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“Celebrating,” she says without looking up, turning another page until she finds a new entry. “Started college.” She glances at me before returning to the notebook. “Every update tells me she wanted to know what happened next because she cared about the people, not the work itself. These pages aren’t reminders. They’re proof she never stopped cheering them on.”

I read through the entries again, seeing them differently now.

“I keep wondering how much I never knew,” I say. “We shared a life, and I’m still discovering parts of hers.”

Emma closes the notebook halfway and brushes her thumb along the edge of the cover. “I don’t think she kept this from you. She protected the people who trusted her because telling everyone what she was doing would’ve made those women feel like they owed her, and she never would’ve wanted that.”

The image comes easily. Celeste accepting someone’s thanks with an embarrassed smile before changing the subject to put the attention back on them.

That sounds exactly like her.

“You would’ve liked her.”

Emma smiles. “I already do.”

The words catch me harder than I expect because most people mention Celeste like they’re afraid of reopening an old wound. Emma talks about her with appreciation instead, as though she’s grateful their paths crossed even through a notebook.

Instead of dragging me back to the day I lost Celeste, the conversation keeps bringing me to the life she built, and I’d almost forgotten grief could make room for that.

Emma flips farther into the notebook until one name makes her pause. “Why does Nora Bell keep coming up?”

I slide the notebook closer and point to the entries scattered across different years. “Because every trail circles back to her. Apartment approved. Nursing course. New job. Birthday card.”

Emma follows the dates with her finger until the entries stop. “Then there’s nothing.”

“Almost two years.”

She turns another page, studies the final line, and looks up. “Then she’s back.”

I nod. “The last entry.”

Emma reads it softly. “‘Nora finally safe.’” She studies the page a little longer before closing the notebook and sliding it toward the center of the desk. “I think you’ve been asking the wrong question.”

I lean back in my chair. “Tell me.”

“You want to find Nora.”

“That’s the plan.”

“But Nora didn’t rebuild her life by herself.” She reaches across the desk, pulls one of the maps closer, and taps the circle around Haven House. “If Celeste helped her leave an abusive relationship, there would’ve been shelter staff, attorneys, social workers, volunteers, and counselors involved along the way. They may not remember every woman who came through Haven House, but they’ll remember Celeste because she kept showing up.”

I look from the map to the notebook, and the connection clicks into place. “You think we find Nora by following Celeste.”

Emma nods as she straightens the stack of receipts beside the notebook. “I think we find the people whose lives she changed, and one of them eventually leads us to Nora.”

I’ve spent days sorting dates, names, and addresses, convinced the answer was buried somewhere in the paperwork. Emma walks into the room, looks past every document, and finds the network of people holding it all together.

I shake my head with a laugh. “I’ve been buried in these files for days.”

“You’ve been reading documents,” she says as she squares the last receipt with the pile. “I’d be knocking on doors.”

The office has emptied by the time we switch off the lights and step into the hallway together. I check the time on the ride down, realizing we’ve spent most of the evening surrounded by Celeste’s notebooks without either of us noticing.

“You just gave up hours of your Friday.”

Emma smiles. “I stopped watching the clock after the coffee.”

The elevator opens into the lobby, and we walk through the building toward the parking garage.