Page 73 of The Valentine Agenda

Hannah managed a smile, determined not to let her melancholy show. Moving would be good. A fresh start. Even if every box she packed felt like another piece of her heart being carefully wrapped and stored away.

"Fine, but just a quick—" Hannah stopped as Sophie pulled her toward the community room instead of the lobby. "Wait, what are you—"

"Trust me."

The door opened, and Hannah's world tilted on its axis.

Her first thought was that someone had upgraded her art show. The children's paintings hung in elegant frames she'd never seen before, professionally lit in a way that made each piece glow.

And everywhere—absolutely everywhere—were birthday decorations.

Not the usual streamers and balloons, but tasteful arrangements that complemented the artwork without overwhelming it. Exactly how she would have done it, if she'd ever thought to celebrate herself.

But then she looked closer.

These weren't just her students' original pieces. New artwork covered the walls—paintings she'd never seen before. Tommy's storm clouds were there, but beside them hung a fresh piece titled "Ms. Miller's Smile." Sarah's glitter joy paintings had been joined by "When Ms. Miller Helped Me Read." Each piece was a story about her, told through children's eyes.

"Surprise!" The room erupted with voices—her students, their parents, the elderly residents, all beaming at her.

"What..." Hannah's hand flew to her mouth as she noticed the wall of handwritten notes. Not student assignments or art therapy exercises, but stories. About her. From the children, from the residents.

Hannah taught me that feelings don't have to be pretty to be worth sharing, one read in Tommy's careful handwriting.She makes the lobby feel like home, wrote Mrs. Peterson.She remembers how everyone takes their tea, but more importantly, she remembers why that tea matters, Mrs. Chen had added.

"Happy birthday, Ms. Miller!" Tommy bounced forward, pointing proudly to his storm cloud painting. "Look! They made it look like a real museum!"

"This isn't..." Hannah's voice caught. "This isn't my art show."

"No," Sophie said softly. "This is your birthday gift. An art show about you. About how you make everyone feel seen."

Hannah moved closer to the displays, overwhelmed. Each piece had been carefully curated to show how she'd touched someone's life. The children's artwork about their teacher. The residents' stories about their friend. Even Pete was there, setting up a coffee cart.

Someone had seen her. Really seen her. Had noticed all the small ways she tried to make others feel valued, and had turned those moments back on her like a mirror.

"But how..." Hannah's eyes burned. "How did all this..."

She knew. Of course she knew. No one else would have thought to honor her this way—through the stories of people she'd helped. Through art and comfort and perfectly arranged details that served a purpose beyond showing off.

No one except James.

"Ms. Miller?" Sarah tugged at her sleeve. "Are you crying?"

Hannah touched her cheek, finding it wet. "Happy tears," she managed.

She caught Sophie's knowing look. "What?"

"Nothing." Sophie smiled softly. "Just... maybe some people see you more clearly than you thought."

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The room had quieted, most guests moving to the refreshment area, giving Hannah space to really take everything in. She moved slowly between the displays, fingers hovering just shy of touching the elegant frames. Every detail spoke of careful thought—the way Tommy's storm clouds hung at exactly his eye level, how Mrs. Peterson's favorite chair had been positioned by the window with perfect lighting for her arthritis-stiffened hands.

Her heart kept catching on small touches. The tissue boxes discretely placed near the more emotional stories. The way the refreshment tables were arranged so elderly residents didn't have to walk far. Even the temperature was perfect—warm enough for aging bones but not so warm it would make the children restless.

"It's just..." Hannah's voice wavered as Sophie joined her. "It's exactly how I would have done it. If I'd had the resources. If I'd..."

"If you'd what?"

"If I'd thought I was worth all this effort."

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