Theo seemed to think for a moment.
His eyes flicked over me, not in a way that made me self-conscious, but like he was calculating something. Assessing.
He cleared his throat.
“I don’t know how you would feel about this, but…” He hooked his thumb over his shoulder toward the hallway that led upstairs. “There’s a closet full of fancy dresses up there, if you want to take a look.”
I went still.
It took a second for my brain to catch up.
He was talking about Alisha’s closet.
He was offering me one of his late wife’s dresses.
My chest tightened, unsure what emotion was rising first. Gratitude. Guilt. Hesitation.
Before I could respond, he continued, quieter now.
“I’ve actually been thinking about giving them away. Or maybe doing some kind of charity auction for the really expensive ones.” He shrugged. “They’re just collecting dust at this point. You might as well look.”
I studied his face carefully, not sure he was actually okay with what he was saying.
But there was no strain there. No forced bravery. Just sincerity and a calm steadiness that told me he wasn’t about to unravel if I stepped into that room.
Still, I swallowed.
“That’s a really generous offer,” I said softly.
“It’s practical,” he replied, shrugging nonchalantly. “And you need something tonight.”
I searched his eyes one more time.
“I’m not going to fall apart if I see you wearing one of Alisha’s dresses.” He gave me a small nod, like he understood exactly what I was checking for. “She was a bit taller than you, but I’m sure we can find something that works.”
“Okay,” I said, sighing. “That’s really generous of you. I-I’ll take a look.”
28
NORA
Theo led the way upstairs,and even though I’d been watching Charlotte for two weeks at this point, I hadn’t actually stepped inside his room before. On the mornings I found her sleeping in there, I’d always hovered near the doorway, gently coaxing her awake without crossing the threshold. It had felt like a boundary I wasn’t sure I should blur.
But today I had permission to follow him in.
The room was larger than I’d expected. Calm. Intentional. Like something pulled from the pages of an architectural magazine. The walls were a soft, light sage; the bed perfectly made with layered neutral linens and oversized pillows. Dark wood nightstands flanked either side, each topped with sleek brass lamps and carefully chosen books stacked with quiet precision.
My eyes caught on a framed photo sitting on the nightstand to the left.
Theo in a suit, seated in a simple armchair. His tie was loosened, his eyes closed, his expression softer than I’d ever seen it. And a baby Charlotte slept sprawled against his chest, her cheek pressed into his shirt, one tiny hand curled into his collar.
His chin rested gently against the top of her head, like he’d come home from a long day and fallen asleep while rocking her.
It was so tender it almost hurt to look at.
I remembered what he’d said the night before. That Charlotte had been the reason he’d gotten up each morning. The reason he’d showered. Gone to work. Kept breathing.
And I couldn’t help but wonder if that picture sat there on purpose. Not as decoration, but as a reminder. Of why he had to keep going.