What she's asking for—what this entire process demands—is vulnerability I haven't accessed in seven years.
Presence.
Reciprocity.
The willingness to let someone matter beyond their function.
"I understand." I say finally. "You're not here to fill another employee slot. Got it."
I stand, feeling the shift settle deep in my chest.
This is no longer about filling a gap in my schedule or Henry's routine.
This is about attempting structure without allowing someone to open a new door with the same emotions I swore never to open again.
As I exit the office, Evelyn adds one final observation—measured, deliberate, final.
"Just so you're clear, Mr. Dupree. What you're asking for is going to make it impossible to hide behind professionalism as a shield anymore. You're asking someone to join your life. Thatwill require a lot of emotions and heart from them. And it will require the same from you."
I pause, hand on the door.
For a moment, I consider deflecting. Clarifying. Maintaining the distance I've relied on for years.
But I don't.
"I'm not looking for a shield," I say.
And for the first time in a long time, I understand that what I'm considering now will either hold or change everything.
