They functioned.
Functioning was not the same as living.
Standing in the garage doorway, hearing his Son laugh, the Single Dad realized the room felt full.
That frightened him more than emptiness.
Because fullness could be lost.
That night he called his older sister.
She answered:
“Who died?”
The Single Dad sighed.
“No one.”
“Then why are you calling after ten?”
“There’s someone at work.”
Silence.
The kind only siblings can weaponize.
“Don’t.”
His Sister said:
“I didn’t say anything.”
“She’s my operations manager.”
“Still saying nothing.”
“She’s…”
He stopped.
“What?”
The Single Dad stared at his kitchen.
“She doesn’t need me.”
His Sister’s voice softened.
“Ah.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you finally met someone you cannot love by rescuing.”
“I didn’t say love.”
“You didn’t have to.”
The Single Dad rubbed his face.
“She takes care of herself.”
“She takes care of everybody.”
“She tells me when I’m wrong.”
“Sounds terrible.”
He laughed.
“What am I supposed to do?”
“Stop treating relationships like broken engines.”
The Single Dad frowned.
“What?”
“You don’t have to diagnose her.”
“Or fix her.”
“Just know her.”
Silence.
“You knew how to do that before your wife died.”
The Single Dad’s throat tightened.
His Sister continued gently.
“You forgot.”
“That isn’t the same as being incapable.”
The Single Dad looked toward the hallway where his Son slept.
“What if I mess it up?”
“You already opened with ‘I need a wife.’”
The Single Dad closed his eyes.
“Thank you.”
“And she still works there.”
“That’s encouraging.”
“I hate you.”
“Love you too.”
The call ended.
He did not sleep quickly.
The next Friday review ended differently.
The Woman closed her notebook.
The Single Dad stopped her.
“One more thing.”
She looked up.
“Your pay.”
Her eyebrow lifted.
“I was waiting for sixty days.”
“It’s been six months.”
“I noticed.”
He slid a paper across the table.
The Woman read.
Her expression changed.
“That’s forty percent.”
“Yes.”
“You researched comparable compensation.”
“Yes.”
“Who are you?”
The Single Dad smiled.
“You’re running operations at a level above your current title.”
“The revenue is there.”
“You earned it.”
The Woman stared at the paper.
“Why now?”
The Single Dad thought.
Then decided on honesty.
“Because I’ve been watching you.”
Her eyes lifted.
“Professionally.”
He added too quickly.
The Woman almost smiled.
He continued:
“You make sure everyone else has what they need.”
“Customers.”
“Vendors.”
“My Son.”
“Your father.”
“Me.”