I drove home.
Emily met me at the door again.
This time, when she saw my face, she paused.
“Why do you look confused?”
I set the box down on the hall table.
Then I held out the slip of paper with the address.
“What would you say if I told you the woman from yesterday was waiting for me at the office this morning?”
Emily stared.
Then blinked.
“What?”
So I told her that story too.
Evelyn.
Her son.
The meeting.
Daniel Parker.
By the time I finished, Emily had one hand on her chest.
“Oh my God.”
“That was pretty much my reaction.”
“Do you think it’s real?”
“I have no idea.”
“Do you think it’s pity?”
“Maybe.”
She took the slip of paper from me and read the address.
Then she looked up.
“Even if it is, you still go.”
I nodded.
“Yeah.”
“You shave again.”
I laughed.
“I already shaved.”
“Then wear the blue shirt. The one that makes you look like you actually sleep.”
I laughed harder that time.
And just like that, the air in the house changed.
Not completely.
Fear was still there.
But hope had joined it.
Hope doesn’t always arrive like fireworks.
Sometimes it just cracks a window in a room that’s been airless too long.
I spent the next few hours getting ready as if the meeting might actually matter.
Because maybe it did.
I showered again to clear my head.
Put on the blue shirt.
The good tie.
Polished shoes I hadn’t worn in months because my current job never felt worth the extra effort.
Then I sat at the dining room table and pulled together whatever I could on short notice.
Resume.
Work samples.
Campaign notes.
A few case studies from projects I was actually proud of.
I knew Evelyn’s recommendation might get me in the room.
But if I stayed in that room, it would have to be because I deserved to.
That mattered to me more than I can explain.
I didn’t want charity.
I didn’t want gratitude dressed up as opportunity.
I wanted a fair look.
A real shot.
At one-thirty, Emily walked me to the door.
She straightened my tie like she used to when we were younger and broke and convinced love could outwork anything.
“You are good at what you do,” she said.
“I know.”
