I realized I couldn't imagine it. But the strange thing was, I wanted to know.

I looked down at my bare feet, then at the soft-soled slippers.

My feet were starting to warm up. And my heart, I think, had gotten a little warmer too.

Cindy's family was just as kind as she had been.

That night, I lay in bed, tossing and turning, unable to sleep.

My mind was a tangle of low-grade unease and that sticky note. Nothing else could get in.

I climbed out of bed and padded back to the kitchen just to look at it, to confirm it was still there.

Once I saw it, I stood there confused by my own behavior. What exactly was I trying to confirm?

My phone screen lit up. Another message from Benedict Fox.

"Can't sleep?"

How did he know?

I didn't even think before typing back: "How'd you know?"

The screen glowed again. "Surveillance cameras."

I tensed up and started scanning the room, eyes darting to every corner.

Another message popped in: "Kidding. Just a guess."

I stared at those words, and my heartbeat tripped over itself. This man could joke? And why was he joking with me?

"Mr. Fox, you're up in the middle of the night just to guess whether I'm asleep or not?"

This time, the wait stretched on. Long enough that I was sure he wouldn't reply.

"Mm."

One syllable. But it carried more weight than everything he'd said before, like a small stone dropping into still water somewhere inside my chest.

Twelve years of single-minded work, of taking care of my ex-husband and his family, and I'd forgotten what it felt like to be on someone's mind.

Turns out, that feeling could be captured in a single word.

But why me? Why him? If he knew I was Cindy's friend, would he still treat me this way?

I couldn't figure it out. I buried my face in the pillow and told myself: Thelma, stop overthinking. He's just worried you'll bolt and hurt his bottom line.

But my pulse wouldn't settle.

I got up to turn off the light. Outside the window, a pair of headlights flashed once.

I didn't go look. But I knew that car had been parked there for a long time.

The next day, walking into Benedict's office again, I'd pulled myself together from yesterday's mess and exhaustion.

He glanced up, his gaze sweeping me from head to toe, and said quietly,

"The clothes in the house are yours to wear too. They should all fit."

"Except the gowns." He added that specifically.

Then he shot a look at his assistant, and Miles scrambled out the door.