Amelia's laughter echoed in the quiet hallway, a sound that felt both familiar and newly discovered. She’d started bringing over coffee, claiming she always made too much. The steam would rise between us as we talked about everything and nothing—the children’s school projects, the book she was reading, the way the afternoon light hit her kitchen window. Her eyes held stories she hadn’t told anyone else, and in the safe space of our conversations, she began to unfold them, piece by fragile piece. It started with casual hellos, but now there’s a silent understanding that these moments are an anchor in the quiet storm of her days.