One evening, Leonard found Rosa folding laundry near the window.
“Can I ask you something?” he said.
She turned, smiling. “Of course, Mr. Blake.”
“What is it you do with him? With Caleb. How do you… reach him?”
Rosa’s hands stilled. “I don’t try to fix him,” she said gently. “I just meet him where he is.”
Leonard looked down, his voice low. “I’ve spent millions on specialists. And yet you—”
“I don’t think it’s about money,” she said, without arrogance. “Caleb doesn’t need fixing. He needs connection.”
Leonard had to sit down.
That night, for the first time in months, he pulled out an old family photo album and looked at pictures of Caleb’s mother. They used to dance in the kitchen too. Marvin Gaye, same song.
