The morning sun hadn't yet reached Arnold's new office when he spread Dr. Pataki's publications across his desk. Three peer-reviewed papers, two book chapters, and one well-thumbed copy of "Creative Voices: Unlocking Children's Emotional Expression Through Art." The author's photo on the back cover caught his eye—Helga in wire-rimmed glasses, her blonde hair pulled back sleekly, her expression serious but with a hint of that signature intensity in her eyes.
He'd spent the morning organizing his small office space, unpacking boxes of research materials, and trying to ignore the recognizable smells of Mr. Green's butcher shop below. Now, surrounded by Helga's work, he felt like he was discovering a secret door into her mind—one she'd deliberately left open this time.
"The correlation between early creative expression and emotional regulation suggests that children who engage in regular artistic activities show marked improvement in their ability to process complex emotions..."
Arnold's coffee grew cold as he absorbed her writing. Her academic voice was clear and confident, but underneath, he could hear echoes of the girl who'd filled volumes of poetry with raw emotion. She cited case studies of children using art and writing to work through family conflicts, social anxiety, and identity struggles. Each example was handled with remarkable sensitivity.
His phone buzzed—a text from Gerald: "Moved in yet, man? Phoebe wants to know if you're free for dinner this weekend."
Arnold glanced at Helga's book again. "Did you know?" he typed back. "About Helga's work?"
Three dots appeared immediately: "Phoebe's been trying to tell you for months. Figured you'd find out when you were ready."
A passage from one of her papers caught his attention: "Children often create personas or characters to express feelings they find threatening. The 'bully' archetype, for instance, frequently masks deep-seated vulnerability and a need for connection..."
His laptop chimed with a new email—the potential investors wanted a meeting next week. They needed to see his research on therapeutic outcomes and wanted to know about his expert consultants. His eyes drifted to Helga's contact information on her university profile.
The afternoon light shifted, painting shadows across a diagram from one of her papers: a flow chart showing how creative writing prompts could help children identify and express their emotions. It was exactly the kind of structure his app needed.
A knock at his door startled him—Harold's son, Asher, carried a brown paper bag. "Dad sent up some sandwiches. Said you've been up here all day."
Arnold thanked him, realizing he'd lost track of time. As he ate, he pulled up his own thesis research on his laptop, finding points of intersection with Helga's work. Her focus on poetry and creative writing complemented his interest in digital storytelling tools. Where he looked at accessibility and engagement through technology, she explored the deeper psychological impacts of creative expression.
He opened a blank document and began typing notes:
Integration of Dr. Pataki's Emotional Recognition Framework
Potential adaptation of her writing prompts for digital format
Question: How to maintain therapeutic value in app form?
Need: Expert consultation on child psychology aspects
The sun was setting when Arnold finally started drafting the email. He'd rewritten the opening line twelve times:
Dear Dr. Pataki,
I hope this email finds you well. I've been studying your work on creative arts therapy, particularly your research on helping children process emotions through structured creative expression...
He deleted it. Too formal.
Helga,
It's Arnold. I've recently returned to Hillwood and am developing an educational app...
Delete.
Dr. Pataki,
Your research on creative expression in child psychology has significantly influenced my current project...
Better, but still not quite right.
The boarding house dinner bell rang in the distance. Arnold looked at the time—he'd spent the entire day immersed in Helga's academic world. Her work was brilliant and thoughtful, exactly what his project needed. But more than that, it showed him a Helga he'd never fully seen before—passionate about helping others, insightful about human nature, and unafraid to share her understanding with the world.
He saved the email draft and began packing up. Tomorrow, he'd find the right words. Tonight, he needed to process what he'd learned—not just about Helga's work, but about how blind he might have been to her depth all those years ago.
As he locked up, a worn copy of her book under his arm, Arnold remembered something she'd written about timing in therapy: "Children share their truths when they feel ready, and not a moment before. The role of the therapist is to create a space where that moment becomes possible."
Maybe that's what this was—their moment, within the limits of this application at least, becoming possible. Arnold just had to find the courage to create the space for it to happen.
Walking home in the gathering dusk, Arnold realized he was smiling. Helga Pataki had grown up to help kids express their feelings. Somehow, it was both the last thing he'd expected and exactly what should have happened all along.