“You.”
Then the problems started piling up. At the office, a major listing fell through. A key client pulled out and went with a cheaper firm. One of the agents quit after being poached by a competitor. Lucy sat at her desk staring at the numbers on the screen and felt panic rising in her throat. She was not managing. Everything was slipping.
“Trouble?” Sam, the older gray-haired agent, leaned into her office doorway.
“Yes. A lot of it.”
“Tell me.”
So she did. The lost listing, the client, the agent who had left. Sam listened without interrupting.
“The client may come back,” he said when she finished. “Cheap firms usually cut corners. He’ll notice. The listing—we can replace. I know a family thinking of selling. And the agent? We’ll find another. I know somebody solid who’s looking.”
“Why are you helping me?”
Sam shrugged.
“You’re a good boss. You don’t yell, you don’t play games, and you make sure people get paid. Folks notice that.”
Lucy felt tears sting her eyes—from exhaustion, gratitude, and the realization that she wasn’t doing this alone.
“Thank you, Sam.”
“Nothing to it. Let’s get back to work.”
A week after the stroke, Margaret was moved to a regular room. She could sit up now, and her speech was much clearer, though her right hand still lagged behind.
“Mike… call?” she asked every day.
“He called. He sends his love. He’ll be here soon.”
“Tell him… don’t rush. I’m… okay.”
But Lucy could see it: Margaret missed her son. Waited for him. Held on for him.
Eric showed up at the worst possible moment, when Lucy was sitting in the hospital corridor waiting for the doctor.
“Hi.”
She looked up. He stood there in an expensive suit, holding flowers.
“What are you doing here?”
“Heard the old lady was in the hospital. Came to check in.”
“Why?”
“To show I’m not a monster.” He sat down beside her. “And to talk.”
“We’ve already talked.”
“Not about this.” Eric lowered his voice. “I filed for a custody review.”
Lucy went cold.
“What?”
“I want the kids with me more. Maybe part-time. Paige is old enough to have a say.”
“And Maddie? Have you lost your mind?”
“No. I’m within my rights. You’re living in somebody else’s house, with unrelated people. Working all the time. The kids are basically raising themselves.”
“The kids are cared for. I have help.”
“From who? A sick old woman?”
Lucy stood up. Her hands were shaking with anger.
“Leave.”
“Think carefully, Lucy. A judge might side with me. I have a stable job, a good apartment, and I’m their father. What do you have?”
“I have love. Something you’ve never understood.”
She turned and walked away. Her heart was pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat. That evening she called Mike.
“Mike, he wants to take the kids.”
“Who? Eric?”
“Yes. He filed for custody review.”
Long silence. Then Mike’s voice, steady and firm:
“Don’t panic. I’m coming home. Three days.”
“How? You said at least another week.”
“I worked it out. I’m getting off at the next port and flying in.” He paused. “Lucy, you can handle this. You already are.”
Three days. Seventy-two hours. Lucy counted them. Margaret brightened visibly when she heard Mike was on his way.
“Finally. I’ll see him. Soon. Very soon… Lucy,” the old woman said, taking her hand with her good one. “If I… don’t pull through…”
“Don’t talk like that.”
“Listen. If I don’t… this house is yours. And Mike’s. Together. Understand?”
“Margaret…”
“Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
The old woman leaned back against the pillow and closed her eyes. A faint smile touched her mouth.
