The night was calm, the hum of tires on pavement the only sound as Arya and Cale made their way home. The dashboard lights cast a soft glow over Cale's focused expression, his hands steady on the wheel.
"I can't wait to see the look on Lyra's face when she opens the dress I got her," Cale said, a grin tugging at his lips. "She's going to lose her mind."
Arya laughed, a teasing spark in her eyes as she leaned back in her seat. "Oh, I don't know. I think my gift might win her over even more."
Cale shot her a mock glare, his lower lip jutting out in an exaggerated pout. "What a discouraging wife you are," he said dramatically.
"Just keeping you humble," Arya replied with a smirk. She reached across the console and pressed a light kiss to his cheek. "Besides, Lyra will love whatever we give her. She always does."
His smile returned, brighter than ever. As they curved around a bend in the road, streetlights flickered across his face, catching the warmth in his eyes. "She'll pretend to love yours, but deep down? She's going to be obsessed with mine. You know how she is with clothes."
"She is a little fashionista," Arya agreed, chuckling. "I wouldn't be surprised if she asks for a walk-in closet next."
Cale chuckled. "If she does, I'll build it myself. That's the price of raising a trendsetter, right?"
"I'll remind you of that when she's begging for designer boots," Arya said, folding her arms with mock sternness.
"As long as it makes her smile," Cale replied, his voice softening. "We'll buy her whatever she wants."
They drove in comfortable silence for a moment, watching the scenery blur past the windows, quiet neighborhoods, dim shops, the occasional flicker of neon.
"She's growing up so fast," Arya murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "Can you believe she's turning ten?"
"It's wild," Cale said, steering onto a quieter road where the streetlights grew fewer and farther between. "Feels like just yesterday we brought her home, all swaddled up and screaming."
Arya laughed. "Now she's a little adult. Or at least, she thinks she is."
"A teenager trapped in a ten-year-old's body," Cale said with a grin.
They shared another laugh-soft, full of love. The kind of laugh that came from years of shared memories.
Then, everything changed.
Without warning, headlights flared-blinding, fast. A truck surged out of nowhere, veering across the lane.
Cale's instincts kicked in. He slammed on the brakes.
Screeching tires.
A flash of panic.
Arya's gasp.
And then-
Metal crunched. Glass shattered. The world twisted.
Everything went black.
Back at home, Lyra paced the living room, her small hands gripping the edges of the couch as she glanced nervously out the window. The night was quiet, too quiet. Her parents had been gone for hours. The thrill of anticipation had long since dissolved into a sickening swirl of worry.
Where are they? she thought, her stomach twisting into tight, anxious knots. They should've been back by now. Maybe they stopped somewhere...
She tried to believe it. Tried to silence the fear creeping up her spine. But the clock on the wall ticked on mercilessly, each second like a drumbeat of dread. 10:37 PM.
Still no sign of them.
Her heart thudded louder with every passing minute.
Something's wrong.
She sank onto the couch, pulling her legs up beneath her and hugging her knees to her chest. The living room felt too big, too empty. Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them back, refusing to cry. Not yet.
Then, knock, knock, knock.
The sudden sound startled her so hard she almost screamed.
Her breath caught. Her heart jumped.
They're back.
She shot to her feet and ran to the door, flinging it open with a breathless, "Mom? Dad?"
But it wasn't them.
Xander stood on the porch, her 61-year-old neighbor who always smiled and waved when mowing the lawn or taking out the trash.
But tonight, he looked nothing like the cheerful man she knew. His face was pale and drawn, his eyes wide with something between fear and grief. He looked like he'd just seen a ghost.
"Lyra," he said, his voice unsteady, "we need to go. Now. To the hospital."
The words didn't register.
"What?" she whispered. "Why?"
But Xander didn't answer. He reached for her wrist, his grip unexpectedly firm, and began pulling her toward the steps.
Lyra stumbled after him, confusion and panic crashing over her like a wave.
Why the hospital? What happened? Where's Mom? Where's Dad?
The car ride was silent. Xander said nothing, his knuckles white on the steering wheel, his occasional cough the only sound in the car. Lyra stared out the window, the world blurring past, her thoughts racing faster than the headlights ahead of them.
At the hospital, the silence shattered.
Nurses rushed by, the air thick with urgency. Machines beeped. Stretchers squeaked across the floor. The sharp scent of antiseptic filled her nose, stinging her eyes.
And then she saw them.
Two gurneys, side by side.
White sheets pulled up over their faces.
Her feet wouldn't move.
Her lungs forgot how to breathe.
A scream built in her chest, but it never came out.
She just stood there, frozen, as the world collapsed around her.
Lyra's stomach twisted violently, the weight of the moment crashing down on her like a tidal wave she couldn't outrun.
No... this isn't real. It can't be.
Her mind scrambled to reject it, to block it out, but her heart-her heart knew. It screamed the truth through every trembling breath, every aching beat.
They weren't just hurt.
They might be gone.
The tears came fast and hot, blurring her vision until the sterile hospital walls faded into nothing but a haze. Her body trembled as the cold, brutal reality sank in.
Xander stood silently beside her, his hand settling gently on her shoulder. "Lyra," he said softly, his voice thick with sorrow, "it's going to be okay."
But she couldn't answer. Her throat clenched too tightly, her chest caving in under the weight of grief. She collapsed into his arms, her sobs erupting in ragged, uncontrollable waves.
How could this happen? her mind cried. Why didn't I get to say goodbye?
Xander held her close, his arms a shield against a world that had suddenly become too cruel. He gently ran his hand down her back, trying to soothe the storm inside her.
"Don't cry, sweet girl," he whispered, his voice breaking. "Everything will be okay. I promise."
But how could anything ever be okay again?
Her entire world had just shattered, and no promise could piece it back together.
.
.
Time passed, slow and unkind. Minutes felt like hours. Lyra sat curled in a corner of the waiting room, her fingers clutching at the sleeves of her shirt like they might keep her from unraveling completely.
Then, the door opened.
A doctor stepped inside. He wore the mask of practiced sympathy, his face composed, his voice steady.
"I'm so sorry," he began gently, each word landing like a hammer blow. "But your parents didn't survive the accident."
The air was ripped from Lyra's lungs.
The room tilted, twisted. Her thoughts scattered like shattered glass.
No... No. That's not possible.
Her legs gave out. She dropped to her knees, the tiles hard beneath her, the world spinning wildly out of control.
"No, you're lying!" she choked, her voice raw and cracking. "Mom... Dad... they're okay, right, Xander?" Her gaze snapped to him, pleading, desperate. "They're okay, right?"
But Xander's face said everything she didn't want to hear.
He didn't speak.
He just knelt beside her, his arms wrapping around her again as she screamed, a sound torn from somewhere deep, somewhere wounded beyond words.
He held her as the sobs came, violent and breathless, her entire body shaking.
He didn't try to explain. Didn't try to fix it.
Because nothing could.
"Stay with me now, okay?" he whispered through his own tears, holding her close, holding her together as best he could.
And he didn't let go.
Lyra cried and cried into Xander's shoulder, her sobs growing softer until they became quiet, hiccupping breaths. "Xander..." she whispered between tears, her voice fragile, barely there. "I want my parents back..."
Then, finally, sleep claimed her, fitful, broken, but sleep nonetheless.
Xander didn't have the heart to take her back to the house she had once called home. It would only remind her of everything she had lost, their laughter echoing through the hallways, the warmth that once filled every corner.
No. She needed somewhere safe. Somewhere new. Somewhere where her memories wouldn't haunt every wall.
He called a taxi and cradled Lyra in his arms, holding her as gently as if she were made of glass. She didn't stir.
When they arrived at his place, he carefully carried her inside. The door creaked open on its hinges with a soft groan.
Xander's home was simple but cozy, quiet, with the scent of cedarwood lingering in the air. The living room had a dark green couch with a knitted throw draped over the back, a small fireplace nestled in the corner with pictures of old friends and books lined neatly on a nearby shelf.
Soft lighting cast warm amber hues across the walls, and an old grandfather clock ticked steadily in the background, its rhythm soothing.
As the door clicked shut behind them, the sound stirred Lyra.
Her eyes fluttered open.
"Mom? Dad?" she murmured groggily.
Xander gently lowered her onto the couch, kneeling in front of her, his weathered hands resting on her knees. Her gaze settled on him, and realization dawned. The hope drained from her face like the last light of dusk.
He watched her lips quiver and her eyes brim once again with tears.
He reached up and gently wiped one away with the pad of his thumb. "Don't cry, Lyra," he said, his voice low and tender.
"I know this hurts. More than anyone should ever have to bear. But you need to be strong now, not because you're not allowed to cry, but because your parents would want you to live. To keep going. For them. For yourself."
Lyra's lips trembled. "But I want my mom and dad with me..."
Xander offered a sad smile and placed a hand gently over her heart, feeling its soft thud beneath his palm.
"They are with you," he said, his voice calm and sure. "Right here. In every heartbeat. In every memory. In the way you smile like your mother. In the spark in your eyes, just like your father's. They may not be here in body, but they live in you, Lyra. And they always will."
At that, Lyra threw her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. Xander's arms came around her without hesitation, steady and strong.
Tears rolled down her cheeks, but this time, they weren't just tears of loss.
They were tears of holding on.
"Thank you, Xander," she whispered, her voice muffled against him.
He held her tighter, his own eyes damp now. "You're not alone," he said softly. "Not as long as I'm here."
After a while, Xander gently pulled away from the hug, brushing away Lyra's lingering tears with his thumb. He looked at her with a soft smile, then wiggled his fingers with mischief.
"Alright, sad face, I think it's time we perform an emergency operation... on your giggle button."
Before she could react, he launched a surprise tickle attack, poking her sides with playful precision. Lyra squealed and laughed, trying to squirm away, her sadness briefly forgotten.
"Xander! Stop!" she giggled, breathless.
He grinned, still tickling her. "I think I found the secret switch! Ah-ha! Right here, standard issue under-the-rib laugh zone!"
Lyra collapsed onto the couch in a fit of laughter, her cheeks glowing with color for the first time that night. The sound of her laughter echoed through the quiet house like sunlight breaking through clouds.
After a few more seconds, he finally stopped, both of them breathing heavily from laughter. "There it is," Xander said, smiling down at her. "That's the laugh your parents fell in love with."
Lyra looked up at him, her smile fading to a bittersweet expression.
Xander glanced at the clock. "Hey... today's your birthday, right?" The minute hand ticked to 11:46 PM. "We've still got time."
He stood and stretched, then motioned for her to follow. Curious, Lyra padded behind him into the kitchen. He rummaged around the fridge and pulled out a single leftover slice of chocolate cake, then opened a drawer and took out a small white candle.
"Come with me," he said, giving her a wink.
They returned to the living room and sat on the couch together. Xander placed the cake on the coffee table and gently stuck the candle into the center. He flicked open a lighter and lit it, the tiny flame flickering in the dim room.
Xander coughed, this time louder and deeper than usual, and paused to catch his breath.
"I know this isn't much," he said, his voice raspy but full of warmth, "but... happy birthday, Lyra. Go ahead, make a wish."
Lyra stared at the flickering flame. Her chest tightened. It was the smallest birthday celebration she'd ever had, but in that moment, it felt like the most meaningful.
Her eyes welled up with tears again, this time not from grief, but from gratitude.
"Thank you, Xander," she whispered.
She closed her eyes and made a silent wish before blowing out the candle.
.
.
The next few days were... different. In a strange, quiet way, they were good.
Xander made her pancakes with chocolate chips shaped like smiley faces. He taught her how to play chess, though he cheated sometimes just to hear her groan in frustration.
They planted flowers in his little backyard garden, and he even let her paint a mural on one of the old fence panels. It was messy, bright, and wonderful.
But Xander didn't always feel well. Some days, he'd lie on the couch with a blanket draped over him, his coughs growing harsher, his energy fading.
On those days, Lyra would go to the market alone, clutching a shopping list he scribbled out in shaky handwriting.
One chilly afternoon, she returned from the market with her arms full of groceries. As she pushed open the door, humming a little tune Xander had taught her, she called out, "I got your mint tea and those biscuits you like!"
But no answer came.
She stepped into the living room and froze.
Xander was lying on the floor.
He was pale. Still. His chest didn't rise. His eyes were closed.