My throat went tight. “Perfect,” I whispered. “Those stars are perfect.”
She didn’t smile. Didn’t look at me. But she shifted closer. Just an inch. Maybe less.
Progress.
This was how it always worked between us. Quiet moments building into trust. Small movements that meant everything.
I’d learned this with Colin—back when his stutter was so bad he’d choose silence over the risk of stumbling over words while other kids laughed. I used to watch people try to help by finishing his sentences or rushing him through, and every time they did, he’d retreat further into himself. I learned then that silence wasn’t always emptiness; sometimes it was the only control you had when everything else felt broken.
Lily needed control. A space to exist without expectations or pressure. So I gave her that.
She kept coloring, adding more details to the ballerina’s world. A stage beneath her feet. Curtains framing the edges. She was building something complete, something whole.
“She’s really talented, isn’t she?” I said softly. “Your dancer. I bet she practices every day. I bet she loves it more than anything.”
Lily’s hand slowed. She stared at the drawing for a long moment, something unreadable flickering across her face. Then she carefully turned the page and started something new.
I stayed beside her, comfortable in the quiet.
Mrs. Pearson appeared like clockwork, carrying a tray of apple slices and cheese cubes arranged in precise rows. She set it down on the coffee table without a word, gave me a small nod that might have been approval, and disappeared back into whatever part of the penthouse she managed with terrifying efficiency.
Lily ate a few apple slices, then colored some more. Then, as if someone had flipped a switch, her eyes started getting heavy.
I watched her fight it for maybe thirty seconds before surrendering completely. Her head settled against the armrest, one hand still loosely holding a crayon—and she was out.
Just like that.
It was the strangest thing. Lily could fall asleep anywhere, anytime, like her body had learned to steal rest whenever possible. On the couch, once even on the floor of the therapy room with her head on a pile of stuffed animals. Mrs. Pearson said she’d been like this since the accident. Like sleep was the only place she felt completely safe.
I stood quietly, careful not to wake her, and headed toward the kitchen. I needed coffee. Or water. Or possibly something stronger, even though it was barely noon.
Gianna was already there, leaning against the counter with her phone, looking like she’d been waiting for entertainment.
“So,” she said without looking up. “How badly did he rip into you?”
I grabbed a mug from the cabinet. “On a scale of one to unemployed? Solid eight.”
“Yikes.” She finally glanced up, grinning like my professional near-death experience was the highlight of her day. “What’d you do—tell him his tie was ugly?”
“I was only thirty minutes late, and it’s the first time. He didn’t even try to ask why.” I sighed.
“Only thirty minutes?” Her eyebrows shot up. “And you still have a job? I told you last week he fired the gardener for arriving five minutes late.”
“That sweet girl Lily is literally the only reason I’m still here.” I poured coffee that was probably from this morning and definitely too strong. “The second she decides she’s done with me, I’m gone.”
“I don’t think so. I think Mr. Valdez might like you too.”
“Girl, please,” I shot her a look.“Speaking of…” I continued, settling onto one of the counter stools. “Why do you keep scheduling my sessions when he’s home? You know he makes everything awkward.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Her expression was pure innocence, which meant she was absolutely lying.
“Gianna.”
“Sarah.”
“You’re doing this on purpose.”
“Maybe I just think you two should interact more.” She waggled her eyebrows in a way that made me want to throw my coffee at her.
