Page 65 of The Valentine Agenda

Not physically, not yet, but she felt him retreating. Building walls even as she tried to tear them down.

"Being truly seen is a gift," she continued, desperate now, needing him to hear this. "Not the kind of seeing that's about appearance or status, but the kind that notices what matters. The kind that remembers how someone takes their tea, or which window lets in a draft, or what supplies an art program might need to make children feel valued."

The room was utterly still, but James—James was breaking apart in slow motion.

His chest rose and fell unevenly, his composure cracking with each breath. For a moment, hope flared in Hannah's chest as he shifted forward.

But then... he stepped back.

Her heart clenched.

"That kind of seeing," she finished, her voice barely loud enough to reach him, "changes everything. It makes a building into a home. It makes strangers into family. It makes us all better, just by knowing someone cares enough to notice."

James's hands fell to his sides, defeat written in every line of his body.

And then—he turned away.

It wasn't dramatic. He didn't storm off or slam doors. But somehow, that made it worse.

He turned like a man walking away from something he'd convinced himself he could never have.

The room erupted in applause, but Hannah barely heard it over the roaring in her ears. James was gone. She had tried to tell him she saw him now—really saw him. That she understood what he'd become.

Instead, she'd somehow reminded him of everything he used to be.

The empty doorway seemed to mock her, holding all the words she should have said differently. All the truths that might have made him stay.

CHAPTER THIRTY

James

James didn't remember walking to his apartment. One moment he was in the doorway, Hannah's words cutting through him like glass, and the next he was here—standing in his perfect living room with its perfect view, feeling completely shattered.

"Some people look without seeing."

He squeezed his eyes shut, but her voice followed him. Even now, even here, she was teaching him. Showing him exactly who he was.

A man who walked past neighbors without acknowledging them.

A man who checked emails instead of checking on people.

A man who saw Hannah every day and never really saw her at all.

Until it was too late.

"Being truly seen is a gift."

A laugh escaped him—harsh and broken. Because that was the cruelest part, wasn't it? She was all he saw now.

But all he could hear was the echo of every morning he'd rushed past her. Every time she'd straightened that lobby painting while he'd been too busy with his phone to notice. Every moment he could have seen her, should have seen her, and didn't.

He'd spent months trying to prove he'd changed. That he could be the man she deserved.

And in one speech, she'd reminded him of exactly why he didn't deserve her at all.

"Others see you," her voice whispered in his memory. "They notice you."

His hand curled into a fist against the glass.

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