Page 69 of The Valentine Agenda

"Have you told everyone yet?" Sophie asked.

"Not yet. I wanted to be sure first."

Of course she hadn't told him. Why would she? He was nothing to her now—just another resident who'd proved her worst fears right. Over and over again.

"I think it's the right decision," Hannah was saying, her voice growing fainter as they moved down the hall.

James slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor, surrounded by his abandoned tools. The radiator continued its soft clicking, keeping time with his thundering heart.

She was leaving.

Hannah was leaving, and he'd never even told her that she'd changed everything. That he measured his worth now not in business deals but in her smiles.

The community room felt suddenly airless. This space where he'd watched her teach children about emotional weather patterns, where she'd shown him what real strength looked like. Soon it would just be another room, empty of her presence, her laughter, her way of making everyone feel seen.

James looked at his tools scattered across the floor. He should clean up. Should finish fixing the vent. Should do anyof the thousand tasks he'd set himself to make her world run smoother, even if she never knew it was him.

But what was the point now?

Hannah was leaving, and she was taking all the light with her.

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James sat in his darkened office, tie discarded somewhere on the floor, watching evening shadows crawl across the city. His laptop chimed with another meeting reminder. He'd already missed three today. Couldn't bring himself to care.

For weeks, he'd had a purpose. Make the building run smoothly. Fix things before Hannah noticed they needed fixing. Learn everyone's preferences, their routines, their stories. Be the kind of man who showed up without needing recognition. The kind of man who deserved—

No. That was the problem, wasn't it? He'd never deserved her. Had spent months trying to prove himself worthy while she'd been teaching him what real worth looked like all along.

James stared at his reflection in the window, barely recognizing himself. His hair was a mess from running his fingers through it. His shirt wrinkled from pacing. Everything about him slightly undone, like his perfect facade was finally cracking.

She was leaving.

The thought hit him again like a physical blow. He grabbed his phone, fingers hovering over the airline app. He could go anywhere. Book a flight to London, Tokyo, anywhere that didn't have community rooms full of children's artwork or lobbies with crooked paintings or women who taught him how to love by simply existing.

"Pull yourself together," he muttered, but the words sounded hollow. Empty. Like everything would be without her.

His calendar notification pinged again. Another meeting. Another deal. Another piece of his carefully constructed life that suddenly meant nothing.

What was the point of any of it now? He'd structured his entire existence around quiet ways to make Hannah's world better. Had learned to measure success not in stock prices or social status, but in elderly residents' smiles and properly sorted art supplies and all the small kindnesses she'd taught him to notice.

But now—

Now what?

How did he go back to being the man he was before? How did he stop noticing things that needed fixing? Stop remembering how everyone took their tea? Stop loving her in all the quiet ways he'd learned to love?

"She was never yours," he told his reflection harshly. "She was never going to be yours."

But god, he'd hoped. Even after everything, some pathetic part of him had hoped that if he just kept showing up, kept caring, kept trying to be the man she deserved—

His phone buzzed: Angela, probably with more crises that needed handling. James switched it off completely.

None of it mattered. Nothing had really mattered since that night in the community room when Hannah had shown him exactly what he could have been for her. If he'd only learned sooner. If he'd only seen what mattered before it was too late.

The city lights blurred before him. James pressed his forehead against the cool glass, feeling completely, utterly lost.

For the first time in his life, James Park had no idea what to do next.

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