Mrs. Whitaker explained that her daughter knew all about me and even remembered which day I came each week. After George died, Thursdays had become especially lonely. My visits gave her something to look forward to, even when we mostly talked about ordinary things while I worked. I had always considered those conversations part of my job. She had quietly come to treasure them as something much more.

Then she said, “I was lonely, Carly, but that didn’t mean I had the right to make you responsible for my loneliness.” Her words stayed with me. I admitted that I had deliberately kept our conversations professional because I never wanted to risk my job or make her uncomfortable. We had both been protecting the same boundary for completely different reasons. Neither of us realized how much those Thursday mornings mattered to the other.