It was late, but the night was mild. She was walking past, head down, but something about the way she walked looked sad. The Street Pastor intercepted her. “I’m fine” like a mantra. She was offered a tissue and through more protests of being “fine” the tears came. They sat together, she tentatively opened up, first to the fight with her boyfriend that had set her off walking alone, but then on to something deeper. Deeper private hurts that she had carried for years, not telling a soul, and pain she inflicted on herself as some kind of punishment. The rest of the team watched and prayed, at a discrete distance, but protective. It took time, and many more protests of “I’m fine” but finally she was spent. The team walked her part way home and a final hug, sent her on her way, praying her mantra was now just that little bit more true.