I returned to my apartment, door closed, but I kept listening.
I peeked out. The door to 4B was open. The kids were at the table. Michael was making tea. Dorothy told a story about George, voice strong and sure.
No one checked their phones. No one watched the clock.
Michael hadn’t just saved Dorothy from loneliness—he’d brought her back to life. And in doing so, he gave her children back to her.
For the first time, I didn’t need to watch. She wasn’t alone anymore.
