"I don't restore furniture to prove broken things are always repairable," he said. "Some aren't. Some losses stay losses. I work because caring for something in front of you is still worthwhile, even after something you loved is gone."
Victoria thought of her mother and the ring inside her bag. She had never described her own grief in those terms. She had turned mourning into schedules, kept appointments during hospital stays, answered emails after the funeral, and built a business large enough to make the absence of one person disappear beneath the noise. The business grew. The absence did not.
"My mother died before Sterling Living became anything," she said. "She had a way of knowing when I was about to do something stupid. I spent years wishing she could have seen what I built. Then I started wondering whether she'd recognize the person who built it."
Daniel listened without moving to rescue her from the thought. "What do you think she'd recognize?" he asked.
Victoria considered the question for a long time. "My stubbornness," she said finally. "And my inability to leave a problem alone."
"That's something."
"She'd probably ask why I work so much."
"What would you tell her?"
"That I have people depending on me."
"Is that the whole answer?"
Victoria looked at him. In a boardroom, she would have taken the question as a challenge. Here, with rain on the roof and a photograph of Claire smiling between them, she found herself unexpectedly grateful for it. "No," she admitted. "It isn't."
She left near dusk. Daniel walked her to the car carrying an umbrella with two broken ribs that he seemed determined to keep using. The rain had softened to mist, and the street smelled of wet earth and cut grass. He paused beside her driver's door.
"Thank you for coming," he said. "I'm sorry I don't have anything more impressive to offer than tea."
"Don't apologize for the tea," Victoria replied. "It may be the best thing anyone's offered me all month."
On her drive home, the city's familiar towers appeared through the windshield one by one. She was due to attend a private dinner with investors that evening, and Ethan had already texted twice asking whether he should confirm the reservation. She called him from a parking space and canceled. Instead she stopped at a small grocery store, bought bread and soup, and took them home herself. She ate in the kitchen rather than the dining room because sitting at a formal table alone suddenly seemed an unnecessary performance.
A week later, she went back. This time she called first, using the number Daniel had written on a scrap of paper when he offered to let her see how the repaired oak table turned out. His answer was simply, "Of course. Alice will probably be here stealing my biscuits." Victoria drove over after work and brought a packet of proper tea because she had noticed he was nearly out.