Chapter Six— The Visit
776 Words
The house had been quiet all morning.
Not peaceful.
Just… drained.
Mia sat at the dining table, staring at a cup of tea that had long gone cold.
She hadn’t touched it.
Didn’t even remember making it.
Across the room, Lily was curled up on the couch, flipping through a book without really reading it.
Daniel had stepped out earlier.
Said something about “handling things.”
He didn’t explain.
He didn’t need to.
A knock came at the door.
Mia didn’t move at first.
They’d had visitors all week.
More apologies.
More soft voices.
More eyes filled with pity.
Another knock.
Slightly firmer this time.
Mia exhaled slowly and stood up.
“I’ll get it,” she said, though no one asked.
The walk to the door felt longer than it should have.
Her hand hovered over the handle for a second.
Then she opened it.
And froze.
It was him.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Up close, he looked different.
Sharper.
Colder.
More… real.
His gaze moved over her briefly — not in a way that lingered, but in a way that assessed.
Measured.
“You’re Amelia.”
It wasn’t a question.
Mia blinked.
Her throat suddenly felt dry.
“Yes…”
A pause.
“I’m Lucas.”
She already knew that.
Or at least, she felt like she did.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice quieter than she intended.
Lucas didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, he reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out a thin folder.
“I came regarding your father.”
The words hit differently.
Colder than they should have.
Mia’s fingers tightened slightly around the door.
“What about him?” she asked.
Lucas held her gaze.
Steady.
Unmoving.
“He owed my company money.”
Silence.
For a second, Mia thought she heard him wrong.
“I’m sorry… what?”
Lucas didn’t repeat himself.
He simply extended the folder toward her.
Mia hesitated before taking it.
Her hands felt unsteady as she opened it.
Numbers.
Documents.
Signatures.
Her father’s name.
Her chest tightened.
“No…” she whispered. “This—this has to be a mistake.”
“It isn’t.”
His tone didn’t change.
Not even slightly.
Mia looked up at him, disbelief written all over her face.
“My dad wouldn’t—he never said anything about this.”
Lucas tilted his head slightly.
“Most people don’t.”
The words stung more than they should have.
Mia shook her head.
“This doesn’t make sense.”
“Whether it makes sense to you or not doesn’t change the situation.”
Her eyes widened slightly.
Something in his tone… irritated her.
“You came here,” she said slowly, “to tell me my father is dead and somehow in debt?”
Lucas didn’t react to her tone.
Didn’t soften.
Didn’t step back.
“I came here to inform you of an obligation,” he said.
Mia let out a short, disbelieving breath.
“An obligation?” she repeated. “We just buried him.”
“And the debt remains.”
That did it.
Something in her snapped.
Her grip on the folder tightened.
“You have some nerve showing up here like this,” she said, her voice shaking now. “Do you even hear yourself?”
Lucas’s expression remained unchanged.
“Yes.”
The calmness of it made it worse.
Mia stared at him.
At how unaffected he was.
At how easily he spoke about her father like he was nothing more than a file.
“Then you should also hear how wrong this is,” she said, her voice lower now, steadier despite the emotion behind it.
A brief silence passed between them.
Lucas studied her.
Not her words.
Her.
The anger.
The grief.
The way she refused to break in front of him.
Something flickered in his eyes.
Gone almost immediately.
“This isn’t about right or wrong,” he said. “It’s about responsibility.”
Mia laughed.
A small, bitter sound.
“You don’t know anything about responsibility.”
That landed.
Lucas’s gaze sharpened slightly.
But he didn’t argue.
Instead, he stepped back.
Just once.
Creating distance.
“You have time,” he said.
Mia frowned.
“For what?”
“To figure out how you’re going to handle it.”
Her chest tightened again.
And just like that—
he turned.
No apology.
No hesitation.
No looking back.
Mia stood there, frozen in the doorway, the folder still in her hands.
Her father.
Debt.
Lucas.
Nothing made sense anymore.
But one thing was clear.
This wasn’t over.
Not even close.
- Writer
