After a moment, she nodded.

“Understood.”

Eleanor finally walked across the room.

She stopped before the daughter she had lost more than fifty years earlier.

Neither woman knew what to say.

So Eleanor reached toward the white watch.

Jang flinched.

Eleanor simply wrapped her fingers around her wrist.

“That watch was supposed to be mine.”

Jang started crying.

“I’m sorry.”

Eleanor looked at the watch, then at me.

“Keep it,” she whispered.

Jang stared at her.

“It brought my daughter home.”

Six months later, the executive elevator no longer had an executive label.

Anyone could use it.

The woman who had once told me she climbed five flights every morning was promoted after the audit revealed she had been doing the work of two supervisors for years.

Jang accepted a cooperation agreement and avoided criminal charges.

I did not rehire her.

Being a victim does not erase the harm you do to other people.

But she and Eleanor began meeting privately every Sunday.

Slowly.

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