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My mom with her perfect hair and her fake smile. I stare at her face, and all I can think about is the day she left.

I was twelve.

One minute, she was yelling at Dad in the kitchen about money, about his job, about how coaching wasn’t enough for her. And the next, she was packing her bags, saying she needed “space” and “freedom.”

She got her space. We haven’t heard from her since.

I shake my head, tearing my eyes away. No use thinking about her.

The fridge hums when I open it, and I let out a groan. Almost empty. A sad carton of milk, a half-eaten loaf of bread, and a block of cheese that’s probably older than me.

Classic Dad.

Too busy to fill the fridge for my arrival, but I won’t complain. I grab my phone to check for takeout options. But then I spot the lasagna noodles in the pantry and think,Why not?

I can use the cheese. I search through the pantry for spaghetti sauce. I spot it behind a bunch of random cans. What else? Oh, he does have onion and garlic, so that’s a plus. I check the freezer for hamburger. I find one in the depths, and I don’t dare to question when it expires. I get straight to business now that I have some basic ingredients in front of me.

Cooking is grounding in a way. By the time the lasagnas in the oven, the kitchen smells like garlic and oregano, and it almost feels like home again.

While it bakes, I wander upstairs. My room is just like I left it. Mint-green walls, fairy lights strung across the ceiling, and a bookshelf stuffed to the max.

I smile. Dad didn’t change a thing.

Dropping onto the bed, I run my hand over the quilt my grandma made me. Underneath it, I find my old diary.

I flip it open and cringe immediately.

Dear Diary, today I saw Jason at lunch and OMG he is soooo cute!!!

I slam it shut. Nope. Not ready for that level of humiliation.

Instead, I grab one of my old romance novels from the shelf. It’s tattered and dog-eared, but it feels like an old friend. I curl up under the blanket, reading until my eyes get heavy and the words start to blur.

“Sienna.”

I jolt awake to the sound of Dad’s voice and the scent of coffee.

“Dad!” I throw the blanket off and practically leap out of bed.

He smiles, pulling me into a hug. “Hey, kiddo. When’d you get in?”

I laugh because he upgraded my flight, didn’t he? He has my itinerary. “A few hours ago. I’m assuming you were caught up at practice.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. Game’s next week, and the boys needed some extra drills.”

“Of course they did.” I pull back, grinning at him. “Did you eat? Shit!” I run out of the room.

“Language. Where are you going?”

“I made lasagna,” I shout as I run down the stairs and into the kitchen.

“You’re kidding. You had the time to cook? I was wondering why it smelled so good in here.”

I grab the mittens and open the oven door. I pull the lasagna out and sigh.

“It’s not burnt,” I chuckle, pointing at it as my dad stares at me. “I did it. I made it. I was very bored waiting for my old man. And you know I can cook as well as I bake.”

He shakes his head, laughing. “As good as you bake? I doubt that, but let’s see.”