The night pressed against the windows, and only the glow from her phone lit up the girl's room. She wasn’t asleep yet, as usual. No particular reason. Just that familiar emptiness she had grown used to.

Her phone buzzed. Her father's name appeared: Ares.

She answered without saying a word.

A few seconds later, she pushed herself off the bed, quietly closing her still-lit laptop. Barefoot, she made her way down the stairs, slipping through the dim hallway without a sound.

Minutes later, the front door unlocked. Her father stepped in, carrying two plastic bags.

Without speaking, he handed her a warm meal. She accepted it. Then they sat at the dining table—no full lights on, only a small kitchen lamp casting a soft glow across their faces.

No conversation. Just the clink of utensils, and sometimes, the heavy breath of exhaustion masked as calm.

Ares glanced at his daughter for a moment. She seemed more at ease while eating. Not speaking, but not resisting either.

It was enough.

And the night went on, slow and quiet as always. No explosions. No drama. Just a small moment... that somehow felt like home.