Chapter 12

  The moment Nora walks through the door, I know something is wrong.

  She doesn’t take off her shoes. Doesn’t throw her bag on the counter like she always does. She just stands there, her face pale, her hands still gripping the strap of her bag like she doesn’t know what to do with them.

  I put down the wooden spoon. The sauce is still bubbling on the stove. Claire is at the table, scrolling on her phone.

  "Che c’è?" I ask.

  Nora swallows hard. Her voice is flat, almost distant when she says, "They fired me."

  The words drop like a stone into the quiet of the kitchen. Claire looks up.

  "What?"

  Nora nods, like she’s still processing it herself. "I lost my job."

  For a second, I feel nothing. Then, a rush of panic. The mortgage. The bills. Claire’s future.

  I step closer, my voice careful. "Amore… come?"

  "Because of Ikaros. Because it doesn’t need us anymore."

  She laughs, but it’s hollow. "I built that damn thing. And now it replaced me."

  I put my hands on her shoulders. She looks so small. I hate seeing her like this.

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  "It’s okay," I say. "We will figure it out."

  I mean it. But at the same time, a tiny part of me is relieved.

  For years, I was the one watching from the side, the one who stayed home while she made the money, the one who cooked, cleaned, drove Claire to school.

  I was proud of her. I was happy for her.

  But sometimes… sometimes I felt like I was just here. A shadow.

  Now, I have a purpose again. Now, she will see what real life is. She will know what it’s like to struggle, to have to fight for something.

  I hate myself for thinking this. But I can’t stop the feeling inside me.

  Claire pushes her phone aside. She’s staring at Nora, confused.

  "I thought you were… unstoppable."

  Nora looks at her, and I see it - the pain in her eyes.

  This is what hurts her most. Not the job. Not the money.

  Claire looking at her like this.

  Like she isn’t a superhero anymore.

  I don’t tell Nora I’m relieved. Claire doesn’t tell her she’s disappointed.

  We just stand there, three people in a kitchen, in a house that suddenly feels too big. Too quiet.

  Nora finally moves. She takes off her jacket, rubs her face like she’s trying to wake up.

  "I need a shower."

  She disappears down the hall.

  I go back to the sauce, but my hands are shaking.

  Claire doesn’t touch her phone. She just stares at the spot where Nora was standing.

  I stir the sauce, watching it bubble. I don’t say what I’m thinking.

  Claire doesn’t either.

  None of us do.

  But after a few minutes, I can’t help myself.

  I leave the kitchen and walk toward the hallway.

  The door to the bathroom is closed, but not all the way.

  A thin line of steam curls out from the crack.

  I hesitate. Then, barely breathing, I push the door open just a little.

  Through the foggy air, I see her.

  She’s standing under the water, arms braced against the wall, head bowed.

  At first, I think it’s just the heat making her shoulders shake. But then I hear it—a small, broken sound.

  Not sobbing. Not loud. Just a quiet, trembling grief.

  Tears slip down her face, mixing with the hot water, disappearing like they were never there at all.

  I should say something. I should go to her.

  But I don’t.

  I step back and let the door close.

  Back in the kitchen, I stir the sauce again.

  Watching it bubble. Watching it boil.