I shrugged.
“He’s tired. None of us are sleeping.”
“Right…”
She didn’t sound convinced.
Neither was I.
That evening she carried a bowl of homemade chicken soup onto the porch.
Instead of leaving it beside him, she crouched next to his chair and spoke so quietly I couldn’t hear the words.
A moment later, my father smiled.
It wasn’t a big smile.
But it was the first genuine smile I’d seen on his face since my mother’s funeral.
A strange ache settled inside my chest.
“Dad?” I called from the doorway. “Want some company?”
Without turning around, he answered, “Lydia’s here.”
That was all.
No invitation.
No “Come sit.”
Just those three words.
I stood there for another second before quietly closing the screen door.
I told myself I wasn’t jealous.
He was grieving.
We all were.
Still…
He hadn’t smiled at me in days.
Later that night, Lydia and I stood side by side in the kitchen.
She washed dishes while I dried them.
The familiar rhythm almost felt like old times.
Almost.
As she reached for another plate, something caught my eye.
A folded piece of paper peeked from the pocket of her cardigan.
The moment she noticed me looking, she shifted her body.
Too quickly.
“What’s that?” I asked.
She glanced down.
“Oh.”
She slipped the paper farther into her pocket.
“Grocery list.”
I laughed.
“Since when do grocery lists need to be hidden?”
She smiled, but it looked strained.
“Since I started forgetting what’s on them.”
Normally I would’ve teased her.
Instead, something inside me hesitated.
It wasn’t the paper itself.
It was how defensive she’d become.
“You’d tell me if something was wrong… right?”
For a long moment she simply looked at me.
Then she answered carefully.
“I’d tell you what you needed to know.”
The words landed strangely.
Not “Yes.”
Not “Of course.”
Just…
NEXT PAGE
