Thorns & Roses

Two weeks after Sarah's disastrous visit, Marcus woke to the sound of laughter coming from the kitchen. Real laughter—the kind Lily hadn't produced in months.

He padded downstairs in his pajama pants to find his daughter and Zara bent over a cookbook, flour dusting both their faces and what looked like the aftermath of a baking explosion covering the counter.

"What's all this?" he asked, leaning against the doorframe with a smile.

"Zara's teaching me to make her grandmother's biscuits," Lily said, beaming. "Apparently, I've been measuring flour wrong my entire life."

"The secret is in the technique," Zara explained, demonstrating how to cut butter into flour with practiced ease. "My grandmother always said heavy hands make heavy biscuits."

Marcus moved closer, drawn by the domestic scene and the way the morning light caught in Zara's hair. She'd started staying over more often, sleeping in the guest room but becoming part of their routine in ways that felt natural and right.

"Can I help?" he asked.

"You can make coffee," Lily said without looking up from her dough. "Zara says good biscuits deserve good coffee."

"I can manage that."

As he worked, Marcus watched Zara guide Lily through the process of rolling and cutting the dough. There was something magical about seeing them together—Zara patient and encouraging, Lily eager and focused in a way she rarely was anymore.

"You know," Zara said as they worked, "your great-aunt Mae used to make biscuits like these. She learned this same recipe from my grandmother when they were neighbors years ago."

"Really?" Lily perked up. "Tell me about her."

"She was... formidable. About your height, but with a presence that filled up any room she entered. She had opinions about everything—roses, cooking, politics, the proper way to hang laundry." Zara smiled at the memory. "But she was also the kindest person I knew. When my grandmother died, Mae stepped in like it was the most natural thing in the world."

Marcus found himself leaning against the counter, drawn into the story. He'd barely known his father's sister, something he regretted more with each passing day.

"She used to tell me stories about your father when he was young," Zara continued, glancing at Marcus. "How he'd come home from school covered in dirt from playing outside, and Mae would make him wash up on the back porch before he could come inside for her fresh biscuits."

"Were Mae and Uncle Carl happy?" Lily asked.

"Very. Forty-three years of marriage, and she still lit up when he walked in the room." Zara's voice softened. "That's the kind of love worth waiting for."

The words hung in the air, loaded with meaning that made Marcus's chest tighten. Before he could respond, Zara was moving again, sliding the pan of biscuits into the oven.

"Twenty minutes," she announced. "Just enough time for the coffee to finish."

They'd just settled around the kitchen table with their coffee when the sound of gravel in the driveway made them all freeze. Through the window, Marcus could see a familiar black sedan pulling up to the house.

His stomach dropped. "Lily, go wash up."

"But the biscuits—"

"Now, sweetheart."

Something in his tone made both Lily and Zara look toward the window. Zara's expression tightened when she saw the official-looking car.

"Who is it?" Lily asked, suddenly sounding much younger than twelve.