When she closed her locker door and sat down on the bench, Lucy took five minutes to read all the messages she had received. It was a string of "Merry Christmas" wishes, all sent in the WhatsApp group of this new family that had become hers over the days since her first day as a rookie. A stream of photos of everyone's kids, dozens of gifts under the tree, festive tables laden with food, selfies. A series of reminders that this year, she wouldn't be sitting at a table with her parents, the result of yet another argument about her life and career. A reminder that the plans she'd had at the beginning of the year had gone up in smoke when he walked away from that parking lot a few months earlier. To make the day pass more quickly, she had accepted extra shifts. After all, she had nothing better to do. But now that her day was over, Lucy knew she had to head home to the silence of her apartment.
Thirty minutes later, she locked her apartment door and headed to the bathroom. Always the same ritual: wiping away the traces of the day, washing off the misery and harshness of the outside world, reconnecting with herself, silently comforted by the warm water. Once dressed, Lucy plugged in the lights on her Christmas tree and poured herself a glass of wine, leaving the bottle out—after all, what better did she have to do that night?
Her gaze was lost in the movement of the lights, alternating colors, a childlike smile fixed on her face. And, in the end, the silence was pleasant. She savored every sip of wine, thinking of nothing, completely disconnected from reality.
Suddenly, someone knocked on the door, pulling her out of her daydreams. Still holding her glass, she walked to the door, likely the delivery guy. She hadn't had the energy to cook that evening. But when she opened the door, it wasn't the delivery guy standing there.
"Tim?"
"Hi..."
She stepped aside slightly to let him in and closed the door behind him.
"What... what are you doing here?"
"You shouldn't spend Christmas alone."
"How did you—"
"You're the only one who didn't post anything in the group..."
"I know. Wine?"
"Sure."
Lucy poured Tim a glass of wine and joined him on the couch. For a moment, the apartment returned to silence, interrupted a few minutes later by another knock at the door. When Lucy closed the door again, she set her delivery on the counter and returned to join Tim, still seated on the couch.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"Right now, I should be sitting at the table with my parents, my mom telling the same stories as every year, pretending to laugh with the family we see three times a year. And then the conversation would shift to me—my life, my career, the mistake I made by abandoning my psychology studies and a well-laid career path to become... a cop. And you know what? I can't take it anymore. You can imagine when I asked her not to bring up the subject on Christmas Eve, all she said was, 'And what else would we talk about, Lucy? Your life is a mess. The career you've chosen isn't a real one. Don't tell me you're proud of what your life has become.' I hung up. "
"I'm s—"
"You're sorry, huh? For what? You're not responsible for what my mom says."
"I'm just sorry. For everything."
"I know."
Carried by the silence that followed their conversation, for a brief moment, her gaze locked with Tim's. A comforting sense of déjà vu. His mere presence, unprompted, the fact that it was him knocking on her door tonight, the fact that it was always him, despite everything that had happened in the past few months.
