Chapter Eight The Woman Behind the Clipboard

Lorna Jenkins had long since mastered the art of bearing the suffering of others without allowing it to affect her own.

That's what she told herself, anyway.

She studied Michael Hudson as a man who was folded in on himself, not as a billionaire or the media's golden boy, while she sat across from him in the stately but empty library of his estate. The kind of grief that left only the shell after carving out the soul.

She knew. Personal, not professional.

The flat indifference of someone waiting for the clock to run out met Michael's gaze as he crossed his arms. She offered him water, but he had not touched it. hadn't even made an effort to conceal his lack of interest.

Lorna did not lose patience.

She said softly, "You don't have to say anything." "But we might as well endure the silence together if you and I are present."

Michael gave a small smile. "That's your method? Hold off until I'm comfortable enough to speak.?"

"No," she answered. It's known as presence. When you're not avoiding silence, you'd be shocked at how effective it can be.

He looked at her for a moment, and his stern face softened—just a little—for the first time.

Lorna spoke in a light voice. "Your friend Henry seems to believe that you are emotionally exiled."

Michael remarked, "That's one way of putting it."

"I would describe it as survival mode," she answered. "Excellent until the system breaks down."

She observed him as he took in the words.

He remarked, "You're not here to fix me."

"No," she concurred. "I don't work on people's problems. I'm here to assist you in returning to your previous self.

Michael averted his eyes and stared at the chilly, dark fireplace.

"Who I was," he said sourly again. "He no longer exists."

Lorna felt her heart tighten. Obviously not visibly. She was steady because she had worked with trauma patients for years. But there was an old ache beneath her composure. She was familiar with loss. She understood what it was like to believe, to love, and to lose everything in a single, terrible turn of events.

She kept her past to herself.

Not the fiance who never returned from that trip abroad. Not of the years she remained broken herself and tried to heal others in secret.

Rather, she leaned a little forward. "Then perhaps we begin with your current self."

Michael gave her another glance. Not in the capacity of a professional. Not as an outsider.

As something... distinct.

Maybe a mirror. One that didn't condemn him for his broken state.

"All right," he said softly. An hour. That's all.

Lorna gave a nod. "For today, that's all we need."

The sky outside was getting darker. Like tentative fingers, the rain pattered softly against the windows.

Michael Hudson listened inside for the first time in weeks. And Lorna Jenkins spoke without walls for the first time in a long time.