The smell of sizzling spices wafted through the house as I trudged into the kitchen, my shoulders slumped under the weight of the day’s events. My mother stood by the stove, humming softly as she stirred a pot. I leaned against the counter, watching her for a moment before breaking the silence.
“What are you making?” I asked, my voice flat.
Her smile widened as she glanced over her shoulder. “Lucas’s favorite—rosemary chicken with garlic potatoes.”
My stomach twisted. Lucas’s favorite? Of course it is.
“I don’t like that,” I muttered, crossing my arms.
My mother’s expression faltered, but only for a moment before she returned to her cooking. “You should try new things, Lyra. It won’t kill you.”
Frustration bubbled up in my chest. It wasn’t just about the food—it was everything. The w
