The first time Jack came to the house, he connected with Diana so effortlessly it stunned me.
After that, he was just… there. Building blanket forts with her, playing tea parties like he meant it. Washing dishes without being asked. Massaging my shoulders because he thought I looked tense.
Sometimes it felt like he wasn’t just getting to know me — he was integrating himself into my life.
That feeling grew stronger over time, especially as I realized how little he revealed about himself.
One night, we sat on the back steps after Diana had gone to bed. He had his arm around me, and I said, “You never really talk about your job.”
He shrugged. “Not much to say. Consulting.”
“What kind?”
“The boring kind. The kind that makes less than you do,” he said, glancing toward my house. “Clearly.”
I turned to him. “I don’t care about that.”
And I meant it. I assumed he was embarrassed or trying to preempt judgment.
