and a legal guardian for me. The guardian is his driver—he lives in Manhattan and can't visit often because of work, but he's a really good person. He sends me things all the time."
She looked up at Steve calmly.
"That's everything. Now you know."
Steve opened his mouth, but no words came out.
This was far stranger—and far sadder—than anything he'd imagined.
"I… I'm so sorry," he finally said. "I didn't know…"
"It's okay. That's all in the past."
Clara hugged her knees, resting her chin on them. She spoke of her own story—but another set of memories quietly stirred in her heart.
"Why were you out there last night?" Steve asked softly, squatting down as well. He gently ruffled her short hair. "Don't you know it's dangerous to wander around at night?"
"I didn't mean to stay out so late," Clara complained. "It's all because the person who gave me directions didn't know the way and still pointed randomly. I ended up walking in circles for hours!"
She punched the floor in frustration.
Steve didn't know what to say. Her focus was always… unexpected.
"Alright," he said at last. "It's the weekend. Wherever you want to go today, I'll take you. But from now on, no more running around like that."
"Really?" Her eyes lit up. "Anywhere?"
"Anywhere."
"Then let's go to the Smithsonian to see Captain America!"
Steve: "..."
The Smithsonian was in Washington, D.C.—over three hours by car. Definitely not a one-day trip.
In the end, Steve decided to take her to the largest theme park in Manhattan instead. For a government employee living on a stipend, it felt a bit like pretending to be rich.
But when he saw Clara smile the way a child her age should, Steve felt it was worth it. Ever since learning New York's housing prices, he'd given up entirely on the idea of buying a home. For a decorated war hero, it felt like a bitter kind of irony.
That night, Steve received a mission alert on his phone. When he left, he took with him the set of Avengers plaster figurines Clara had made.
Two days later, a package arrived from Washington.
Inside was a brand-new smartphone with GPS navigation—along with a long letter filled with reminders and instructions.
Clara stared at it for a long moment.
"…Did I just gain another dad?"
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