Chapter Text
The early morning sun slanted through the glass doors of Rosehill, pooling in golden rectangles across the linoleum floors. I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and tapped my ID against the scanner, feeling the familiar little warmth of being here settle around me like a soft, worn sweater. The faint scent of floor polish mingled with the richer, roasted aroma drifting from the cafeteria, coffee brewing somewhere just out of sight, and for a moment, it was comforting, grounding, a reminder that the building was awake, alive, and humming with its quiet rhythm.
"Afternoon, Marjorie," I said, spotting her at the front desk, hunched over a clipboard, squinting at a form as though it had personally insulted her.
"Hmph. You're early," she replied, voice sharp but not unkind, each syllable clipped like a metronome. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
I grinned, hunting for a pretext. "I wanted to check in on Clarence. After his... 'ocean expedition' yesterday. Just to make sure he's behaving." I tried to sound casual, but I couldn't help the little lift in my chest that came with the thought of seeing him again.
Marjorie finally looked up, one eyebrow arching in her signature skeptical way. "He's fine today. His son's visiting, apparently. Makes him all proper and cooperative."
I blinked. Relief flooded me, warm and heavy, though a small part of me had been hoping for a little mischief to greet me, a trace of the chaos that always made Clarence... Clarence. "Oh." I let the word hang. "Well... that's good."
I walked down the hallway, each step a soft thump on the linoleum, which seemed to hum under my shoes as if acknowledging my presence. Sunlight slanted through the windows, brushing the walls in long, warm rectangles that made the air feel softer, slower, like the world was letting me in on a secret.
"Good morning, Mrs. Kline," I said, smiling as I passed her door. She looked up from her crossword, one thin eyebrow lifting.
"Morning, Miss Elouise," she replied, tone clipped but warm enough to make me grin. "Don't get too cheerful before your first cup of coffee."
A few steps later, I spotted Harold and Mr. Aldridge sitting side by side. Harold's pencil tapped an erratic rhythm against a notepad, while Mr. Aldridge leaned back, eyes half-closed, breathing slow and steady.
"Morning, gentlemen," I called.
Harold's eyes snapped open, a grin stretching across his face. "Ah! My sunshine returns!"
I laughed softly. "Don't flatter me too much, Harold," then crouched for a moment to straighten the stack of magazines beside him, fingers brushing the glossy covers.
Mr. Aldridge gave a small wave, still reclining, corners of his mouth twitching into the faintest smile. "Good to see you, Elouise," he murmured.
I nodded, feeling the gentle, steady rhythm of the hallway settle over me, that little tug of contentment that always came from these walls, these people. Each familiar face, each tiny quirk- the way Harold fussed over his notes, Mr. Aldridge's slow, careful waves, Mrs. Kline's sharp-edged humor- made this place feel like more than just a building. It was a rhythm I could follow, a quiet anchor in a life that sometimes felt like it was slipping through my fingers.
As I approached Clarence's room, a light skip in my step, the sun spilling across the floor in soft gold, I felt that same subtle happiness flicker through me.
And then I heard it.
A voice. Gentle. Careful. Familiar in a way that made my stomach tighten and my knees go a little weak.
No. It can't be.
My head tilted, my ears straining, my breath caught somewhere between fear and disbelief. I knew that voice anywhere. Anywhere.
I froze, heart hammering. The world shrank until all I could hear was the voice, slow and deliberate, carrying words with careful weight.
I took a cautious, almost trembling step closer to the slightly ajar door, my hands itching to reach out, but frozen. Every fiber of me screamed- look, don't, move, stay, run- all at once.
And then... I saw him.
Matty.
Matty, sitting cross-legged next to Clarence. Matty, with the sunlight haloing his hair. Matty, clutching a book carefully.
My brain stalled entirely. Heart stuttered. Hands froze mid-air.
I could barely take it in. I couldn't process the calm, gentle concentration in his posture, the softness in his voice, the way every word seemed weighed with a careful tenderness.
And then- oh God- the book.
The Old Man and the Sea.
It took a second for the pieces to click. My eyes went wide. My stomach dropped. My brain caught fire. Every thought I'd ever had about the strange coincidences, the repeated copies, the exhaustion, the evasive moments, all of it slammed into me in a tidal wave of clarity.
Clarence.
Clarence is Matty's dad.
My hand brushed against the stack of magazines on the nearby table, and before I could stop it, one slipped through my fingers and toppled to the floor with a sharp clatter. The noise felt deafening in the quiet sunlit corner.
Matty's head snapped up, eyes wide.
For a heartbeat, his carefully measured calm faltered. I saw it flicker there; the sudden panic, the sharp intake of breath, the way he straightened just a fraction too quickly, as if bracing himself.
Not anger. Not judgment. But something far more vulnerable: the instinct to protect a secret he'd never meant for me to see.
Clarence's attention remained rapt, oblivious, leaning in closer to the words, but Matty's gaze locked on mine.
I caught a glimpse of everything he'd tried to shield: his exhaustion, his carefulness, the quiet weight he carries. And I realized, painfully, that this was a part of him he hadn't wanted me to see. A piece he had kept tucked away, not because he didn't trust me, but because he didn't want me to see the edges of his pain and pity him.
Guilt pricked at my chest, sharp and unrelenting. I had intruded. I had stumbled into something private. The warmth of the morning, the sun on my face, the familiar linoleum under my shoes, all of it disappeared, replaced with a heavy, sinking awareness of my presence.
"I-" I started, but the words caught in my throat.
Matty's lips parted as if to say something, anything, and I felt the full force of his hesitation, his panic, the silent plea that I not cross a line he had drawn. I swallowed hard, stepping back, letting my eyes drop to the floor.
"I... I shouldn't-" My voice was barely a whisper, more to myself than to him.
Without another word, I turned on my heel and hurried out of the room, careful to make it seem accidental, as though my intrusion hadn't happened at all. My stomach twisted with guilt, my chest tight, and my mind spun with the enormity of what I'd just glimpsed: the quiet, hidden weight he carries, the tenderness he offers, and the pieces of his life he doesn't let anyone see.
I paused in the hallway, pressing my palms to my eyes for a long moment, trying to calm the sudden storm inside me. I wasn't supposed to know. I wasn't supposed to see.
But I did.
Every step down the hallway felt like a march through my own mistake. My palms itched as though I could physically scrub the memory from my mind, but of course, I couldn't.
He trusted me with nothing of this, and I barged in anyway.
My stomach churned with shame at the thought of what he must feel knowing I'd stumbled across this- how he'd wanted to keep this part of his life separate, safe, untouched by pity or curiosity.
I could almost see his eyes flick up at me when I knocked over the magazine, the panic, not anger, just the sharp, quiet plea that said please don't see this, not yet, not like this.
And I had. I had seen it anyway.
From behind me, Marjorie's voice called, "Elouise?" but I didn't answer. Not even a thought of turning back. I couldn't- my guilt weighed too heavy for words. I kept walking, each step a silent confession, each echo on the linoleum a reminder of my intrusion.
I wasn't supposed to know. And now I do. And I don't know how to make it right.