Page 59 of Joker

“Other kids will be around too,” Emma says gently. “Amy and Casey will probably be down later. They’re a little older. Ten.”

I nod.

“Gio comes by sometimes,” Mac adds, glancing over from the counter. “He’s nine. Kya’s boy.”

“That’s good,” I manage.

It is good. It’s more than good. It’s something I didn’t realize I needed to see until it was right in front of me.

The rest of the morning moves around me in small, manageable pieces.

Coffee. Food. Conversation that never pushes too far.

Women who include me without overwhelming me.

Kids who move in and out of the space like they belong there.

And somewhere in all of it, I start to find a rhythm.

Not fully. Not completely. But enough that I stop bracing for impact every time someone walks into the room. Enough thatI stop scanning every exit every few seconds. Enough that I let myself sit without feeling like I need to justify taking up space.

Joker appears without warning.

The first time, it’s in the hallway. I step out of the room after checking on Lexi, who is now deep into building something chaotic with blocks and Jason, and nearly run straight into him as he rounds the corner.

I stop short.

He does too.

Close enough that I feel the heat of him for half a second before we both step back at the same time.

“Sorry,” I say automatically.

His jaw tightens slightly. “You don’t gotta apologize for existing in a hallway.”

I blink. Then nod.

Right.

He looks like he’s already been outside, cut on, boots laced, moving with purpose. There’s a faint scent of fresh air and smoke clinging to him, and his eyes flick past me once, instinctively checking the room behind me before coming back to my face.

“Everything good?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

He nods once, like that’s all he needs. Then he steps around me and keeps moving.

No lingering. No unnecessary conversation. Just…presence.

The second time, it’s outside. I step out onto the porch with a cup of coffee I didn’t really need, just to get some air, and he’s already there, leaning against the railing like he’s been watching the yard for a while.

He glances at me. Takes in the coffee.

The fact that I’m barefoot again. The way I hesitate just inside the doorway before stepping fully outside.

“You get used to it,” he says, echoing Emma from earlier.

“To what?”