“Are you the owner?” he asked.

“I’m the… caretaker,” she said.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked one evening, as rain hammered the tin roof.

“I live across the street,” he said softly. “The penthouse. I watch the city sleep. And I saw you, night after night, reading. Crying. Laughing. I thought, That woman feels everything. I wanted to feel something too.”