“I had his number,” said Hannah. “I want you to know that I had his number. You gave it to me in 2016 in case of an emergency, and it sat in my phone for three years under Sam’s Dad — Coast Guard, and there were at least nine nights I looked at it, and I never pressed it, because what if I was wrong, and what if it made it worse, and what if you never spoke to me again.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this?”

“Because you got out.” She turned to look at me. “You got out on your own, in a storm, through a window, and you built a life, and about four months in you asked me to come work for you.

“And I said yes in about one second, Sam. Not because I wanted a job. Because I have been trying to work it off ever since.”

There it was. Four years of it, sitting in a parking garage.

“You’ve been paying me back,” I said.