(Ryan's POV)
I don't usually care about new hires.
Messengers, interns, rotating associates—most of them blur together. But today, while reviewing facility access logs, something catches my eye: a familiar name, newly listed on the clearance roster.
Henry Manuel.
The name makes something sharp prick at the back of my mind.
I've heard it before.17Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQLO2SWS6QF
Where?17Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0vdjdhTihC
Who mentioned it?
And then it hits me—Stacy.17Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWvGWHckvLa
A passing comment weeks ago.
"That man has the nerve to show his face now? After what he did to Sam when she was pregnant?"
My breath slows.17Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2Qa2bMGxCo
My hands still.
I search the internal system. No picture. Just basic details.
College dropout. Emergency hire. No references listed.
But I don't need a picture.
Because not even an hour later, while heading to the lower admin floor, I see him.
Slouched by the copier. Wearing a lanyard. Face hollow.
And then I watch Samantha walk past the hallway.17Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHK9fsL9sh9
She doesn't look at him. Doesn't see him.
But he does.
And the look on his face?
Regret. Familiarity.17Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzOQOzMu4oC
Loss.
It confirms everything.
Later that afternoon, I'm in my office. Blinds half-drawn. Phone silent.
I reread the staff record like it'll rewrite itself.
Henry Manuel.17Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfngRZdajFt
The man who walked out on Samantha.17Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7uGN2raF6i
The man who left her to raise a child alone while she was still practically a girl herself.17Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLAG1bt7CF8
The man who lives in the past like it still owes him something.
I grip my pen too tightly. Snap the cap.17Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfV4swUEYUR
Don't even care.
Because now I know why Samantha tenses when people talk about "deadbeat dads" or why she works twice as hard just to be seen. I know why her walls are so high.
He put them there.
By the time I catch up with her at the elevator, she's already halfway through her third coffee.
She doesn't notice me until I speak.
"You knew he was applying here."
She pauses. Doesn't even ask who.
"I saw him on the lower floor," I add. "And I know who he is."
She exhales slowly. "I didn't ask for your opinion."
"I'm not giving one."
Silence.
Then, she whispers, "Did you tell anyone?"
"No."
More silence.
Then: "Good."
The elevator dings. She steps in. So do I.
"I'll handle it if he causes problems," I say quietly. "You won't have to."
She doesn't look at me, but something in her shoulders relaxes. Just slightly.
"That's not your job," she says.
I glance at her.
"No," I answer. "It's not. But I still want to."
And for the first time since I met her, Samantha doesn't argue.
17Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwLAIRdj3Y9
