But what stays with me now, sitting in this quiet house, is how she smiled at Henry when he visited the office.
Not the polished, professional expression she wore in meetings, but something genuine and warm. Like he mattered not because he was my son, but because he was Henry.
I've spent years building systems. Redundancies. Protocols. Every aspect of Dupree Technologies operates on principles of predictability and measured outcomes.
And now I'm about to introduce the most unpredictable variable into the center of my life. Into Henry's life.
I check my watch. Nearly ten.
I consider going to check on Henry—making sure he's not reading under the covers again or absorbed in one of those strategy games that keep him up past any reasonable hour.
Then I stop myself, fingers drumming once against the arm of my chair.
He's fine. He always is.
I open my laptop and review tomorrow's schedule. Meetings. Calls. Nothing that can't be moved.
I shift the 2 PM block toPrivate Appointmentand close the screen.
When I finally head upstairs, Henry's light is off.
I pause in the hallway, listening.
No sound. Just the faint glow of his nightlight cutting across the floor.
I push the door open a little more.
Henry's asleep, his blanket curled around his torso.
I am careful to leave the door open 3 inches and stand in the hallway for a long moment.
Lindsay agreed to this.
I initiated this.
And tomorrow, I'm going to sit across from the woman who used to manage my business conflicts and explain that I’m asking her to step into the one place I don’t know how to manage.
I head to my own room, tension coiling in my shoulders.
Sleep doesn't come easily.
I lie in the dark, staring at the ceiling, running projections the way I do before major acquisitions.
Best case. Worst case. Likely case.
But people aren't companies. Relationships aren't business mergers.
There's no model for this.
Around midnight, I give up and reach for my phone.
Evelyn's message is still there.
You'll need to meet with Lindsay. Tomorrow.
Tomorrow.
I set the phone back down and close my eyes.
Somewhere in the house, the heating system hums to life.
Everything is the same as it was yesterday.
And nothing is—because changes are already in motion.
