Lucy's lasagna was, without exaggeration, an elixir.
Not because it was the most sophisticated in the world — though the sauce was perfectly balanced, and the cheese melted in an almost indecent way — but because every bite did something medicine still didn't know how to quantify. It was as if it took a particle of fatigue, a small but persistent one, and replaced it with comfort. With a "you're safe now."
The dinner was a warm whirl of light laughter and old memories, pulled from dusty but beloved drawers.
"Remember when you and Casian hid in the hall closet?" Cynthia said, laughing. "And Ryan searched frantically, convinced you'd run away from home."
"We were six," Casian protested, his fork suspended in mid-air. "It was a strategic plan. We hid so well we scared ourselves."
"You fell asleep in there," Dad added with a small smile. "I opened the door and found you two hugged up, snoring. I decided then you were either geniuses or completely lost."
"Spoiler: both," Eric mumbled, raising his glass of wine.
Laughter rolled across the table, and Lucy, a university professor and keen observer of human nature, smiled as she added more sauce to someone's plate.
"And that Easter…" Mom interjected, with a smile that promised chaos.
"We're not revisiting that," Lexy said quickly, but she was already laughing.
"Oh yes, we are," Eric insisted. "You were kids, playing hide-and-seek in the house…"
"…and I picked a bad spot," Lexy said, raising her hands in surrender. "That old vase in the hall was a collateral victim."
"A vase from the last century," Cynthia added dramatically. "A secret our parents kept until today."
"Until now," Casian said, pleased.
"If Grandma finds out, we're done for," I added, smiling.
"And the trip to the mountains!" Lucy burst out. "When Eric's car just died in the middle of the road."
"It didn't die," Eric protested. "It entered an existential pause."
"Eric, the car was smoking," Cynthia said calmly.
"Details."
Amidst this good, warm, familiar chaos, I felt my father's gaze fixed on me.
It wasn't pressing. It wasn't accusatory. Just… present.
Ryan Lunaris never asked directly. As the CEO of one of the city's most respected law firms — alongside Eric Argent — he had learned that people say more when given space. He waited.
"So, Nova," Dad finally said, putting his fork down. "How's it going at the station? More chaos than usual?"
"Same as always," I replied, shrugging. "A circus. But at least we know the clowns' names."
"That's an advantage," Casian agreed. "In law, we often don't even know that."
Casian was already working with Ryan and Eric at the firm, juggling cases, deadlines, and the youthful ambition to prove he wasn't there just because he was "family."
"Don't worry about her," Lexy interjected, nudging me lightly with her elbow. "She's the best at managing chaos. She just completely forgets to manage her own sleep."
The laughter that erupted was genuine but had a fine edge of worry. The thin line between joke and truth that my family had been navigating for several months.
"Speaking of sleep," Mom said in her most casual voice — which fooled no one. "Did you manage to get that schedule sorted? So you don't have three nights in a row?"
The food, the wine, the warmth. They had dulled my reflexes.
"Not really, I have three nights next week. But it's okay, I've…"
I stopped abruptly.
Three nights in a row meant one clear thing. I wouldn't be able to make it to the family dinner next Friday. Mom's most sacred tradition. For as long as I could remember, every Friday we all gathered. No exceptions. No negotiations. It was our anchor.
Silence fell over the table like a thick cloth.
Lucy chewed slowly, watching me carefully. Cynthia put her fork down. The others looked at me with pity.
"I see," Mom said, and her tone shifted. From casual to soft. More dangerous. "So not only are you not sleeping, but you're canceling traditions."
"Helen," Dad began calmly, in his professional mediator's voice.
"No, Ryan. This isn't just fatigue. This is… avoidance. Look at her."
And they all looked.
Compassion in Cynthia's eyes. A knowing understanding in Eric's that annoyed me. Casian studied his fork as if it were a complex legal issue. Lexy, beside me, stretched her leg and gently pressed my foot under the table.
Hold on.
"I'm not avoiding anything, Mom. I have work. That's what I do."
"We know what you do, darling," she said gently. "That's exactly why it's important to stop. To have an anchor."
"I do stop!" I burst out, my voice cracking slightly. "I'm here. I came. But I can't control the hospital schedule. I can't…"
I can't handle this too right now.
The sentence hung in the air, caught in the scent of basil and unspoken truth.
Dad stood up suddenly. The unexpected gesture stopped everything.
"Nova, come with me for a second? I need some advice on a contract issue from work."
It was a pathetic lie. Ryan Lunaris never asked for advice. But it was an escape. A truce.
"Okay," I murmured, getting up.
We went out into the garden. The night air was cool and sweet. Dad didn't speak until we reached the swing where the fairy lights glimmered. The weather was unusually warm for October.
"Sorry for the rescue," he said. "I felt you were about to explode. And Mom… she would have pushed too hard."
"It's not her fault. Or yours."
"I know."
He leaned against the ledge and looked at the sky.
"When you lose someone… everything becomes an effort. Even love. Because it's there, constant, and you wonder why it seems easy for others, when for you every tiny shred of joy weighs a ton."
My throat tightened.
"How did you do it?" I whispered. "When you lost Grandpa?"
"I didn't do it well," he admitted. "I worked until I dropped. I hurt your mother without meaning to."
He turned to me.
"Don't be afraid to let them comfort you, Nova. Not us, not Lexy, not even the hospital. The void may remain. But that doesn't mean you can't fill other parts."
From inside the house came the sound of Lexy's laugh.
"I think the lasagna got cold," I said, wanting to end the conversation.
"Then let's go warm it up," he said, putting his hand on my head. "And tomorrow… call me. Not to talk. Just so I know you're okay."
When we went back in, the tension had melted. Mom looked at me. There wasn't just worry anymore. There was understanding.
"All good?" Lexy whispered.
"No. But it will be."
"Then it's a start."
And, for the first time in a long while, I felt the void in my chest wasn't pulsing alone.
It was still there. But around it, everything was full.
After the plates were cleared, the glasses rinsed, and the table wiped with slow motions, the Argent family began to prepare to leave. No one seemed in a hurry, but we all felt a chapter of the evening closing.
"Casian, my boy, you've got a tough day tomorrow," Eric said, pulling on his coat. "We've an infernal meeting at the firm, and you're just young enough to survive it."
"That sounds like a threat," Casian murmured.
"It is," Ryan confirmed calmly.
Cynthia hugged me tightly, with the kind of hug that asks no questions.
"Sleep, Nova," she said simply. "Even forty minutes counts."
"Tell that to my residents," I smiled weakly.
Lexy was the last to leave, but before she crossed the threshold, she turned to me.
"Message tomorrow morning, okay?"
"I know the rule," I sighed. "No dramatic emotions before eight."
"Exactly. Emotions are served after coffee."
The door closed softly, and the quiet that remained wasn't oppressive. It was… tired. Like all of us.
Mom sighed deeply and started gathering the last things from the living room.
"I'm glad you all came," she said, not looking directly at me. "Even if it wasn't… perfect."
"It never was perfect, Mom," I replied. "It was real."
She paused for a moment, then gave a small smile, accepting.
"Good. Then it's enough."
Lucy slung her bag over her shoulder and pulled her hair into a bun at her nape, her mind already elsewhere.
"I'm going up. I have to grade papers from class tomorrow, and if I stay, I'll end up debating grading methodology in my sleep."
"Professors don't sleep," Casian said gravely. "They grade."
"Exactly," Lucy sighed with a tired smile. "I grade insomnia."
Short laughter, then footsteps on the stairs.
Dad turned off the kitchen lights one by one.
"Don't stay up too late," he told me, stopping near me. "Not even with your thoughts."
"I'll try."
"I know."
We each retreated to our rooms, like in an old, well-rehearsed ritual.
My room smelled of peonies touched by morning dew and something familiar — safety, perhaps. I left my phone on the nightstand, my jacket on the back of the chair, and sat on the edge of the bed without turning on the light.
I lay back, staring at the ceiling.
The void was there. It hadn't disappeared. But it wasn't screaming anymore. It just breathed along with me.
My phone vibrated softly.
Lexy:
"Made it home. House is quiet. You?"
I smiled.
Me:
"In bed. Trying not to analyze existence."
Three dots. A pause.
Lexy:
"Don't force it. Just be."
I put the phone down and closed my eyes.
From somewhere, Casian's room, very soft music was playing. Mom will say tomorrow it was too loud. Dad will say he didn't even hear it.
I let myself be enveloped by those small sounds: the house settling, the night coming in, my body finally ceasing to fight.
Tomorrow would be hard. I knew that.
But tonight, for a few fragile hours, I was just Nova. Home. Held together by people who weren't trying to fill the void — just to sit beside it.
And, surprisingly, that was enough