After the call ended, Sophie leaned forward.
“What did he say?”
“He wants to meet tomorrow.”
“Do you think he’ll give you money?”
“Sophie.”
“What? I’m just asking.”
“I don’t know. I don’t want to make this weird.”
“It’s already weird. A rich old woman slept on our couch.”
Hannah gave her a look.
Sophie smiled faintly. “Sorry. A very nice rich old woman.”
Hannah shook her head, but she laughed for the first time all day.
The next morning, Hannah wore her cleanest sweater, dark jeans, and her winter coat. She brushed her hair carefully and tried not to look as nervous as she felt.
The Briar Glen Public Library was warm and quiet, with old wooden tables and windows overlooking the snowy town square. Hannah arrived ten minutes early and sat near the front, hands folded around a paper cup of vending machine coffee.
At exactly ten, a black car pulled up outside.
Daniel Whitmore stepped out.
He was in his early forties, tall, with dark hair touched lightly with gray at the temples. He wore a navy overcoat and moved with the controlled precision of someone accustomed to being watched. But his face was not what Hannah expected. He did not look arrogant or polished smooth by money.
He looked exhausted.
The kind of exhaustion that sat behind the eyes.
He entered the library and removed his gloves.
“Hannah?”
She stood. “Mr. Whitmore.”
“Daniel, please.”
They shook hands.
His hand was warm. His expression was serious, but not cold.
“Thank you for meeting me,” he said.
“Of course.”
They sat across from each other.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Daniel reached into his coat and placed something on the table.
A blue glove.
Margaret’s missing glove.
“They found it three blocks from the diner,” he said. “She must have dropped it while wandering.”
Hannah looked at it quietly.
“How is she today?”
“Better physically. Emotionally…” He exhaled. “Confused. Embarrassed, when she understands what happened. Then confused again.”
“I’m sorry.”
“She has Alzheimer’s,” Daniel said. “Diagnosed three years ago. It has progressed faster than we expected.”
Hannah nodded. “My grandmother had dementia.”
His eyes lifted to hers.
“Then you understand.”
“A little.”
“My mother moved in with me last year,” he said. “I hired caregivers. Installed locks. Alarms. Cameras. I thought I had prepared for everything.”
His voice tightened.
“I was in my office on a conference call. The caregiver had gone home early because of the storm. My mother was asleep. Or I thought she was. The side door alarm malfunctioned. By the time I realized, she had been gone nearly an hour.”
Hannah could see the guilt in him.
Heavy.
Merciless.
“She didn’t mean to scare you,” Hannah said.
“I know.”
“And you didn’t mean for it to happen.”
Daniel looked down at the glove.
“That is harder to know.”
Hannah understood that too.
Guilt rarely listened to reason.
“My mother keeps asking about you,” he said. “She remembers your soup.”
Hannah smiled softly. “It wasn’t very special.”
“She thinks it was.”
“That matters more, I guess.”
Daniel’s expression eased for the first time.
Then he reached into his coat again and pulled out an envelope.