He heard her footsteps on the stairs and then saw her walk into the kitchen. She was dressed comfortably in a big sweater and leggings, with her blonde hair pulled up in a messy bun.
"Smells amazing, Dad," she said, sliding into her usual spot at the table.
He plated the pasta, adding a good amount of Parmesan and freshly cracked pepper. He set her plate in front of her and took his seat across from her.
"How's your friend doing?" he asked casually, twisting some pasta onto his fork. "Ayla, right?"
Emma's face lit up. "Yeah! I texted her earlier. She's still at the hospital but is feeling a lot better. The doctors want to keep her for one more night just to watch her."
"That's good," Alexander replied. "Better safe than sorry with that stuff."
They ate in a comfortable silence for a bit, just an easy quiet that came from years of shared meals and trust. If only Emma knew how carefully crafted this normal life was, how many lies held everything together.
