Jason listened, calm as dusk. No irritation touched his eyes. He simply crossed the cramped kitchen in three steady strides, as if closing the distance might also erase her guilt.

“Chelsea, you really don’t have to do all this,” he said gently, almost apologetically. “Just stay here and live well. I can still take care of us.”

He bent down, eased the damp rag from her fingers, and offered a crooked smile. “All right. Go sit down and take a breath. I’ll handle the mess.”

Chelsea didn’t move. Sorrow swelled behind her ribs until even breathing felt like a punishment.

“Jason… why don’t you teach me?” The words slipped out—fragile, yet stubborn.

There was a time when she had thought herself untouchable. She spoke four languages, sparred effortlessly with executives, dissected market charts, glided across ballroom floors, and coaxed music from ivory keys. She had believed that made her complete.

Only now did she realize she couldn’t even manage the simplest rhythms of ordinary life.