As the rental car rolled to a stop on the dark road, her fear increased by the moment. She checked her phone again. No signal. Of course. The address he’d given her had sounded normal enough. A road number, a town name she didn’t recognize. She’d assumed it would lead somewhere with streetlights, maybe a gas station nearby. Instead, there was just this. A narrow house at the edge of nowhere, its windows dark except for one. She stayed in the car longer than necessary. She’d spent weeks convincing herself this was a good idea. That closure was something you could schedule. He had found her online. Or rather, he’d found the company she worked for. She’d recognized his name immediately. Not because it was unique. Because she’d typed it so many times before. Case #4412. Closed. Reopened. Closed again. She hadn’t known, at the time, who he was to the account holder. Policies discouraged emotional involvement. She had followed the script carefully. I’m sorry, sir, but there’s nothing more we can do. She stepped out of the car. The front door opened before she reached it. He looked older than she’d imagined. Or maybe just more tired. “I didn’t think you’d come,” he said. She wasn’t sure why she had. They sat inside. He offered her tea. She declined. He told her things she hadn’t known. About the days before. About the messages that never delivered. About the last attempt to fix what couldn’t be fixed. She realized, slowly, that he wasn’t angry. He just wanted someone to witness it. Someone who had been there, even indirectly. She wanted to explain the policies. The limits. The volume of cases. The impossibility of saving everyone. But the words felt hollow outside the safety of her headset. He nodded as she spoke. Not in agreement. Just in acknowledgment. And that was the moment he finally understood what it had cost him.