His eyes grew shiny, the tears held back by sheer force of will. He had a lifetime of practice at holding them down. “I’ll be out of your way,” he whispered, turning to leave.
“No,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended. “Lucas.” He looked up, and I saw the same raw fear I had seen in Zoe’s eyes for years. It wasn’t the fear of being caught. It was the fear of being discarded. People like Lucas learn early that kindness is conditional. You’re welcome until you cost too much.
“Lucas,” I said again, slower this time. “You are a guest in this house. You are not a problem. You can look at the pantry. You can eat the food. You can simply exist. Okay?”
He stared at me, his lips parted as if to speak, but no words came out. He just gave one sharp, jerky nod. And I knew, with a certainty that chilled me to the bone, that this wasn’t just “a friend who can’t afford a flight.” This was something deeper, heavier. This was the kind of story Emma dragged home because she couldn’t bear to leave it behind.
The next morning, I found Emma in the kitchen, staring at her phone like it was a venomous snake. Her eyes were puffy.
“I’m not asking about Lucas,” I said, sitting down across from her. “I’m asking about you.”
Her laugh was a short, bitter sound. “I’m fine.” I just looked at her until her gaze fell. “No,” she whispered. “No, I’m not.” She took a ragged breath. “They warned me. The school.”
My stomach clenched. “About what?”
The words came out like splinters. “Meal swipes. I was using my extra ones. For Lucas. For other people, too.” My throat went dry. Other people. “The dining hall throws away so much food at the end of the night. I couldn’t just watch it happen.”
I could hear Mark’s voice in my head—rules are rules for a reason—but it was drowned out by Zoe’s—I was afraid you’d realize I was a burden.
“What happened, honey?”
