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the rain. "I’m sorry," he said, his voice quiet. He looked at the puddle forming around his boots. "I didn't mean to drag you into this. I just... I didn't want the things to get ruined." Helen went to the linen closet and pulled out two thick, fluffy towels. She handed him one, her hands steady. "It is alright. The storm is quite fierce tonight. It is no weather for a man to be fighting with a tarp." He took the towel, rubbing it over his hair with a sheepish expression. "I’m not very good at this, am I? The moving. The settling in. It’s all a bit much." "It is a transition," Helen said, moving to the kitchen to put the kettle on. The routine was a comfort. It gave her hands something to do while her mind raced. "It is rarely tidy." She watched him from the kitchen doorway as he dried his face. He looked at her living room, really looked at it, for the first time. He noticed the framed photograph of Arthur on the mantle, the small stack of books on the side table, the way the house felt lived in but preserved, like a museum of a life that had stopped moving forward. "You’ve kept it exactly the same," he observed, his voice soft. It wasn't a criticism; it was an observation. "I like it that way," she replied, her voice firm. She turned back to the stove, watching the water begin to simmer. "I’m trying to change everything," Robert said, leaning against the doorframe. "I thought if I changed the garden, if I painted the walls, if I made the house look like something entirely new, I wouldn't have to feel the absence so sharply. But it’s just a house, isn't it? It doesn't matter what color the walls are if the person who made it a home isn't there anymore." Helen felt a lump form in her throat. She understood that sentiment all too well. She had spent years dusting the same knick-knacks, sitting in the same chair, hoping that if she kept the stage set perfectly, the play would somehow resume. "It is a heavy thing to carry," she said, finally turning to face him. She held out a mug of tea, the steam rising between them. Robert took it, his fingers brushing hers. His hand was warm, and he was shaking just a little. "I didn't expect to be here, you know. I thought I’d be retired in a cabin by a lake. I never planned on being the guy with the loud moving crew next door." "I never planned on being the woman who yells at neighbors about hedges," Helen replied, and a small, genuine smile touched her lips. Robert laughed, a softer sound this time, and took a sip of the tea. "Well, I suppose we’re both off to a rocky start." Outside, the storm continued to rage, but inside, the air felt different. The sharp, defensive lines that Helen had drawn around her life were beginning to blur. She looked at Robert, standing in her kitchen with his damp hair and his tired eyes, and she realized that for the first time in years, she wasn't just observing the world. She was participating in it. "You should stay until the worst of it passes," she said, gesturing toward the living room. "There is no sense in going back out there until the wind dies down." "Are you sure?" he asked, looking at her with a flicker of hope. "I don't want to be a nuisance." "You are