Evangeline arrives at the grand mansion a few minutes early, taking a moment to steady herself before she rings the doorbell. The estate is sprawling, with manicured lawns and a driveway that seems to stretch on forever. It's a far cry from the usual places she finds herself in, but she's learned to adapt quickly to different environments. The door swings open, and a butler greets her with a polite nod, ushering her inside without a word.

The interior of the mansion is just as grand as the exterior. The floors are polished marble, and the walls are adorned with tasteful artwork. Evangeline follows the butler through a series of hallways until they reach a sunlit sitting room.

"Mrs. Carlisle will be with you shortly," The butler says before quietly retreating.

Evangeline takes a seat on a plush sofa, glancing around the room. The decor is elegant and understated, a reflection of old money and refined taste. She hears the soft click of heels on the marble floor and looks up to see an older woman entering the room. Mrs. Carlisle is in her late sixties, with silver hair neatly styled and a kind, if somewhat weary, expression.

"Good afternoon, my dear," Mrs. Carlisle says, her voice warm, "I hope you don't mind, but I've had some coffee prepared for us."

"That sounds lovely," Evangeline replies, standing to greet her.

They exchange polite smiles as Mrs. Carlisle takes a seat across from her.

A maid enters with a tray, setting down a pot of coffee, cream, sugar, and a selection of delicate pastries. Mrs. Carlisle pours two cups, handing one to Evangeline with a gentle smile.

"I'm so glad you could come," Mrs. Carlisle says, her eyes softening as she takes a sip of her coffee, "I've been looking forward to this."

Evangeline nods, returning the smile, "I'm happy to be here."

They settle into an easy conversation, the warmth of the coffee and the softness of the pastries creating a cozy atmosphere. Mrs. Carlisle speaks with a gentle cadence, her voice carrying the weight of a life well-lived but also a deep undercurrent of sadness.

"My husband, God rest his soul, was a wonderful man," Mrs. Carlisle says, her eyes misting slightly, "We were married for forty-five years. It's been difficult without him."

Evangeline listens attentively, her heart aching for the woman. She knows the pain of loss all too well. Her mother, Marta, had been her rock, her guiding star. Losing her to cancer had left a void that no amount of time could fill.

"I'm so sorry for your loss," Evangeline says softly, reaching out to touch Mrs. Carlisle's hand, "It sounds like you had a beautiful life together."

Mrs. Carlisle smiles, her eyes crinkling at the corners, "We did. We truly did. But now, it's just me. My children... they're gone too. And the house feels so empty."

Evangeline squeezes her hand gently, her professional facade slipping as she feels a surge of empathy, "That must be incredibly hard."

"It is," Mrs. Carlisle admits, her voice trembling slightly, "But having someone to talk to, even just for a little while, makes it easier. It makes the house feel a little less empty."

Evangeline nods, her heart breaking for the lonely woman in front of her. She knows she's supposed to maintain a certain level of detachment, but it's impossible not to feel a connection. They sit in companionable silence for a moment, sipping their coffee and enjoying the quiet.

Mrs. Carlisle suddenly brightens, a nostalgic smile playing on her lips, "Do you enjoy music, Evangeline?"

"I do," Evangeline replies, intrigued.

"My husband and I used to have a grand piano in this very room," Mrs. Carlisle says, her eyes lighting up with memories, "We would sit here for hours, playing and singing together. It was one of our favorite things to do."

Evangeline can almost see it—the room filled with music, laughter, and love, "That sounds wonderful."

Mrs. Carlisle stands, her movements graceful despite her age, "Would you like to see the piano? It's still here, though it hasn't been played in years."

"I'd love to," Evangeline says, setting her cup down and following Mrs. Carlisle through the house.

They reach a grand living room, and there it is—a beautiful, polished grand piano. Mrs. Carlisle walks over to it, her fingers brushing lightly over the keys.

"It's a Steinway," Mrs. Carlisle says proudly, "My husband bought it for me on our tenth anniversary."

Evangeline steps closer, admiring the craftsmanship, "It's beautiful."

Mrs. Carlisle sits down at the piano bench, her hands hovering over the keys, "Would you mind if I played something? Just a little tune?"

"Please," Evangeline says, eager to hear.

Mrs. Carlisle's fingers begin to move, and the room fills with the soft, melodic notes of a familiar song. Evangeline watches, captivated, as the music flows effortlessly. There's a bittersweet quality to it, a reflection of the woman's joy and sorrow intertwined.

As the final notes fade away, Mrs. Carlisle looks up, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

"Thank you for indulging me," She says, her voice soft.

"Thank you for sharing that with me," Evangeline replies, feeling a lump in her throat.

They return to the sitting room, and Mrs. Carlisle seems lighter, as if a weight has been lifted. They continue to talk, their conversation flowing easily. Mrs. Carlisle shares stories of her children, her travels, and the love she had for her husband. Evangeline listens, genuinely interested and touched by the woman's life.

When it's time to leave, Evangeline stands, feeling a pang of sadness. She doesn't want to go, but she knows she must. Mrs. Carlisle walks her to the door, her hand resting lightly on Evangeline's arm.

"Thank you, my dear," Mrs. Carlisle says, her eyes warm, "You've made this old woman's day."

Evangeline smiles, feeling a rush of emotion, "It was my pleasure. Truly."

As she steps outside, the cool air hits her, and she takes a deep breath. The visit has left her feeling raw and exposed, but also grateful. She knows she'll carry this experience with her, a reminder of the power of human connection.

Evangeline walks down the long driveway, her steps slow and measured. She knows she must return to her life, to her clients and the façade she maintains. But for now, she allows herself to feel the weight of the moment, the sadness and the beauty of it all.

A week later, Evangeline receives another call from Mrs. Carlisle's estate. The butler's voice is polite but carries an underlying urgency, "Mrs. Carlisle has requested your company again, Miss Day. At your earliest convenience, of course."

Evangeline agrees, setting the appointment for the following afternoon. As she prepares, she finds herself thinking of Mrs. Carlisle often. The woman's stories, her genuine warmth, and the melancholy that tinged her words have stayed with Evangeline. She tries to remind herself that this is just another job, but something about Mrs. Carlisle makes that reminder difficult to heed.

When Evangeline arrives at the mansion, she's greeted with the same quiet elegance as before. The butler escorts her to the sunlit sitting room where Mrs. Carlisle awaits, her face lighting up with a smile when she sees Evangeline.

"My dear, it's so good to see you again," Mrs. Carlisle says, her voice warm and welcoming.

Evangeline smiles, taking the seat opposite her, "It's good to see you too, Mrs. Carlisle."

They fall into easy conversation, the hours slipping by as they talk about everything and nothing. Mrs. Carlisle recounts more stories of her youth, her adventures with her late husband, and her children. Evangeline listens intently, her heart aching with each tale of loss and love. She shares a bit more about her own life, careful to maintain a balance between personal and professional.

As the afternoon sun begins to set, casting a golden glow across the room, Mrs. Carlisle reaches for an envelope on the table beside her, "Thank you for spending time with me, Evangeline. I know it's your job, but it means the world to me."

Evangeline hesitates, her eyes flickering to the envelope filled with cash. A sudden, inexplicable impulse surges through her, and before she can stop herself, she says, "It's on the house."

Mrs. Carlisle's eyes widen in surprise, and then they fill with tears, "Oh, my dear, you don't have to do that."

"I want to," Evangeline replies, her voice firm yet gentle, "It's the least I can do."

Mrs. Carlisle's tears spill over, and she reaches out to grasp Evangeline's hand, "Thank you. You've given me more than you know."

Evangeline squeezes her hand, feeling a lump form in her throat, "You're welcome, Mrs. Carlisle."

As she leaves the mansion, Evangeline's mind races. She knows she needs the money, that this is her job, and she can't afford to be soft. But something about Mrs. Carlisle's loneliness had struck a chord deep within her, compelling her to act on instinct rather than reason.

She walks home, the weight of her decision settling heavily on her shoulders. The streets of New York blur around her as she mentally curses herself for being soft. Her mind churns with conflicting emotions—guilt, regret, compassion, and a sense of loss that mirrors Mrs. Carlisle's own.

Evangeline fights to keep her emotions in check, her eyes stinging with unshed tears. She refuses to let them fall, determined to maintain her composure. She's been through too much to break down now, and yet, the memory of Mrs. Carlisle's gratitude tugs at her heart.

Evangeline trudges back to her apartment, the weight of the day's emotions still pressing heavily on her shoulders. She fumbles with her keys, finally unlocking the door and stepping inside. The familiar scent of her apartment, a mix of lavender and fresh linen, usually brings her comfort, but tonight it feels almost suffocating.

She steps inside, closing the door behind her and letting out a heavy sigh. She flicks on the light and freezes. Sitting in her living room is an elderly man in a wheelchair, his bald head gleaming under the overhead light.

Instinctively, Evangeline's hand moves to the gun holstered at her side, drawing it with practiced speed.

"Who are you?" She demands, her voice sharp and steady despite the turmoil inside her.

The man raises a hand in a calming gesture, his expression serene, "Peace, Evangeline. We've met before."

She narrows her eyes, her grip on the gun unwavering. It takes a moment, but then recognition dawns, "Xavier?"

He smiles, nodding slightly, "Yes, my dear. It's been some time."

Evangeline lowers the gun, though she doesn't holster it, "You're the one who keeps asking me about Raven."

Charles Xavier's eyes soften, a hint of sadness in their depths, "Yes. How is she?"

Evangeline hesitates, then responds, "Better. She's... better."

Charles' smile broadens, genuine warmth radiating from him, "That's good to hear."

There's a moment of silence, the room filled with an unspoken understanding. Charles looks around her apartment, his gaze lingering on the few personal touches scattered throughout. He doesn't pry into her thoughts, though she knows he could. She's always respected him for that.

"You know I can't tell you where she is," Evangeline says quietly, holstering her gun at last.

Charles nods, his expression one of acceptance, "I know."

He wheels himself towards the door, pausing to look back at her, "Thank you. For looking out for her."

Evangeline nods, her emotions once again threatening to overwhelm her, "Take care."

With a final nod, Charles exits the apartment, leaving Evangeline standing in the middle of her living room, feeling more drained than ever. She collapses onto the couch, burying her face in her hands.

Evangeline takes a deep breath, composing herself. She heads to the kitchen, needing something to ground her. She pours herself a glass of water and takes a long sip, the cool liquid soothing her dry throat.

As she stands in the kitchen, the weight of the evening crashes down on her. The encounter with Mrs. Carlisle, the compassion she felt, and now this unexpected visit from Charles—it's all too much. She leans against the counter, gripping the edge tightly, fighting back tears.

She's not used to feeling this vulnerable, this exposed. Her life has been a series of carefully constructed walls, each one designed to keep her safe, to keep her from feeling too deeply. But tonight, those walls feel like they're crumbling, leaving her raw and open.

Evangeline takes another deep breath, straightening up. She can't afford to fall apart now. She needs to stay strong, to keep moving forward. But the tears that have been threatening to fall finally break free, and she allows herself to cry, to let out the pent-up emotions that have been building all day.

As the tears flow, she thinks of her mother, Marta, and the bond they shared. Losing her had been the hardest thing Evangeline had ever faced, and in many ways, she had never fully recovered. The memory of her mother's strength and love had kept her going, but it also served as a constant reminder of what she had lost.

The tears eventually subside, leaving her feeling drained but oddly lighter. She wipes her face, taking a moment to gather herself. And for now, she allows herself this moment of vulnerability, this moment of being human.

✦
✦
✦
✦
✦
✦
✦
✦
✦
✦