I looked up.
“It’s approved.”
His face went blank.
“The claim?”
“All of it.”
“The van?”
“Yes.”
“The equipment?”
“Yes.”
“My wages?”
“Yes.”
“Treatment?”
“Yes.”
His shoulders lowered.
“You were terrified.”
A laugh broke from me.
The sound cracked halfway through.
“Yes.”
Noah came around the desk.
I stood and pulled him against me.
He held me tightly.
“You never told me how bad it was.”
“I said it was difficult.”
“You translated it into practical language.”
“I had to keep functioning.”
His hand moved over my back.
“You can stop functioning for a minute.”
I buried my face against his neck.
For weeks, I had measured every expense before approving it. Moved money between accounts. Chosen which invoice could wait. Imagined selling the station wagon, Mercy, the planned expansion, anything except the home and care Noah needed.
Now the yard could breathe.
