Chapter 17
Hector
Sarah came back to work exactly seven days after she’d gotten sick.
I’d been counting.
She walked into the penthouse at precisely nine in the morning, her bag slung over one shoulder and her usual smile firmly in place. Everything about her appearance said “I’m fine, nothing to see here.” But I’d spent two years learning to read what people didn’t say—and Sarah was screaming.
She’d lost weight. Not dramatically, but enough that her clothes hung differently on her frame. Her face was thinner, the angles sharper. The dark circles under her eyes had faded slightly but were still visible if you knew where to look.
I knew where to look.
“Good morning,” she said, bright and professional. “How’s Lily been?”
“Fine. She’s been asking about you.”
“I missed her too.” Sarah set down her bag and pulled out her therapy materials—the same routine she’d followed for months. “Should we start in the usual room?”
I nodded and watched her disappear down the hallway, her footsteps quick and purposeful. Nothing about her movements suggested anything was wrong. She was performing normalcy like someone who’d rehearsed it.
The session with Lily went smoothly on the surface. Sarah went through exercises, praised Lily’s progress, and kept everything moving forward. But I watched from my office monitor and saw all that was wrong.
Sarah didn’t tease anymore.
Before, she would have waved at the camera when she caught me watching. Now she just ignored it, kept her focus on Lily with an intensity that felt desperate rather than professional.
She didn’t laugh at Lily’s drawings the way she used to either. When Lily showed her a new sketch, Sarah smiled and said “that’s beautiful, sweetheart” in a voice that sounded rehearsed, not real.
I turned off the monitor and leaned back in my chair. Something was wrong with Sarah—something deeper than illness or exhaustion or too many jobs. This was different. Deeper.
And I wanted to help her.
I found Gianna in the kitchen later that afternoon, scrolling through her phone while she waited for coffee to brew. She looked up when I entered and immediately went still in that way my presence did to most people.
“Sir?”
“Do you know what’s wrong with Sarah?”
Gianna blinked. “With Ms. Tinsley?”
“Yes.”
“I… what?”
“Is she having problems? Has she mentioned anything to you?”
Gianna’s expression went through several changes in rapid succession—confusion, surprise, and then something that looked suspiciously like amusement. “Are you… asking me about someone’s feelings?”
“I’m asking if you know why she’s been acting strange.”
“Strange how?”
“Different. Quieter. She seems…” I searched for the right word. “Absent.”
“And you noticed this?”
“Obviously.”
“No, I mean—” Gianna’s lips were twitching now, like she was trying very hard not to smile. “You noticed someone’s emotional state?”
I did not appreciate her smug tone and my slight scowl told her that. “Do you know what’s wrong with her or not?”
“I don’t, actually.” The amusement faded from Gianna’s face. “She’s been weird with me too. Very polite but distant. Like she’s trying to keep everyone at arm’s length.”
“Has she said anything?”
“Nothing specific. Just that she’s been stressed about her certification exam coming up.”
That made sense. Sarah had mentioned before that she needed to pass her exam to get her official license. “When is it?”
“Next month, I think? She said something about needing to save up for the fee and study materials.” Gianna paused. “She’s been working extra shifts at another job.”
“Thank you,” I said, already planning.
“Are you asking this to help her?”
“That’s none of your concern.”
“She’ll refuse, you know.” Gianna poured her coffee and turned to face me fully. “Sarah doesn’t accept help easily. She’ll see it as charity and push back.”
“I’m aware.”
“Just saying.” She took a sip of coffee, watching me over the rim of her mug. “It’s nice though. That you care.”
I left before she could say anything else that made me uncomfortable.
I tried to pay for the exam anyway.
Called the certification board, got the details, and arranged for payment. The woman on the phone was very helpful until I explained I was paying for someone else.
“We need the candidate’s authorization for that, sir.”
“I’m her employer.”
“That’s very generous, but our policy requires direct consent from the candidate for any third-party payments.”
I hung up and stared at my phone, trying to think of another approach. I could just give Sarah the money directly, but Gianna was right—she’d refuse. Could offer it as a bonus for her work with Lily, but she’d see through that immediately.
There had to be a way to help her without making it obvious I was helping her.
I was still thinking about it when Lily’s next session started.
I wasn’t planning to watch it this time. I had actual work to do—calls to make, but something pulled me to the monitor anyway.
Sarah was sitting on the floor with Lily, working through vocabulary exercises. Lily was engaged, responding well, clearly happy to have Sarah back. Everything looked normal.
Except Sarah kept staring out the window—disappearing into some place I couldn’t reach.
Not constantly. Just these brief moments where her attention would drift, her eyes would lose focus, and she’d disappear somewhere I couldn’t follow. Then she’d snap back, refocus on Lily, continue the session like nothing had happened.
It happened three times in twenty minutes.
The fourth time, Lily noticed.
I watched my daughter tilt her head, studying Sarah for a moment. Then Lily got up, walked to the art supplies, and came back with a single crayon.
She held it out to Sarah. “Drawing makes me feel better. Just like you taught me.”
Sarah stared at the crayon in Lily’s small hand. Her face shifted into something I couldn’t quite read—pain, guilt, fear all tangled together—from the monitor.
Then she stood abruptly.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I just… need a minute.”
She walked out of the room fast, her footsteps urgent. I heard the balcony door open and close.
Lily stood there holding the crayon, looking confused and hurt.
I was already moving.
I found Sarah on the balcony gripping the railing so hard her knuckles had gone white. Her shoulders shook—small, controlled tremors she was trying to suppress.
“Sarah.”
She didn’t turn around. “I’m fine. I just needed some air.”
“You’re not fine.”
“I am. I just—” Her voice caught. “Give me a minute.”
I moved closer, stopped a few feet behind her. Close enough to reach her if she needed it, far enough to give her space if she didn’t.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t lie to me.” The words came out edged with frustration. “Something’s been wrong since you came back and you just walked out on my daughter in the middle of a session.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I’ll go back in—”
“I don’t care about the session.” I did care about the session, but that wasn’t the point. “I care about whatever’s happening with you.”
She shook her head, still not looking at me. “It’s nothing you can help with.”
“Try me.”
“Hector—”
“What is it?” I moved closer, close enough to see the tears she was fighting back. “Money? The exam? Something else? Tell me what you need and I’ll handle it.”
“You can’t handle this.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Nobody can.”
“Then at least tell me what it is. Stop carrying everything alone.”
She finally turned to look at me. Her eyes were red and wet, her face pale except for two spots of color high on her cheeks.
“I can’t,” she said. “If I tell you, I’ll lose everything. Lily, this job, you—” She stopped, seemed to realize what she’d just said. “I’ll lose everything that matters.”
The confession hit me square in the chest. You. She’d said you like I mattered to her the same way Lily did.
“You won’t lose us,” I said—and meant every word. “Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out together.”
She laughed, but it sounded broken. “You don’t know what you’re promising.”
“Then tell me.”
For a long moment, I thought she might. I watched her war with herself, saw the words fighting to come out. But in the end, she just shook her head and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
“I can’t. Not yet.” She took a shaky breath. “I need to go back in. Lily’s probably worried.”
“Sarah—”
“Please. Just… let me have a little more time.”
I wanted to push. Wanted to demand answers until she broke and told me everything. But I’d spent enough time with Lily to know that pushing someone who wasn’t ready only made them shut down harder.
“Fine,” I said. “But when you’re ready to talk, I’m here.”
She nodded and walked past me, back inside to Lily. I stayed on the balcony and stared out at the city, trying to understand what the hell was happening.
I investigated anyway.
Called the building manager of her apartment, asked if there had been any issues. Nothing. Called the police, and confirmed that the loan sharks were still in custody. They were. Checked her employment records, her background, anything that might give me a clue.
Nothing.
Whatever was wrong with Sarah wasn’t external. It was internal—something she was carrying alone.
And she didn’t trust me enough to tell me.
I tried to work after that. I really did. I sat at my desk, opened my laptop, stared at spreadsheets and vendor contracts and emails that needed answers. None of it registered. Every few minutes I found myself glancing toward the hallway, listening for footsteps that never came.
Sarah finished Lily’s session and left without stopping by my office.
She always stopped by. Even on the days we argued, even when she was annoyed with me, she’d linger in the doorway with some comment about Lily’s progress or a reminder about the next session.
Today she slipped out like she was afraid of being seen.
I waited ten minutes before checking the cameras. She was already gone.
The penthouse felt wrong after she left. Too quiet. Too still. Lily wandered into my office with her sketchbook, climbed into the chair across from me, and started drawing without saying anything. She kept glancing at the door like she expected Sarah to walk back in.
“She’s sad,” Lily said finally, not looking up from her page.
My chest tightened. “Did she tell you that?”
“No.” Lily shrugged, her crayon moving in slow, careful strokes. “But I know what sad looks like.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. My daughter had spent two years drowning in silence and grief—she recognized sadness the way other children recognized colors.
“She’ll be okay,” I said, though I wasn’t sure I believed it.
Lily nodded, but her shoulders curled inward, and she kept drawing. When she finally turned the sketchbook around, she’d drawn three figures: herself, me, and Sarah. All holding hands. But Sarah’s figure was fading at the edges, like she was being erased.
Something cold settled in my stomach.
I didn’t know what Sarah was hiding. I didn’t know why she was pulling away. But I knew one thing with absolute certainty.
Whatever she was carrying, it was tearing her apart.
And I wasn’t sure how much longer she could hold it together.