Adult mentor. Funeral. Silence afterward. But Naomi had never filled in much more. He died doing what he loved.
Naomi said. That doesn't make it easier. No. Were you there? No. Naomi swallowed. I was three states away.
The word seemed heavier than they should have been. He called me two nights before. Nia waited. I was working. I didn't answer.
Naomi looked at the coffee. He left a message. Nia's voice softened. What did he say? That I worried too much.
Nia smiled faintly. That sounds right. He said strength gets ugly when it starts needing witnesses. Naomi rubbed her thumb along the edge of the coin. I kept the voicemail for years.
Nia reached across the table. Naomi let her take her hand. They stayed like that until the rain slowed. Then Naomi stood. We need to work.
Nia looked at the suspension paperwork. On what? The appeal. For the next two hours they built it carefully. Dates, screenshots, names, the viral clip.
A still image showing the reflected fixed camera in the athletic center. Nia wrote. Naomi organized. Neither exaggerated. Neither guessed.
When they finished, the folder looked less emotional than Nia felt. That was the point. Near nine, Naomi checked the time. I have to go downstairs. Nia frowned.
Why? Walter. What about him? Housing paperwork? No, you're exhausted.
He has an appointment tomorrow. And? And he doesn't understand half the forms. Nia stared at her. You're really going down there now?
Naomi pulled on the old black jacket. Yes. Yes. Walter was waiting in the building lobby with a folder clutched in both hands. I'm sorry.
He said as soon as he saw Naomi. I know you're busy. You're fine. I can pay you for your time. No. Naomi?
No. Walter tried to push folded bills toward her. Naomi closed his hand around them. Keep it. You already bought breakfast. You were hungry.
And now you're doing this. You need housing. Walter shook his head. One day you're going to let somebody do something for you. Naomi smiled.
Maybe. They sat together beneath the weak lobby light while Naomi helped him through the emergency housing forms one line at a time. Upstairs, Nia watched from the window. She thought about the coin, the training. The years Naomi had spent helping people who had no idea what she had once done and about how little any of that changed the way strangers judged her clothes.
By the time Naomi came back upstairs, Nia had fallen asleep at the kitchen table. Her phone buzzed beside her hand. Naomi picked it up. Unknown number. She hesitated.
Then the screen lit again. Come tomorrow and withdraw the complaint. A second message appeared. Or what happened online gets worse. Naomi's face hardened.