I stared at my tea before answering. “I stopped expecting anyone to rely on me,” I said. “It felt safer that way.”
She looked at me carefully. “You always seemed so steady.”
I laughed a little. “After two divorces, I figured it was better not to depend on anyone.”
“When Patrick died,” she said, “I learned to do everything myself. At first I had to. Then it just became a habit.”
We sat quietly. The silence didn’t feel awkward.
I checked my phone. It was 12:17 a.m. Only seventeen minutes since she knocked, but something felt different.
“I’ll come back in the morning and replace the pipe,” I said.
“I’d appreciate that,” she replied, giving me a small, real smile.
The next morning at nine, I carried my toolbox across the grass. She opened the door before I knocked.
“I made coffee this time,” she said.
In daylight, the kitchen looked less dramatic, though the open cabinet still showed the damage. I knelt on a towel and examined the pipe.
“This is old,” I said. “We’ll replace this section and check the fittings.”
She leaned against the counter watching me work.
“Do you always fix things yourself?” she asked.
“Usually,” I said. “It’s easier than asking for help and wondering if anyone will show up.”