Among the guests were old friends and new faces: neighbors, a couple Melody remembered from childhood summers, a therapist who taught mindfulness, and a young man from a community theater production Theodora had joined. Music hummed under the canopy of leaves: live, soft jazz, then acoustic covers. It was at the edge of the party, beside a cluster of orchids, that Melody met Gloria—Party G, as the name on her badge announced with a wink.

Melody felt that gentle tug therapists learn to trust—an opening where people invite repair. She listened as if in session: where the grandson's door slammed, how the kitchen had become a battleground over TV remotes and curfews, the unspoken rules that hardened into resentments. She gave no clinical labels. She offered small, practical suggestions—one evening a week without screens, a family meal where each person took turns choosing a recipe, a signal for when someone needed space.