I looked at him.
Caleb lifted both hands.
“No personal guarantee.”
Relief swept through me.
“How is Noah?”
“Asleep.”
“Appointments?”
“Brace off. New therapy plan. Dr. Whitcomb wants a financial review in two days.”
“With him?”
“Yes.”
Caleb sat.
“You told him.”
“Enough.”
“How did he take it?”
“Like a man trying to carry a storm in one hand.”
I opened the laptop.
The red numbers remained.
Nothing had changed.
Yet something felt different.
Noah knew there was a problem.
He had not broken.
I no longer carried every fact alone.
Caleb slid a document across the desk.
“Insurance called while you were gone. They approved the temporary wage reimbursement.”
I stared at the page.
“How much?”
“Eight weeks, retroactive.”
The amount covered payroll.
Not the supplier debt.
Not the mortgage beyond next month.
