Lyra
If Liam caught on to my lie, he did not make any move to call me out on it.
His eyebrows furrowed. His stopped for a moment and then just plated two dishes, poured honey tea into two cups, and set them on the table beside me. “It’s just some thanks, Lyra.”
Thanks. I almost scoffed. If he wanted to show his gratitude, there were a lot of things he could do.
Like stop the accusations against my father, or, better yet, stop punishing me for them. Like treat me better, with even a fraction of care.
But no. No matter how much I didn’t want to admit it, everything between us had changed.
I reached for a plate. The soup tasted just like I remembered—spicy and sweet. While I would have enjoyed that spiciness before, now it wasn’t good for me.
Since my diagnosis, I’ve avoided spicy
