Standing just inside the apartnt, bathed in the warm glow of the living room lamp, was Joanna.
Her hair was completely down, falling freely over her shoulders in soft waves. She wore a light satin nightgown that caught the lamplight gently, the fabric draping effortlessly over her fra. It wasn’t loud or dramatic — just simple, elegant, soft. The kind of softness that made the whole room feel warr. Bare feet against the floor. A faint, familiar scent drifting toward him — cocoa butter and sothing sweet he couldn’t quite na.
She spread her arms without saying a word.
For the first ti that entire day, Lukas didn’t think.
He dropped the suitcase handle and crossed the distance between them in two quick steps, pulling her into him tightly right there in the doorway. His arms wrapped around her, firm, almost desperate, as though grounding himself.
Joanna held him just as tightly.
And then it happened.
A long, heavy sigh escaped him — the kind that cos from sowhere deep in the chest. Not dramatic. Not loud. Just release.
His forehead rested lightly against her shoulder as he stood there, breathing her in, letting the weight of the day settle sowhere that didn’t feel so unbearable anymore.
For the first ti since that morning, he wasn’t holding everything in.
They stayed like that for a few seconds after the hug loosened, still close enough to feel each other’s breath.
When they finally stepped back, Joanna looked up at him properly.
She didn’t need words. The faint swelling around his eyes, the way his shoulders sat just a little lower than usual, the way his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes — she saw all of it.
She leaned in and kissed him softly.
"I missed you," she said.
Lukas let out a quiet huff of a laugh. "We saw each other yesterday. In Manchester."
"I don’t care," she replied instantly. "I still missed you."
That got a real smile out of him this ti.
"I missed you too," he said, kissing her back briefly.
She pulled away and pointed toward the hallway. "Go take a shower. Freshen up. Then co eat."
He blinked. "Eat? You cooked?"
She folded her arms with exaggerated pride. "Yes, I cooked."
He looked genuinely surprised. "I didn’t know you could cook."
She narrowed her eyes playfully. "You better hurry if you want to find out. Or I might throw it away and you’ll never taste my masterpiece."
He raised his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. I’m going."
"And don’t take forever," she called after him. "I didn’t co all the way from Darmstadt for you to stand under hot water for an hour."
He shook his head, smiling faintly, and disappeared into the bathroom.
While he showered, Joanna returned to the kitchen and finished plating the al she had started earlier. It was simple but thoughtful — grilled salmon seasoned lightly with herbs and lemon, roasted sweet potatoes, stead broccoli and carrots, and a fresh side salad with olive oil and balsamic. Clean. Balanced. Exactly the kind of ho-cooked dinner an athlete would need after 120 minutes of football and a long emotional day.
By the ti Lukas erged about 20 minutes later in his pajamas, hair slightly damp, the table was set.
He paused for a mont.
"Okay," he said slowly, walking closer. "This looks... professional."
She laughed. "Professional?"
"Like sothing they’d serve at a club nutrition dinner," he clarified, pulling out a chair. "The presentation is class."
She tried not to look too pleased, but she failed.
"Sit down before it gets cold."
He did. And as he took the first bite, he nodded.
"Wow."
"That good?"
"Yeah," he admitted. "That good."
They ate mostly in comfortable quiet at first. The tension in his shoulders eased gradually with every bite, the warmth of the food grounding him in a way he hadn’t expected. When he finished, he leaned back slightly.
"Thank you," he said sincerely.
She studied him for a mont before asking gently, "Do you want to talk about it?"
He glanced at the plates. "Let’s clear this first."
So they did. Side by side at the sink, passing dishes, drying, placing them away. The small dostic rhythm felt steady. Normal.
Afterward, they moved to the couch. The replay of the Manchester United ga was running on the TV on mute. His third goal flashed briefly across the screen, then cut to his defensive tackle.
He didn’t even look at it.
He stared ahead instead.
Then he started talking.
"I t my mother’s husband."
Joanna’s head turned sharply toward him. "You what?"
He nodded slowly, staring ahead instead of at her. "He ca to see us at the hotel."
She blinked, processing that. "He lives in Manchester?"
"Yeah."
There was a brief pause before she asked, more cautiously this ti, "What did he want?"
Lukas exhaled through his nose, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "He wanted to et her. He said she’s been trying to ssage but couldn’t bring herself to send it. He said she’s not doing well."
Joanna swallowed. "Did you et her?"
"No," he said quietly. "I didn’t. But Dad did."
She shifted closer, her voice softer now. "What happened?"
For a mont, he just stared at the floor. Then he began talking.
He told her about the conversation. About Roger explaining the tiline — how he and Jane had been together before she ever t Javi. How they had fought. How she had shown up years later. How Lukas had been born in between all of that. He told her about the complications during childbirth. About how she couldn’t conceive again. About Lexi being adopted at 7. About how everything he thought he knew about his own beginning had quietly shifted in the space of a single afternoon.
He didn’t dramatize it. He didn’t rush it. He just laid it out.
Joanna listened without interrupting, her hand slowly finding his and holding it.
"So she..." she started gently, "she was already with him when she t your dad?"
"Technically," Lukas replied, his voice flat.
"And you didn’t know any of that?"
He shook his head. "I thought they were together. I thought sothing happened. I didn’t even know she was alive until a month ago."
Joanna squeezed his hand.
"And you still haven’t t her."
"No."
Silence settled again, but this ti it wasn’t empty. It was heavy with understanding.
After a few seconds, Joanna spoke carefully.
"Is her na Jane?"
Lukas looked up at her. "How do you know that?"
She told him about the stadium. About the woman she had bumped into. About the strange familiarity she couldn’t explain. About how that sa woman had later called out to Javi when they were leaving.
"That’s her," Lukas said quietly. "That’s my mom."
He leaned back into the couch, staring at the ceiling for a second before looking at Joanna again.
"What does she look like?" he asked. "Did you get a good look?"
Joanna nodded slowly. "She has your eyes. Or... you have hers. Sa color. Sa shape when you’re thinking."
He didn’t react, but his jaw tightened slightly.
"Your side profile is similar too," she added. "The nose. The eyebrows. It’s subtle, but it’s there."
He let that sit in his mind.
"She’s beautiful," Joanna said softly. "And she looked... nervous. When she saw your dad."
Lukas looked back at the TV, where a replay of his celebration flashed briefly across the screen.
Then, after a quiet mont, Joanna asked gently,
"Have you decided if you’re going to et her?"
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