The tiny kitchen smelled of garlic and fried onions, and it was rich in a way Elena hadn't expected. She was at the counter, sleeves rolled up, carefully chopping green beans with a dull kitchen knife. The blade was slow, and the edges were jagged, but she didn't care. It was deliberate, and each slice gave her time to observe. To take in the things she'd never known until now.
The walls were bleached white from cooking steam. The tiles were chipped in places, and the curtains above the sink had faded so that they looked almost colorless, but there was still warmth here. A cracked bowl sat on the shelf above the stove, glued carefully together. It had been broken years ago, surely, but someone had put the time and effort into fixing it. Elena looked at it and thought that every dish, spoon, and cup in this kitchen must have a story. Nothing was matched, but everything fit.
Liam's grandmother moved purposefully beside her, instructing her in how to stir the soup so the onions would not stick to the bottom of the pot. Her hands were lined and her knuckles bent, but she was graceful in her movements. Her gray hair was tied back in a neat bun, and her eyes were sharp. They reminded Elena so much of Liam's that she had to avert her gaze for a moment.
"You have good hands," the elderly woman said after watching her stir for a while. "Not like most girls from the city, fumbling."
Elena smiled shyly. "I am trying my best. I have not helped in the kitchen for a long time."
The grandmother chuckled softly. "It shows. But you will learn fast. That is all that matters."
They worked in companionable silence, side by side at the counter. The sound of boiling broth filled the air, and the smell of the vegetables softened in oil. Elena felt peace here that she had not known in her old life. It was so different from the house she had come from, where servants did the cooking and she had only to lift a spoon to taste. Those dinners had been served on shining silver trays, with crystal glasses at her side, but they had felt cold. Here, in this little kitchen with chipped bowls and unspoken warmth, the food was almost alive.
When the soup finally began to bubble softly, Liam's grandmother leaned against the counter, considering. Her voice dropped in volume when she spoke again. "You know, Liam's mother was a pretty girl. Too pretty for her own good."
Elena's hand paused in midair, clutching the wooden spoon. She turned to look at her in surprise at the sudden shift in her tone.
"She left him when he was still small," the old woman continued. "Left to chase something brighter than this house could ever offer her. Ran away with another man. She left Liam with his father, who had not been strong to begin with. The poor man drowned himself in drink and died of it not long after. It was Liam who stayed. Liam who grew up too quickly, taking care of the twins as much as I did."
Elena lowered her eyes to the pot, watching the broth bubble absently as if watching it would soften the throb that had begun in her chest. She had always known that Liam carried some kind of weight on his shoulders, but hearing it spoken aloud made it suddenly feel both heavier and sharper. He had not just been strong. He had been forced to be strong.
"I did not know," she whispered.
The grandmother shrugged with a lightness that did not reach her eyes. "Not many do. Liam does not like to talk of it. He does not want to be pitied." Then her voice softened again as she studied Elena's expression. "But you are different. You care for him, do you not?"
Elena faltered. The truth gnawed at her lips. In her other life, she had never met this woman. She had only seen her in a faded photograph, already gone by the time Elena married Liam. She had often wondered about her, about the warmth she might have given, about the words she might have said. And now here she was, in the flesh and blood before her, standing in the same kitchen as her, teaching her how to stir soup. It felt like fate had given her another chance, one she did not deserve.
"Yes," Elena said softly, her voice nearly breaking. "I care for him."
The grandmother's lined face broke into a small smile. "Good. He deserves someone who will see him as he is, not as the world would have him to be."
Elena nodded, but her throat felt tight. She stirred the pot again, only to keep her hands occupied, because her heart was suddenly too full. The old woman turned away and reached for the cracked bowl on the shelf. She lifted it carefully as if it were fragile, and ladled the hot broth inside. Steam rose from the bowl, carrying the smell of garlic and vegetables into the little room. She set the bowl carefully on the table, the chipped edge of the rim catching the light.
"Sit down," she said kindly. "Dinner is ready."
Elena put the spoon aside and wiped her hands, then followed her into the dining area. The twins were there already, leaning over the table and whispering to each other, their small hands fidgeting as they waited for food. Their voices filled the air with such happiness that the room suddenly seemed larger than it was.
The grandmother placed the cracked bowl in the middle of the table. "Elena, be a dear and go fetch Liam from his room," she said.
Elena blinked. "Me?"
"Yes, you." The woman's eyes twinkled with something that could have been amusement. "He will come faster if you do it."
Elena's cheeks burned, but she nodded."All right."
She smoothed her skirt, took a deep breath, and walked into the hallway. The twins giggled behind her, and she heard one of them whisper, "He is going to be mad." The other shushed him, and their laughter drifted faintly as she walked.
The corridor was narrow, the walls lined with generations of old family photos and school drawings. Her steps faltered as she reached Liam's door. It was mostly shut, shadows seeping out from under the crack. She hesitated, the grandmother's words still echoing in her heart.He had been left by the people who should have stayed, and now here she was, rapping on his door.
She lifted her hand and rapped lightly. "Liam? Dinner is ready."
No answer.
She knocked again, slightly louder. Still silence. Elena bit her lip, then carefully opened the door. The room inside was dark. A narrow bed was pushed against the wall, and piles of books covered the desk. Everything was arranged in a way that felt stilted, not natural.
Then she heard it—the sound of running water, constant and clear. Her breath caught in her chest. It was coming from the tiny bathroom attached to his room.Liam was in the shower.
Heat flooded to her cheeks. She turned on her heel, intending to back out before he saw her, but at that moment the water stopped. A floorboard creaked, and her heart skipped as the bathroom door handle began to turn.
Elena stood still where she was.