“She is.”
“Good. Sensible women have a way of saving men from themselves.”
That made me smile wider than I had in almost twenty-four hours.
She tore a page from her appointment book, wrote an address on it, and handed it to me.
“Two o’clock. Tell the front desk I sent you.”
I took the page carefully, like it might vanish.
“Why would he do this?”
She didn’t answer right away.
Instead, she leaned in a little.
“Because I raised him to understand that skill matters, yes. But character matters too. A man who sacrifices his own comfort to help a stranger in pain tells me something no resume ever could.”
I looked down at the address again.
My throat tightened.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Try thank you,” she said gently.
So I did.
Then she stood.
“I’ll let you clear your desk. I’ll expect you at two.”
