“He wasn’t.”
Daniel looked toward the wall of Lily’s drawings.
Evelyn continued.
“Your request fit within discretionary accommodation authority.”
“So he could have approved it.”
“Yes.”
“Or proposed something else.”
“Yes.”
“Or talked to me.”
“Yes.”
Daniel exhaled slowly.
“Okay.”
Evelyn frowned.
“That’s all?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know.”
“I knew it was wrong when it happened.”
“That isn’t what I mean.”
“Then what do you mean?”
She hesitated.
“I expected you to be angrier.”
“I was.”
“Was?”
“Anger takes energy.”
He looked toward the backyard.
“I had somewhere else to put mine.”
Evelyn absorbed that.
Then said, “I’m building something.”
Daniel’s eyes returned to her.
“Inside Arcturus.”
“No.”
“A program.”
“That’s usually inside a company.”
“You know what I mean.”
He smiled faintly.
She continued.
“I’ve been designing a support framework for major family transitions.”
“Since when?”
“About eighteen months conceptually. Seriously for the last several weeks.”
“Because of me?”
“You accelerated it.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No.”
Evelyn leaned forward.
“You exposed the cost of not having it.”
Daniel waited.
“Medical caregiving. Bereavement. Early parenthood. Family emergencies. Not unlimited flexibility. Structured flexibility.”
“What does that mean?”
“Roles assessed by actual operational requirements, not assumptions. Remote trials where possible. Reduced schedules where appropriate. Temporary transfers. Measurable outcomes. Formal escalation if a direct manager denies accommodation.”
Daniel studied her.
“You’ve thought about this.”
“Yes.”