CHAPTER 3
1686 Words
Chapter 3: Heartache and Comfort Food
The key clicked in the lock with a soft metallic sigh, and Aria Lane pushed open the door to her apartment. Warm light spilled into the dim hallway, wrapping around her like a long-lost embrace. The scent of vanilla candles and lavender detergent greeted her, calming but laced with melancholy. She stepped inside, and the door thudded shut behind her with a kind of finality that seemed to echo through her bones.
Her jeans clung wetly to her legs, and her canvas shoes squelched against the hardwood floor with every step. Rainwater dripped from the ends of her hair and formed a small puddle on the mat.
She groaned, kicking off her soaked sneakers. “Note to self: canvas shoes are betrayal incarnate.”
Shrugging off her rain-slicked coat, she draped it on the hook by the door and ran a hand through her damp hair, flicking water to the floor without care. She was already envisioning a hot shower, the comfort of oversized pajamas, and maybe—just maybe—an entire sleeve of Oreos.
But she didn’t make it three steps before freezing in place.
A sound broke through the soft hush of the apartment.
A muffled, choked sob.
Her heart jumped. Instinctively, she turned toward the hallway leading to the bedrooms. “Jade?” she called out softly, almost not wanting to confirm what she’d heard.
No response.
She moved quickly, her wet socks silent against the floor. The door to her sister’s room was cracked open, letting a pale wedge of lamplight spill across the hallway like a beacon. Aria pushed the door open, her breath catching in her throat.
There, curled on the bed like a fragile wisp of a girl, was Jade. Her little sister—though now twenty and technically an adult—looked all of fourteen in that moment. Her knees were tucked tightly to her chest, her face buried in the crook of her arm and a pillow soaked with tears. Her long brown hair was a tangle around her shoulders, trembling like the rest of her.
“Jade…” Aria’s voice was gentle, laced with alarm and fierce protectiveness.
Jade lifted her head slightly. Her face was red and puffy, eyes bloodshot, mascara streaked down her cheeks in two perfect lines of despair. Her lips trembled, and her breath hitched. “Aria?”
“I’m here,” she whispered and crossed the room in two long strides.
She sat on the edge of the bed and opened her arms without hesitation. Jade didn’t even try to resist. She collapsed into her sister’s embrace, pressing her face against Aria’s shoulder as the sobs started anew—louder this time, more raw, as if being held finally gave her permission to shatter.
“I-it hurts,” Jade whimpered, her voice breaking like glass.
“I know, sweetheart. I know.” Aria rocked her slowly, stroking her back in rhythmic, soothing circles. “You don’t have to say anything yet. Just breathe. I’ve got you. I’m right here.”
There was something sacred about the way they sat—two bodies molded into one shape of grief and comfort. The bedroom smelled faintly of coconut shampoo, tears, and heartbreak.
Aria let her own emotions settle quietly in her chest, not allowing them to show on her face. She’d cry later, alone, if she needed to. Right now, Jade needed her to be solid. Steel wrapped in softness.
Minutes passed like molasses, slow and sticky and heavy. Eventually, Jade’s sobs began to fade into hiccupping breaths. Her head lolled to the side, resting against Aria’s shoulder, her voice rough from crying.
“He broke up with me.”
Aria’s stomach clenched. “Just now?”
Jade gave a tearful nod. “We were supposed to hang out tonight. I even made him those chocolate chip cookies he likes. Then he called. Said—said he couldn’t do it anymore. That he didn’t see a future. That it wasn’t fair to me.”
Aria’s eyes narrowed, rage igniting like a spark in dry tinder. “That coward.”
“I thought we were fine,” Jade whispered. “I thought we were happy. I mean—yeah, we had stuff to work on, but we always talked it out. We always tried.”
Aria tightened her grip around her. “You tried. He bailed.”
“I feel so stupid,” Jade whispered. “Like I should’ve seen it coming.”
Aria leaned back just enough to tilt Jade’s chin up with two fingers. “No. Don’t you dare blame yourself for loving someone. You believed in what you had. That’s not stupid, that’s brave.”
“But I gave him everything. I trusted him. And he just… flipped a switch.”
Aria swallowed hard, remembering all the times she’d seen Jade glow around that boy—how she’d lit up at every text, every small gesture. And now that light was being replaced by something gray and hollow.
“I know it doesn’t feel like it right now,” Aria said quietly, “but one day, you’re going to look back and thank the universe for getting you out of this. Because anyone who walks away from someone like you, Jade? They never deserved you in the first place.”
Jade let out a tiny sound between a laugh and a sob. “You always say the most dramatic things.”
“And I’m always right. That’s the older sister clause. It’s in the fine print.”
They both chuckled softly, and for a moment, the sadness didn’t feel so suffocating. Aria smiled and pressed her forehead gently against Jade’s. “You’re going to be okay. I swear it.”
Jade nodded slowly. “I believe you.”
“Good. Now, do you want the only kind of therapy that actually works?”
Jade sniffled. “Are you about to say mac and cheese?”
“Mac and cheese with a crispy baked top, garlic spinach on the side to trick our brains into thinking we’re eating healthy, and ginger ale in wine glasses to feel like classy queens.”
Jade gave her a real smile this time. “You’re the best.”
“I know,” Aria said, grinning. “Now go wrap yourself in a blanket and pick something ridiculous to watch. I’ll handle the magic in the kitchen.”
---
The kitchen filled with the comforting hiss and sizzle of butter hitting a hot pan. Aria moved with practiced grace, tying her apron around her waist and pulling ingredients from cupboards like a witch concocting a healing brew.
First came the roux—flour and butter stirred until golden and fragrant. Then milk, whisked slowly, forming a smooth, creamy base. She added sharp cheddar and mozzarella, watching as the cheese melted in silky ribbons. A pinch of paprika, a dash of mustard powder, a hint of nutmeg. She stirred it all together and sighed in contentment.
Next came the pasta, cooked al dente and folded lovingly into the sauce until every shell was coated. She spooned the mixture into a ceramic dish, topped it with breadcrumbs and parmesan, and slid it into the broiler.
While it baked, she sautéed fresh spinach with minced garlic and olive oil until it wilted into a glossy green heap. She plated everything, poured ginger ale into two stemmed glasses with ice and a slice of lemon—because presentation mattered—and wiped her hands on her apron.
Jade appeared in the doorway just as Aria was pulling the dish out of the oven. She was wrapped burrito-style in a giant fleece blanket, her hair now brushed, eyes still red but clearer.
“It smells like heaven,” she said, voice hoarse but grateful.
“Come and get it,” Aria declared. “Tonight, we feast like the brokenhearted queens we are.”
They sat cross-legged on the living room floor, the coffee table serving as their royal banquet table. The TV played an old animated show they used to watch on Saturday mornings, the kind with cheesy humor and colorful heroes. For a moment, they were kids again—free from expectations, heartbreak, and the weight of adult choices.
Jade took a bite and moaned dramatically. “Okay, this might actually be better than my ex.”
“Might?!” Aria scoffed. “Girl, cheese won’t ghost you. Cheese won’t say he’s not ready for a future. Cheese is the future.”
“I’m putting that on a T-shirt,” Jade giggled, mouth full.
They laughed, loudly and messily, and the apartment felt warmer for it.
---
Later, after the dishes were done and Jade had fallen asleep curled up on the couch mid-movie, Aria tucked a throw blanket over her and kissed her forehead.
She made her way to her bedroom, suddenly exhausted. She washed her face slowly, catching sight of herself in the mirror. Her cheeks were still damp from the earlier rain, and her eyes—though dry—held a storm of their own.
Back in bed, she lay on her side and stared at the shadows the blinds cast on the wall.
But instead of feeling at peace, her thoughts betrayed her.
The man from the car slipped into her mind like a ghost with unfinished business.
His face was carved into her memory with uncomfortable precision: the chiseled jaw, the expensive suit, the ice-and-steel expression. And those eyes—sharp, unreadable, like they were used to commanding and being obeyed. He’d looked at her like she was… something.
“Just a man in a fancy car,” she whispered to the ceiling.
But even she didn’t believe it.
The man had unnerved her.
Aria turned on her side and hugged her pillow tighter.
She didn’t have time to unravel mysteries or play mind games with men who looked like they belonged in boardrooms and blackmail scandals. She had bills. Two jobs. A heartbroken sister.
Rain still tapped against the windows, softer now. Aria lay down and slept off.
- Writer
