CHAPTER THREE

The next morning, coffee was on the counter.

And beside it, a small box.

Lira stared at it. She did not touch it. She waited, as if it might disappear.

It did not disappear.

She opened it. Inside was a sketchbook. Leather bound. Thick paper. The kind architects used. The kind she could never afford.

A note tucked inside.

Elena said you draw. You should have something to draw on. - K

She held the sketchbook to her chest. She did not know why her eyes were wet.

---

He was gone before she woke. Always gone. She had stopped asking when he left.

She sat at the kitchen counter with her coffee and her new sketchbook. She opened it to the first page. She drew.

The view from the penthouse window. The city spread out like a promise. She had not drawn in months. Years. There was never time. Never energy. Never paper good enough to bother.

She drew for two hours. The city. The buildings. The tiny figures on the streets below.

When she finished, she looked at what she had made. It was good. Really good.

She had forgotten she could do this.

---

That afternoon, she visited her father.

Antonio was out of bed. Walking slowly with a cane. The nurses cheered when he made it to the window and back.

He saw the sketchbook under her arm. He asked what it was.

She showed him. The city. The buildings. The details only she would notice.

He studied each page. Slowly. Carefully.

"Your mother drew," he said. "Did you know that?"

She did not know that.

"She stopped when you were born. Said she only had room for one masterpiece." He smiled. "You."

Lira could not speak.

"She would be proud of you," he said. "Not just the drawings. Everything. The woman you became."

She kissed his forehead. She stayed until visiting hours ended.

---

That night, she cooked again.

Different recipe. Something she learned from YouTube because her mother never made it. She wanted to surprise him. Show him she was more than rice and beans.

He came home at 9pm. Earlier than usual.

He saw her at the stove. He saw the sketchbook on the counter, open to a new page.

"You drew," he said.

"Your gift. I had to use it."

He picked up the sketchbook. He looked at each page. Slowly. Carefully. The way her father had.

"These are good," he said.

"I know."

His mouth twitched again. That almost-smile.

They ate together. At the table. Both of them. First time.

"This is different," he said.

"New recipe. My mother never made it."

"It's good."

"I know."

He almost smiled again. She counted it as a win.

---

After dinner, he washed the dishes. She dried. They moved around each other in the small kitchen like people who had done this before. Like people who belonged together.

"I have a meeting tomorrow," he said. "Investors. They want to meet you."

She stopped drying. "Meet me?"

"The marriage. It helps if they see us together. If they believe it's real."

She nodded. "What should I wear?"

"Elena will help. She knows these things."

Silence. Then: "I am not good at this," he said. "Pretending. Performing. It exhausts me."

"Then don't pretend."

He looked at her.

"Just be you," she said. "I'll be me. If they don't believe it, they don't believe it."

"That is not how business works."

"Maybe business needs to work differently."

He stared at her for a long moment. Then he nodded. Slow. Thoughtful.

"Okay," he said. "We'll try it your way."

---

The investors meeting was in a conference room on the 80th floor.

Lira wore a dress Elena selected. Simple. Professional. Not too fancy. Not too plain. Her hair was down. Her face was bare of makeup because she forgot to buy any.

Kael waited by the elevator. He looked at her. Head to toe.

"You look..." He stopped.

"What?"

"Like you."

She smiled. "That's the goal."

The investors were four men in expensive suits. They shook hands. They made small talk. They watched Lira the way people watch someone they are judging.

Kael presented his numbers. His plans. His vision. He was cold. Precise. Untouchable.

Then one of the investors turned to Lira.

"And you, Mrs. Vance? What do you think of your husband's plans?"

She could have said anything. She could have performed. She could have pretended to be the doting wife.

Instead, she told the truth.

"I think he's brilliant," she said. "I also think he's lonely. I think he's been alone so long he forgot what it feels like to have someone in his corner. I'm here to remind him."

Silence.

The investors looked at each other.

Kael stared at her like she had just rewritten gravity.

The lead investor leaned forward. "Mrs. Vance, are you always this honest?"

"Always. It saves time."

He laughed. A real laugh. The other investors followed.

"I like her," the lead investor said to Kael. "Keep her."

Kael nodded. "I intend to."

---

After the meeting, in the elevator, Kael was quiet.

She thought she had ruined it. Said too much. Been too honest.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I shouldn't have-"

"No."

She looked at him.

"That was the best meeting I've ever had," he said. "They liked you. They believed you."

"I wasn't pretending."

"I know. That's why they believed you."

The elevator doors opened. He did not move.

"No one has ever said anything like that about me," he said. "In my corner. Not since my grandfather died."

She took his hand. Just for a moment.

"Get used to it," she said. "I'm not going anywhere."

---

That night, she could not sleep again.

She went to the kitchen. He was there. Sitting in the dark.

They sat together without speaking. Shoulders almost touching.

"Tell me about your grandfather," she said.

He told her. About the old man who built an empire. Who took him to work on Saturdays. Who taught him that numbers told stories if you knew how to listen.

"He died when I was sixteen," Kael said. "After that, it was just my father. And the bottle."

She did not say she was sorry. She just sat closer.

"When did you know you wanted to draw?" he asked.

"Always. My mother gave me crayons when I was three. I never stopped."

"Why did you stop?"

She was quiet for a moment. "No time. No money for good paper. No room in my life for things that were just for me."

He nodded. Like he understood.

"Don't stop again," he said. "Not while you're here. There's paper. There's time."

She looked at him in the dark.

"Okay," she said. "I won't."

CHAPTER FOUR

The next morning, Lira woke to the smell of coffee.

But this time, Kael was still there.

He stood at the counter, pouring two cups. He wore a different suit. Dark gray. His hair was still damp from the shower.

"You're here," she said.

"It's Saturday."

She blinked. Saturday. She had lost track of days.

"I don't work on Saturdays," he said. "Usually I pretend to. But today I thought I would try something different."

"What?"

He gestured to the counter. Bagels. Cream cheese. Fresh fruit arranged on a plate.

"Breakfast," he said. "Made by me. Well, assembled by me. The bagels are from a shop."

She laughed. A real laugh. He watched her with something soft in his eyes.

They ate together at the counter. He asked about her students. She told him stories. The boy who cried because his goldfish died. The girl who announced she was marrying her best friend when they grew up. The class pet hamster that escaped and was found three days later living in the supply closet.

He listened. He asked questions. He almost smiled multiple times.

"This is nice," she said.

"Yes," he said. "It is."

---

After breakfast, he asked if she wanted to see something.

He took her to a floor of the tower she had never visited. Floor 85. The windows faced east, toward Queens. Toward her old neighborhood.

He led her to a room at the end of the hall. Empty. Sunlight pouring in.

"What is this?" she asked.

"Nothing yet. But I thought..." He paused. Uncomfortable. "You draw buildings. You study architecture. I thought maybe you would want a space. To work. To create. If you want."

She stared at him.

"You're giving me an office?"

"A studio. If you want it. You can design it however you like. Elena will help with whatever you need."

She did not know what to say. No one had ever given her space before. No one had ever given her room to create.

"Why?" she asked.

He looked at her. Direct. Honest.

"Because you stopped drawing," he said. "Because you forgot you were allowed to have things just for you. I want you to remember."

She kissed his cheek. Quick. Impulsive.

He went very still.

"Thank you," she said.

He nodded. His jaw was tight. His eyes were bright.

---

That afternoon, she visited her father.

Antonio was walking laps around the hospital corridor. Slow. Steady. Determined.

She told him about the studio. About Kael's gift. About the empty room with sunlight and windows facing Queens.

Her father stopped walking.

"He gave you a studio?"

"Yes."

"Just like that?"

"Yes."

Antonio was quiet for a long moment. Then he smiled. A knowing smile.

"That man loves you," he said.

"Papa-"

"He gave you space to create. Space to be yourself. That is love, mija. That is real love."

She did not argue. She could not.

---

That night, she cooked dinner again. Kael came home at 7pm. On purpose. To eat with her.

They sat at the table. Both of them. Like a real couple.

"I spoke to my father today," she said. "He thinks you love me."

Kael's fork paused.

"What did you tell him?"

"I didn't tell him anything. He figured it out himself."

He was quiet for a long moment.

"Your father is a smart man," he said finally.

She looked at him. He looked at her.

Neither looked away.

---

After dinner, they sat on the balcony. First time. City lights below. Stars hidden behind the glow.

"Tell me about your mother leaving," she said. "If you want to."

He was quiet so long she thought he would not answer.

"I was seven," he said. "She packed a suitcase. She kissed my forehead. She said she would come back."

He paused.

"I waited at the window for three hours. She never came back."

Lira's chest ached.

"My father said women leave. That's what they do. He was drunk when he said it. He was always drunk after she left."

"Did you ever see her again?"

"No. She sent letters sometimes. I never opened them. They're in the locked drawer. With the whiskey bottle."

"Why do you keep them?"

He thought about it. Long and hard.

"Because throwing them away feels like admitting she's really gone. Like admitting I really don't matter to her."

Lira reached over. She took his hand.

"You matter," she said.

He looked at their hands. Her small fingers wrapped around his.

"To who?" he asked.

"To me."

---

They sat like that for a long time. Hand in hand. City lights below.

When they finally went inside, he stopped at her door.

"Lira."

She turned.

"Thank you. For today. For everything."

She smiled. "Goodnight, Kael."

"Goodnight."

She went into her room. She did not sleep for a long time.

Neither did he.

CHAPTER FIVE

Sunday morning. No coffee on the counter.

Lira woke confused. Then she heard sounds from the kitchen. Movement. Someone cooking.

She walked out in her pajamas. Hair messy. Eyes half open.

Kael stood at the stove. He was making eggs. He wore sweatpants and a t-shirt. She had never seen him in anything but a suit.

"You cook now?" she asked.

"I'm learning." He gestured to the pan. "The eggs might be terrible."

She leaned against the counter and watched him. He was focused. Determined. He flipped the eggs carefully, like they were important documents.

He put a plate in front of her. The eggs were slightly burned. The toast was cold.

She took a bite.

"Perfect," she said.

He almost smiled. "Liar."

"You're right. But you tried. That's what matters."

He sat beside her with his own plate. They ate together. Burned eggs and cold toast. It was the best breakfast she could remember.

---

After breakfast, he asked if she wanted to see the studio again. She said yes.

They went to floor 85. The empty room. Sunlight pouring in.

She walked around the space. Measuring with her eyes. Imagining possibilities.

"I could put a desk here," she said. "By the window. And shelves along that wall. And a table for spreading out large drawings."

He listened. He nodded.

"Whatever you need," he said. "Just tell Elena."

She turned to him. "Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"Being kind. Giving me things. Making me breakfast."

He was quiet for a moment. Then he looked at her directly.

"Because no one has ever looked at me the way you do," he said. "Like I'm worth seeing."

She crossed the room. She stood close to him.

"You are worth seeing," she said.

He reached up. Slowly. Like he was afraid. He touched her face. Just for a moment.

Then he stepped back.

"We should go," he said. "I have work."

He left quickly. She stood in the sunlight and touched her cheek where his fingers had been.

---

That afternoon, she visited her father.

Antonio was doing well. Walking without the cane for short distances. The doctors were optimistic.

She told him about the studio. About the burned eggs. About the way Kael touched her face and then ran away.

Her father listened. He smiled.

"He's scared," Antonio said.

"Of what?"

"Of feeling something. Of wanting something. Of losing it once he has it."

She sat on the edge of his bed.

"What do I do?"

Her father took her hand. "You wait. You be patient. You show him that wanting things is not weakness. It's courage."

She nodded. She hoped she was brave enough.

---

That night, Kael came home late. After midnight.

She was in the kitchen. Sitting in the dark. Waiting.

He stopped in the doorway.

"You're awake," he said.

"I couldn't sleep."

He sat beside her at the counter. Same spot. Same dark. Same almost-touching shoulders.

"I'm sorry," he said. "For this morning. I shouldn't have-"

"You should have."

He looked at her.

"You should have touched my face," she said. "You should have stayed."

He was quiet.

"I don't know how to do this," he said. "I don't know how to want something and not be terrified."

"Me neither. But we can learn together."

He looked at her for a long time. Then he reached out again. He took her hand.

"Okay," he said. "Together."

---

They sat like that for an hour. Holding hands in the dark.

When she finally went to bed, she felt something she had not felt in years.

Hope.