Tuesday

Lorelei wakes before the alarm. She lies still, listening to the house breathe: pipes ticking, the soft hum of the fridge, Anais shifting in her sleep three rooms away. Theo’s side of the bed is already cold. He must have left early.

In the kitchen, she sets out three bowls again, though only two will be used this morning. Cereal, milk, and a spoon placed exactly parallel to the edge of the table. She straightens the bowls twice. Her fingers hover over the third spoon, then retreat.

Theo returns from upstairs, adjusting his tie. He doesn’t comment on the bowls. He doesn’t look at them at all.

“Morning,” he says, but his voice lands somewhere beside her instead of on her.

“Morning,” she echoes.

He pours coffee without tasting it. Lorelei pretends not to watch him swallow as if it hurts.

Anais comes down slower today, sliding her hand along each bannister post as if counting them. Her hair is badly brushed, with a crooked parting and uneven, but brushed. She’s chewing on something that isn’t food.

“Spit that out,” Theo says.

Anais opens her mouth. A small piece of pencil wood rests on her tongue. Lorelei removes it gently with her fingers. Anais grins at her, wide and feral.

“I don’t want cereal,” she declares.

“That’s what we’re having,” Lorelei answers.

Anais sits. She doesn’t eat. She stirs the cereal until it collapses into mush.

Lorelei wipes the counter again.

At the school gates, Lorelei leans down to kiss Anais’s cheek. Anais turns her head at the last moment; the kiss lands in the air.

“Be good today,” Lorelei says.

“I don’t know how,” Anais replies, and skips toward the doors.

Lorelei stands there longer than she should. A teacher glances at her, smiles too tightly, and turns away.

Lorelei’s shopping list is still in her bag, folded so neatly it might split at the crease. Today she follows a different path, not toward the bread shop, not toward the butcher’s, but toward a street she hasn’t walked in months.

It’s quieter. Dustier. The shop windows here are dim, displaying things nobody buys: chipped photo frames, dusty candles, a row of porcelain dogs whose eyes never look quite straight.

She enters a pawn shop without knowing why.

Inside, the glass counters reflect her face in warped, tired silhouettes. She picks up a silver ring, heavier than it looks.

“You selling or browsing?” the man behind the counter asks.

“Just…looking.”

“Looking at what?”

She sets the ring down. “Nothing.”

"Oh my, is that little Lorelei?"

It's Missy.

Missy Parker.

"Hi Missy.." Lorelei uncomfortably spits out. She nervously frayed her hair, her eyes bypassing the dewy, verdant eyes of Missy Parker.

Missy hasn’t changed much since moving to Bakeham Street, except maybe she looks more certain of herself now. Or maybe Lorelei feels less certain in comparison.

Missy’s smile widens, the kind that assumes warmth even when it’s not returned.

“I thought that was you. God, it must have been… what, three years? Four?”

Lorelei tucks a loose piece of hair behind her ear, then immediately pulls it forward again. “Nearly five.”

“Five,” Missy repeats, as if that number means something profound. Her gaze drops briefly to the ring on the velvet pad. “That’s pretty. You selling something?”

“No,” Lorelei says too fast. “Just looking.”

Missy tilts her head. “You were never much of a jewellery person.”

Lorelei shifts her weight and looks around the shop as if seeking an exit not behind Missy. The small pawn shop has bare floorboards, a humming fluorescent light, and fingerprint-smudged glass counters. The air carries a faint scent of metal and something older, reminiscent of forgotten books.

“I suppose you’re still living on Bakeham?” Missy asks, stepping closer. A bell above the door jingles as another customer leaves, the cold air brushing past.

“Near enough,” Lorelei says.

“Near enough.” Missy laughs softly. “Still the vague little thing.”

Lorelei stiffens. “I’m not vague.”

“You always were. Sweet, but vague.” Missy taps the glass counter lightly with her nails, a slow rhythm. “How’s Theo?”

Lorelei swallows. “He’s fine.”

“And Anais? She must be, what, seven now?”

“Six.” Lorelei’s eyes dart to the door. “She’s six.”

“Still on the… feisty side?” Missy’s smile carries a glint of something that isn’t kindness. “She was a handful even as a toddler.”

Lorelei’s fingers tighten around the strap of her bag.

“She’s just spirited.”

“Mm.” Missy’s eyes soften, but it’s a softness Lorelei doesn’t trust. “You look tired, Lori. Is everything alright?”

Lorelei’s throat tightens. She forces a smile.

“Everything’s fine.”

“You sure?” Missy steps a little closer, lowering her voice. “You used to tell me everything. Remember? Back when you’d come over for tea every morning?”

Lorelei nods mechanically.

“I remember.”

“You were always at my kitchen table, worrying about something.”

Lorelei looks at the floor. “Things change.”

Missy watches her for a long moment. 

“It’s just…” Missy hesitates, studying Lorelei’s face. “You look like someone who’s about to run.”

Lorelei forces a laugh, thin as paper. “I’m just running errands.”

“In a pawn shop?”

Lorelei’s silence answers for her.

Missy leans an elbow on the counter, her bracelets clinking together.

“Lori. Sweetheart. Are you in trouble?”

“No.”

Lorelei’s voice cracks just slightly, and she hates that it does.

Missy steps back, softening again. “Alright.  Just… if you ever want to talk, you know where I am.”

Lorelei nods, once. Tight.

“And tell Theo I said hello,” Missy adds, almost as an afterthought.

Lorelei flinches. It’s small, barely there, but Missy sees it.

“Oh,” Missy says quietly. “So it’s like that.”

Lorelei turns away, picking up her bag.

“I really should go.”

Missy doesn’t stop her. She just watches.

“Take care of yourself, Lori,” she says gently. 

Lorelei leaves the shop with her bag just as light as before, the cold air outside feeling sharper than it should. She walks fast, too fast, as if Missy’s eyes are still on her back.

And maybe they are.

"Wait!"

Lorelei turns back just in time.

Too late.

She's lying on the floor.

A red substance is seeping from her neck.

"Missy?" Lorelei softly responds, as if in a dream-like state.

"MISSY?"

"MISSY!"