“I’m not a corporate director, Raymond,” I said softly.

“I’m a caregiver.”

“You saved my life, Nora,” he said, his voice firm and steady.

“And you brought my grandson back to this house.”

“The house on Birch Street is more than enough,” I told him, looking straight into his dark eyes.

“I want to raise my son in a quiet neighborhood where he can play in the grass.

I don’t want a desk in a shipping office.”

Raymond looked at me and blinked twice quickly, weighing my words before a small, quiet smile touched his face.