“Rachel, everything okay in there?” Jack’s voice was concerned, but not pushy. “Yeah,” she called back. Can I come out or do I need to hide in here until I figure out how to fix my life? Pretty sure life fixing happens better with coffee and friendly company, Jack replied. Sophie’s making you a welcome card.

Fair warning, she’s using a lot of glitter. Despite everything, Rachel smiled. She opened the door to find Jack standing in the hallway, his expression understanding in a way that suggested he’d overheard at least part of her conversations. “Lawyer and assistant,” he asked. Is there anything you don’t notice? Years of reading people in high stress situations, Jack said with a slight shrug.

You want to talk about it? Not really, Rachel admitted. I just want to She stopped, not sure how to finish the sentence. What did she want? I just want to not be CEO Rachel Morgan for a little while. Is that possible? Absolutely, Jack said. In this apartment, you’re just Rachel. No titles, no expectations, just a person taking a break from a complicated life.

He gestured toward the living room. Come on, Sophie’s about to unveil her masterpiece, and trust me, you don’t want to miss the presentation. She’s been practicing her speech. In the living room, Sophie had indeed created a card, a piece of construction paper folded in half and covered with glitter, stickers, and crayon drawings.

She stood beside the coffee table where she’d displayed it, Mr. Hopscotch tucked under one arm, looking solemn and important. “Miss Morgan,” Sophie announced formally. “I made you this welcome card because Daddy says that when someone is having a hard time, small kindnesses make big differences, and you’re having a hard time, so I wanted to do something kind.

” She opened the card with a flourish, revealing a drawing of three stick figures, one tall, one small, and one mediumsiz, standing in front of a house. Above them, Sophie had written in careful letters, “Welcome to our home. You are safe here. Love, Sophie and Daddy, and Mr. Hopscotch.” Rachel felt tears prick her eyes again.

She seemed to be doing that a lot lately. Crying. But these weren’t tears of despair or exhaustion. They were something else, something she couldn’t quite name. “This is beautiful, Sophie,” Rachel said, accepting the card with her good hand. It’s the most beautiful card anyone has ever made me.

Really? Sophie’s eyes went wide. Even more beautiful than the fancy cards at the store. Especially more beautiful than those. Rachel confirmed. Because this one was made just for me by you. That makes it priceless. Sophie beamed, then surprised Rachel by stepping forward and wrapping her arms around Rachel’s waist in a gentle hug, careful to avoid her injured shoulder.

I’m glad you’re staying a little longer,” she whispered. “Daddy needs more friends. He doesn’t have very many because he’s always taking care of me.” Over Sophie’s head, Rachel met Jack’s eyes and saw his embarrassment at his daughter’s honesty. But she also saw the truth in Sophie’s words. This kind, capable man who had saved her from Andrew was himself isolated, his whole life revolving around his daughter and his work.

“Maybe I need more friends, too,” Rachel said softly. returning Sophie’s hug. The rest of the morning passed in a comfortable rhythm that felt surreal in its normaly. Sophie insisted on showing Rachel her room, which was exactly what you’d expect from an 8-year-old. Stuffed animals arranged on the bed, posters of movies and pop stars on the walls, and an impressive collection of books overflowing from a small bookshelf.

The telescope Sophie had mentioned sat by the window, and Sophie demonstrated how to use it, pointing out landmarks in their neighborhood with the expertise of a seasoned tour guide. “That’s Mrs. Chen’s house,” Sophie explained. “She’s from China, and she’s teaching me how to make dumplings.

And that’s the Martinez family. They have three kids, and the oldest one, Carlos, is in sixth grade, and he’s really good at soccer. And over there is Mr. Johnson. He’s really old and sometimes daddy helps him with his yard work because Mr. Johnson’s back hurts. Rachel listened to Sophie’s narration of their neighborhood and realized she couldn’t name a single one of her neighbors in San Francisco.

She lived in a building full of people and knew none of them. Her world was divided into business associates and service providers. No one she’d call a friend, no one she’d make dumplings with or help with yard work. Jack appeared in the doorway carrying a basket of laundry. Sophie, you’re supposed to be getting ready for your piano lesson, not giving Miss Morgan the complete oral history of our street.

But she asked, Sophie protested. I did ask, Rachel confirmed, smiling at Jack. Your daughter is a wealth of information. She’s something all right, Jack said with obvious affection. Sophie, go get your music books. Mrs. Patterson will be here in 20 minutes. Sophie scampered off, and Jack turned to Rachel. Sorry about that. She gets excited when we have visitors.

Tends to overshare. Don’t apologize, Rachel said. It’s refreshing, actually. Most people I interact with are carefully managing what they say, calculating every word for maximum advantage. Sophie just says what she thinks and feels. It’s honest. That’s one word for it, Jack said with a rise smile.

Her teachers call it refreshingly candid. I call it occasionally mortifying. He shifted the laundry basket on his hip. I’ve got to throw this in and then run to the pharmacy to pick up your prescription. You okay here for half an hour? I’m fine, Rachel assured him. Actually, I was wondering, do you mind if I help with something? Dishes, laundry, anything.

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