“Then why did I have to make an appointment to meet my husband?”

Something in his face broke.

Marco sat down.

“When I started this place, people made jokes.”

“What kind?”

“That I dressed women for a living. That no man should care this much about middle-aged women finding jobs.”

He rubbed both hands across his face.

“So I stopped explaining.”

“And then?”

“Then not explaining got easier.”

There it was.

Confidentiality had become secrecy.

Secrecy became habit.

And habit built a wall between us.

“I thought keeping work out of the house was protecting us, Gigi.”

“You weren’t keeping work out.”

He looked at me.

“You were keeping me out.”

The office went quiet.

Then someone knocked.

A young woman stood in the doorway, pale and visibly trembling.

“Marco, I’m sorry. I know I don’t have an appointment, but my interview got moved to tomorrow.”

Marco immediately stood.

I watched him move toward her.

Then I noticed her hands.

They were shaking.

“Have you eaten?” I asked.

She blinked.

“What?”

“When did you last eat?”

Her face reddened.

“Yesterday morning.”

Marco stopped.

He hadn’t noticed.

I went to the staff kitchen, found crackers and fruit, and placed them in front of her.

“Interviewers are scary enough without meeting them on an empty stomach.”

She gave a weak laugh.

Later, after Marco helped with her résumé, she stood in front of the mirror.

“I still don’t feel ready.”

Marco opened his mouth.

I spoke first.

“Then go scared.”

She turned toward me.