Eyes on the front door of her building, I lean back in my seat. My corduroy-clad legs are restless, and I put my palms on them to stop bouncing. I’ve been fidgety all morning. I don’t know if it’s because I’m scared she won’t want to return to Sonder Hill knowing she might not be able to come back home tonight, or maybe it’s because I’ve been running through our conversation from yesterday over and over again ever since she left my car.

She struck a chord, that’s for sure, saying my job was important, a few simple words that made me toss and turn in bed all night. It had been a long time since I’d felt this seen. And then she mentioned her babies, and I felt like a jackass for not asking before. She probably has a family here. A partner and kids. Meanwhile I’m here, asking her to drive hours every day or to stay back in Sonder Hill until her car is repaired.

Last night, just as I got into my apartment after dropping her off, I received a text from her asking if I would be coming back to Boston at the end of the day today. I almost said I would even if I wasn’t planning to, but Dad has physical therapy tonight, so Mom needs me to stay with Callie. I can’t just drop everything and drive to Boston, so I had to tell her no.

Where does that leave her? If she can’t come back home after work and needs to work in person with clients, she might decide it’s not worth it to work with us anymore.

I’m not sure what I’m going to do if she tells me she wants to drop the case. Do whatever it takes to accommodate her and her work, probably. Also, fall to my knees and beg her to keep us as clients. Even though he can’t tell me in words, I can see that Dad is pleased with the progress they’ve made together and the plan she’s built for him. That alone is worth all the begging in the world.

At the same time that thought crosses my mind, her building’s black door finally opens, and out comes Wren with two large bags on her shoulder and two dogs, one tall and nearly obese, the other tiny and frail. They seem excited, their leashes tangling in front of Wren as she tries to balance her bags. Hand already on the door handle, I get out of my car and rush to help her.

“Hey, thanks,” she says as I take two of the bags off her shoulder.

“What’s all this?” I ask, even though the one thing I’m truly thinking is, thank God you’re still here.