“No need to apologize,” he said, glancing at his watch. “These things happen. I’m late for a meeting. Theo is in the living room. He’s had breakfast. Lunch around noon. Food’s in the fridge. Isabel left notes on the counter.”
“Theo is your son?” Lena asked.
Something flickered across Julian’s face. Pain. Regret.
“Yes. He’s five. His mother passed away two years ago. He doesn’t talk much anymore. To anyone. Please don’t take it personally.”
Before Lena could respond, Julian was already walking toward his car.
“I’ll be back by six. My number’s on the counter if you need anything.”
And just like that, he was gone.
Lena found Theo in the living room, which had been partially converted into a play area. He sat on the floor stacking colorful blocks, a worn gray elephant tucked beside him.
“Hi, Theo,” Lena said softly, kneeling a few feet away. “I’m Lena. I’ll be here today while your dad is at work.”
Theo glanced up briefly, then went back to his blocks.
Lena didn’t push.
“That’s a really strong tower,” she said casually. “Using green blocks at the base is smart.”
His hands paused for just a second.
“I’m going to clean a bit,” she continued. “Is it okay if I play some music?”
Theo gave the tiniest nod.
The morning passed quietly. Theo moved from blocks to puzzles to coloring, always with his elephant close. He never spoke, but he always checked to see if she was nearby.
At lunchtime, Lena made sandwiches and fruit, cutting everything into fun shapes. She arranged the fruit into a smiley face and brought the plate over.
“Would you like to eat here or at the table?” she asked.
Theo pointed to the coffee table.
Halfway through lunch, he fed his elephant a piece of fruit.
“Does your elephant have a name?” Lena asked gently.
After a long pause, he whispered, “Biscuit.”
Lena smiled without making a fuss. “That’s a great name.”
Later, she noticed a shelf of children’s books.
“Would you like me to read one?” she asked. “I do funny voices.”
Theo walked over, picked out a book—about an elephant—and handed it to her.
They read. Then another. Then another.
By the fourth book, Theo leaned against her shoulder.
“Again,” he said clearly.
That’s when Lena heard footsteps.
Julian Hart stood in the doorway, frozen.
“He’s… talking to you,” Julian said, voice breaking. “My son is talking to you.”
Theo looked at his father. “Daddy, Lena does funny voices. And she made my lunch smile.”