I park in front. The house is older construction but was clearly well-maintained at some point. Now the yard needs attention. Grass too long. Hedges overgrown.
This was Lily's home. The place she grew up. The place her aunt left to her because she trusted Lily to take care of it, to preserve it, to honor the memories built into the walls and floors.
And she gave it away. Handed it over to her brother because he needed it more.
We get out. Lily gathers the bags, several of them. I take most of them from her without asking, leaving her with just one.
She rings the doorbell, the chime audible even from outside.
A man answers after a long moment. Early thirties, I'd guess. There's a resemblance to Lily in the bone structure, the shapeof the eyes and the line of the jaw. But his expression is harder. More guarded. The kind of face that's been disappointed too many times to expect good news.
His eyes go immediately to me, assessment automatic and hostile. Suspicious of my presence, of my size, of the expensive car parked at his curb.
"Henry, this is Artan," Lily says quickly, her voice pitched higher than usual with nervous energy. "My boss. Artan, this is my brother Henry."
Boss.
The word lands wrong in my chest, settling there like a stone. Heavy. Cold. Creating distance I don't want.
I don't want to be her boss. Don't want that hierarchy, that imbalance of power, that professional separation that reduces what we are to an economic transaction.
But I keep my face neutral, extend my hand with practiced courtesy. "Nice to meet you."
Henry shakes briefly, his grip weak and slightly damp. Uncertain. His eyes keep darting back to me like he's trying to figure out if I'm a threat.
"Come in," he says without much warmth, stepping back to let us pass.
The inside of the house is a mess. Moving boxes stacked against walls, some opened and half-unpacked, others still sealed. Dishes piled in the sink, the smell of old food faint but noticeable. Clutter on every surface, the kind of chaos that suggests people living in a space, without making it home.
Nothing like what I imagine Lily would have tolerated when this was her house. She keeps Luan's apartment spotless, everything in its place, surfaces clean and organized. This disorder would drive her crazy.
I see her face tighten slightly as she takes in the scene. See her eyes move from the dishes to the boxes to the general disarray.
Henry doesn't offer us seats. Doesn't offer drinks or any of the normal hospitality someone might extend to guests. Just stands there in the middle of the cluttered living room, hands shoved in his pockets, looking uncomfortable and vaguely hostile.
The silence stretches. Awkward. Tense.
Lily breaks it, stepping forward with the bags extended like an offering. "You mentioned things were expensive. So I got some essentials for the baby. Diapers and wipes will be delivered regularly by a subscription service, but I thought you might need bottles and sheets and clothes."
Henry's expression darkens immediately, anger flashing across his face before he can control it. "We prefer to choose things ourselves. If you wanted to help, you should've just given us money."
The words come out sharp. Accusatory. Like she's done something wrong by caring, by trying to help in the way that felt safest to her.
Lily's face goes red, embarrassment and hurt warring for dominance. "I'm sorry. I just thought—"
"You thought wrong."
The dismissal is brutal. Casual. Like her effort means nothing, like her care is an inconvenience rather than a gift.
My hands curl into fists automatically. I have to consciously force them to relax, to not reach for this man who just made Lily feel small in the house that used to be hers.
A woman enters from the back hallway. Softer features. The kind of face that suggests she might actually possess empathy.
"Henry, don't be rude," she says, her voice carrying gentle reproach. Then to Lily, smile apologetic and genuine, "I'm Sarah. It's so nice to finally meet you. Henry talks about you all the time."
She looks at the bags Lily's still holding, then back at her face, reading the situation with quick intelligence. "I'm sure Lily kept the receipts if we want to exchange anything for different colors or sizes."
"Yes," Lily says quickly, too quickly, relief flooding her voice. She fumbles in her purse with shaking hands, pulls out the receipts and extends them like a peace offering.
