Chapter 36
Nora's POV
Two hours later, I stood outside a faded red-brick apartment building in Silverton's suburbs, the cold afternoon air stinging my cheeks. The rideshare had dropped me off a few minutes ago, and I'd been standing here, staring up at the sixth-floor window where a yellow curtain fluttered.
This neighborhood hadn't changed since I was a kid. Same cracked sidewalks, same flickering streetlights, same corner store. The cars lining the curbs were all old.
I took a deep breath and pressed the buzzer for apartment 6C.
The intercom crackled. "Hello?"
"Aunt Marianne, it's me. Nora."
A pause, then a delighted squeal. "Nora! Come up, come up!"
The door buzzed. I pushed through into the narrow lobby with its peeling linoleum and burnt-out light fixtures, then climbed the stairs. The elevator had been broken for a year.
By the time I reached the sixth floor, my legs were burning and I was slightly out of breath. The door to 6C swung open before I could knock.
Lucas stood there, grinning. Six-foot-one, dark hair falling into his eyes, wearing a faded band t-shirt and jeans. "Nora!"
He pulled me into a bear hug before I could protest, lifting me slightly off the ground. I couldn't help but laugh, the sound surprising me. When was the last time I'd laughed?
"Put me down, you giant."
He set me down, still grinning. "Mom's been talking about you for the past two days."
I stepped inside, the apartment's warmth wrapping around me like a blanket. The smell hit me immediately—roasted beef, herbs, something sweet baking in the oven. My stomach twisted with sudden hunger.
"Nora!" Aunt Marianne appeared from the kitchen, wiping flour-dusted hands on her apron. She was in her early fifties, light brown hair pulled back in a messy bun, laugh lines crinkling around her eyes as she smiled. "You didn't tell me you were coming!"
"I wanted to surprise you." I let her pull me into another hug, this one gentler than Lucas's but just as warm.
She held me at arm's length, studying my face with that maternal intensity I'd almost forgotten. "You've lost weight again. Look at you—are you eating properly? Your face is so thin."
"I'm fine, Aunt Marianne. Work's just been busy."
"Too busy to eat?" She shook her head, already turning back toward the kitchen. "Come on, dinner's almost ready. Lucas, set another plate."
I followed her into the small kitchen, where pots simmered on the stove and a pie cooled on the counter. The apartment wasn't large—kitchen, living room, three bedrooms, one bathroom—but Marianne had made it cozy with furniture and homemade decorations.
"Sit, sit." She waved me toward the small dining table wedged between the kitchen and living room. Only three place settings. "Your uncle is still at work."
I sat, watching her move around the kitchen with practiced efficiency. Lucas flopped into the chair across from me, stealing a roll from the basket and tearing into it.
"So," he said through a mouthful of bread, "it's been so long since you came to see us? Not that we're complaining."
"Sorry, I really haven't had much free time."
Marianne set a steaming bowl of beef stew in front of me, the rich smell making my mouth water.
She ladled stew into mine and Lucas's bowls, then sat down with a satisfied sigh. "Now eat. You look like you're about to blow away."
We ate in comfortable silence for a while, the only sounds the clink of spoons against bowls and Lucas's occasional satisfied grunt.
After we finished eating, Marianne set down her spoon and looked at me. "Dear, I've prepared those documents you mentioned last time."
"That's really helpful," I paused. "That's one of the few things Father left behind."
Thinking of my father, my vision blurred slightly. I blinked hard.
"He'd be proud of you," Marianne said quietly. "The work you're doing, helping those families nobody else cares about."
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
"Has there been any improvement in your mother's condition?" Marianne asked.
"The hospital hasn't given any possibility of improvement," I sighed. "I'm planning to pick up the car tomorrow and go visit her."
"Everything will be alright." She reached out and took my hand.
Lucas cleared his throat awkwardly. "So, uh, Mom made your favorite apple pie. If you don't have room for it, I'll finish it all?"
I managed a small smile. "Get lost, Aunt made that for me."
Marianne smiled and stood up, squeezing my shoulder as she passed. "I'll get the pie."
When Marianne returned, she carried three plates of apple pie, the crust golden and flaky, cinnamon sugar glistening on top. She set one plate in front of me, smiling warmly. "Your favorite."
"Thank you, " I picked up my fork, and for a while we just ate pie in comfortable silence.
After a few bites, Marianne set down her fork and looked at me again, her expression growing more serious. "Dear, there's something I need to ask you."
My stomach sank. I knew what was coming.
"You and Kyle," she said gently. "Are you sure you broke up?"
I nodded once, keeping my expression neutral.
"Can I ask what happened?"
"We wanted different things," I said carefully. "Our lives were going in different directions. It was better to end it now."
Marianne frowned. "But he was so good to you. To us. He helped Lucas get that job at Vaughn Mining—"
"I know." My voice came out sharper than intended. I softened it. "I know he helped. And I'm grateful. But that doesn't change the fact that we weren't right for each other."
"Was it because of his family?" Marianne asked. "Because of the class difference?"
"Partly." I met her eyes. "His mother made it very clear I'd never be acceptable. And Kyle... he wasn't willing to stand up to her. He wanted me to fit into his world, but he wasn't willing to meet me in mine."
Marianne reached across the table and took my hand. "I'm sorry, honey."
"It's fine," I said. "I'm fine."
"Are you?" She squeezed my hand. "Because you look exhausted, Nora. You look like you're carrying the weight of the world."
I pulled my hand back gently. "I'm just tired. Work's been intense."
"Promise me you'll take care of yourself," Marianne said. "Promise me you'll let people help you sometimes instead of trying to do everything alone."
"I promise."
Lucas returned with three plates of apple pie, the crust golden and flaky, cinnamon sugar sparkling on top. He set one in front of me with exaggerated flourish. "Dessert is served, milady."
I picked up my fork, and for a while we just ate pie and talked about nothing important—Lucas's job, Marianne's book club, the neighbors' ongoing feud about parking spaces. Normal things. Safe things.
After dessert, Lucas pulled me into the living room to show me photos from a company event, grinning. He looked happy. Young and carefree.
But just as the atmosphere had lightened, Lucas's phone rang.
He glanced at the screen and frowned. "Who's calling this late..."
It was his supervisor. He answered somewhat reluctantly: "Hello?"
Whatever was said on the other end, Lucas's expression gradually turned serious. He stood up from the couch, walked to the balcony, and lowered his voice: "What?!"
His tone shifted from confusion to anger: "Why would you fire me?! I've worked so hard, never made a mistake, why just fire me like this?!"
Marianne and I exchanged glances, both sensing something was wrong. Marianne wanted to go over, but I held her back. "Aunt, wait. Let him finish."
Lucas paced back and forth on the balcony, his voice getting louder: "I don't accept this! You have to give me a reasonable explanation!"
After something was said on the other end, he suddenly fell silent.