“I’m not selling the house.”
Kate looked at him steadily, waiting for more.
“I made that decision this morning,” he said, folding his hands on the table. “It’s not because you’re here. That’s separate. I’m just not selling it. I can’t.”
“I understand,” she said quietly.
“That’s the first thing.” He looked at her directly. “Second: your divorce. I got through to an attorney last night—Mark Riley. Family law, in D.C. I explained the situation. He agreed to take the case.”
Kate opened her mouth, then closed it. Was quiet.
“Alex. That’s expensive.”
“That’s my concern.”
“No.” She said it gently but clearly. “It isn’t. I can’t let you pay for my lawyer.”
“Why not?”
“Because then I’ll owe you. And I don’t want to owe anyone again.” There was no anger in her voice, only the fatigue of someone who knew very well how dependence begins. “For five years I owed my husband for the apartment, for stability, for putting up with my flaws. I don’t want that arrangement with anyone anymore.”
Alex listened. Didn’t interrupt.
“I hear you,” he said when she was done. “I understand where that’s coming from.” He paused. “But let me put it differently. I’m not offering you a debt. I’m offering to have someone who knows how to do this help you do something you have every right to do: divorce a man who harmed you. That’s not a favor. It’s just correcting an unfair situation.”
Kate looked at him for a long time.
“You’re good at making a case,” she said at last.
“Occupational hazard. I know.”
The corner of her mouth lifted slightly.
“All right. But on one condition.”
“Go ahead.”
“I’ll pay you back. Not right away, but I will. I’ve started getting more work. I’m taking on bigger projects now. I’ll repay it within a year.”
Alex wanted to say that wasn’t necessary. But he looked at her—at the face where dignity wasn’t a pose but something real, something earned—and didn’t. He just nodded.
“Deal.”
She let out a breath, barely noticeable.
“Thank you,” she said.
That afternoon Alex worked on the gate. He drove into the county seat that morning—now that the car was running again—and bought new hinges, screws, and wood treatment. Then he came back and worked for three hours. Lily hovered nearby, handing him tools. Somehow he found himself asking, and she took the responsibility with complete seriousness.
“This one?” she’d say, holding out a screw.
“That one. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Brief pause. “Mr. Alex, why fix the gate if you’re leaving?”
Alex kept working.
“So it won’t squeak.”
“But you won’t hear it.”
“Somebody else will.”
Lily considered that.
“Mom and I will hear it,” she concluded. “We’re still here.”
“Exactly.”
Kate appeared in the doorway with mugs of tea a couple of hours later. She set one beside Alex and looked at the gate. It was hanging straight now, the new hinges bright against the wood.
“Looks good.”
“It’ll hold,” he said.
She didn’t leave right away. Leaned against the doorframe and watched him finish. Lily had taken the rabbit back to the porch and was telling it something in a low voice.
“Alex,” Kate said. “Can I ask about the letter?”
