THEN LET US LOVE YOU WHY YOU TRY

THEN LET US LOVE YOU WHY YOU TRY
The day after the hearing passed in a slow, almost numbing haze.

At Aunt Marie’s house, Anise sat in the back, letting the silence settle into her bones. The small patio overlooked overgrown flower beds that hadn't been properly tended since last year. Aunt Marie's fourteen-year-old son was somewhere inside playing video games, while the eldest son — a lanky boy in university — was asleep on the couch with a half-eaten bowl of cereal beside him.

But it was Gianna who had Anise on edge.

She hadn't said much all day, but her presence lingered. Anise had caught her staring from the hallway more than once, not just watching, but studying her with those heavy-lidded, unreadable eyes. There was a coldness to Gianna that even the sunlight didn’t melt.

Anise sighed and sipped from the glass of lukewarm water beside her. The garden was still, quiet except for the buzzing of a single lazy fly.

The energy felt off, and she decided to move into the sitting room, maybe that way the sounds from the TV would distract her from reality. And that was exactly what she needed. She then moved to the sitting room.

After a while, she realized it wasn’t distracting enough and then started going through some pictures she took with her father in the restaurant. She smiled at a few and trashed the ones she wasn’t pretty in.

And then came the knock.

Three slow, deliberate knocks.

She blinked.

Aunt Marie was upstairs resting. The boys were inside. Gianna had disappeared — again.

So Anise stood, wiping her hands on her jeans, and went to the front door. The hallway was quiet, dim. She approached the door with cautious steps.

She unlocked it.

Opened it.

And froze.

“…You.”

Standing at the door was a woman in a crisp tan blouse, her hair pulled back into a low, tight ponytail. She looked polished, professional, and completely out of place.

But her eyes… those eyes made Anise feel like she was being scanned. Not watched. Scanned.

“Hello, Anise,” the woman said.

Anise’s throat tightened. “Do I… know you?”

The woman gave a small, polite smile. “You don’t. But I knew your mother.”

The words landed like a stone.

Anise didn’t move.

“My name is Dr. Hadiza Umar,” she continued, calmly slipping a slim ID wallet from her coat pocket and flashing it open. “Internal Affairs. Federal Commission of Intelligence and Domestic Security. I was one of the few on Camilla Apple Morgan’s clearance list. She didn’t just work in education, Anise. She worked in information.”

Anise stared. “What?”

“She was one of us. Not officially. But she was a civilian informant embedded in a data ring tied to corruption, private security, and off-the-book experiments. Including what Wesley Grant was trying to cover up. That’s why she died.”

Anise felt like her lungs had forgotten how to function.

“I was sent to protect her the week before she was killed,” Hadiza added, voice low. “But by the time we intercepted the chatter… it was too late.”

Anise staggered back half a step.

“You’re lying.”

“No,” Hadiza said quietly, stepping over the threshold before Anise could stop her. “I came because you’re in more danger than you think. And you’re already being watched.”

“Watched?” Anise whispered.

“Your phone. Your emails. You’ve been digging in places where your mother left a trail. They know you’re close.”

“Who?”

Hadiza’s eyes hardened. “The people who used your mother. Who are still inside the system?”

“Why now?” Anise said, breathless. “Why are you here now?”

“Because the hearing changed things. Your father’s release triggered internal files to be unlocked — encrypted material your mother embedded in a dead drop, years ago. The code was tied to Elgin’s ID. And now, someone has access. If it’s you, you need to show me. If it’s not you…” Her voice trailed off.

“…Then someone else has it,” Anise finished.

Hadiza nodded once.

A deep silence stretched between them.

And then Gianna’s voice called from behind the stairs. “Anise? Everything okay?”

Anise blinked toward the voice.

When she turned back around, Hadiza was gone.

Vanished.

Not a car in sight. No footsteps. No trace.

The front gate creaked slightly as though someone had just walked through.

Anise’s pulse thundered in her ears.

She stepped out onto the porch.

Nothing.

She looked up toward the sky. Dusk was crawling over the rooftops like smoke, swallowing the sun.

She shut the door and leaned her back against it, chest heaving.

Gianna came around the corner holding a half-eaten apple. “Who was that?”

“…Wrong house,” Anise said quickly, still dazed.

Gianna stared at her a moment too long.

Then walked away.

But Anise remained there, frozen. Because everything had just changed.

Her mother had been working with federal intelligence. Her father’s ID just opened something buried. And now she was the loose end.

Anise didn’t feel safe anymore. Not even in Aunt Marie’s house.

Especially not now.

Gianna tried to pry, but Anise walked out of the sitting room, this time to the kitchen, where Aunt Marie now happened to be. She was about to make this cookie. She got the recipe online and decided to try it out.

She tried to hide what she had just experienced, but it lingered, and if you could read the room, you could tell she wasn’t at ease.

Aunt Marie tried to show concern, but Anise swept it under the carpet.

“So you learnt a new recipe, huh?” Anise said, fake-smiling at her.

“Yes, baby,” Aunt Marie replied, her voice soft, “and I know you will like it.”

Anise nodded, dragging herself to the kitchen counter, hands in the pockets of her oversized hoodie. The scent of brown sugar and vanilla was already in the air, clinging to the silence between them like it was trying to sweeten something much heavier.

Aunt Marie poured the flour into the mixing bowl and began whisking, glancing at Anise in between strokes.

Anise leaned against the fridge. “What kind of cookie?”

“Soft chocolate chip, with a little cinnamon twist,” Aunt Marie said, “They said it brings comfort.”

“That’s a weird thing to promise in a cookie.”

“I didn’t say it works, just that it says so.”

Anise smiled again, but this one cracked halfway. Her lips held it up, but her eyes didn’t follow. She watched the batter thicken under Aunt Marie’s hand, the rhythm of mixing somehow grounding, like a heartbeat steadying the space.

“You okay, love?” Aunt Marie finally asked, not looking up.

Anise hesitated. Then pulled a stool out and sat.

“I’m tired.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I know.”

Aunt Marie added the chocolate chips like it were a ritual. Tossed in the cinnamon with the reverence of a priest offering incense.

Anise tapped her fingers on the counter. “Do you think people deserve second chances?”

Aunt Marie’s hand froze over the bowl. “Sometimes.”

“And other times?”

“They don’t want a second chance. They just want you to forget the first mistake.”

Anise nodded slowly. “I think I’m scared of both.”

Aunt Marie turned then, finally meeting her eyes. “You saw him. Your father.”

Anise nodded. “Yeah…Dinner, Stories, Laughter. Like we were in the pilot episode of a rebooted family sitcom.”

“Did it feel real?”

“I think that’s what scares me the most… it did.”

Aunt Marie wiped her hands on a dish towel and came to stand beside her. She didn’t touch her — just stood there like a pillar close enough to lean on, but waiting for permission.

Anise exhaled a laugh. “He said he used to cook.”

“He did. Not well. But it was always from the heart.”

The oven dinged.

Aunt Marie turned and began scooping the batter onto a tray.

Anise rested her chin on her hand and watched. “Sometimes I think Mom’s death broke all of us in different ways. You stayed strong. Dex got quiet. I… started digging for ghosts.”

“You started looking for the truth.”

“Same thing.”

Anise swallowed the lump forming in her throat. “I thought when I found — when I looked Elgin in the eyes — I’d want to hurt him. But… I didn’t. And that makes me feel worse somehow. Like I betrayed her.”

Aunt Marie placed the tray in the oven and shut the door gently.

“She wouldn’t want you to carry that. Your mother wanted peace more than vengeance.”

Then Anise whispered, “What if I can’t be whole?”

Aunt Marie sat beside her this time. Her hands smelled like vanilla and cinnamon, warm from the batter. She reached out and touched Anise’s wrist gently.

“Then let us love you while you try.”

They waited in silence for the cookies to finish. And when the timer went off, the room smelled like sweetness and home. Like something small but sacred.

Aunt Marie handed her the first cookie on a napkin.

Anise bit into it, soft and warm and full of sugar. It tasted like a good memory — even if she wasn’t sure which one.

“Not bad,” she said.

Aunt Marie smiled. “It’s not a cure. But it’s a start.”