The hallway was mostly empty — most of the staff had already left for the day. Mother’s Day. A few nurses had flowers in their arms, someone had brought in cupcakes.

You’d kept your head down.

Now, the hospital was quiet… except for Addison’s heels on the tile.

She was walking out, keys in one hand, a soft smile playing on her lips. She had talked earlier about taking Henry to the beach. “His second Mother’s Day,” she’d said proudly.

She passed your office… then paused.

The door was cracked. Light still on.

She looked in — and stopped.

You were sitting at your desk, hunched slightly, your fingers pressed to your eyes. Silent, but shaking.

She didn't say anything. Just stood there in the doorway for a moment, then gently knocked.

You looked up, startled. She didn’t ask what was wrong. She didn’t mention the tears.

“I’m headed home to Henry,” she said softly. “We’re making a sandcastle. Well—he’ll mostly eat the sand.”

You tried to smile. Couldn’t.

She stepped a little closer, tone still gentle. “You don’t have to be alone today. If you want… you could come with me. Just for a bit. No pressure.”

You hesitated.

She didn’t push.

But she added, “He’s a sweet kid. And he loves new people.”

You looked at her then — really looked — and for the first time today, something in your chest loosened.

You stood up slowly.

“Okay,” you said.

She nodded, like it wasn’t a big deal.

But it was.

And she knew that too.

Even if she didn't know why.