Patrick wasn’t watching her on purpose.

He just happened to look. Like he always did.

Lizzie Young’s twin sat near the window, the pale winter sun catching the curve of her cheek. She always sat alone now. Even when people offered, even when teachers nudged her to join in—she wouldn’t.

But today, something was different.

She smiled.

Barely. Just a twitch of her mouth, but real. Soft. Small. It was at something she’d read in the corner of a book someone had left behind. A passing moment—gone almost as quickly as it came—but Patrick saw it.

And something in his chest squeezed.

He hadn’t seen her smile since Caoimhe’s funeral.

The cafeteria was loud—cutlery scraping trays, chairs dragging, Hughie doing impressions two tables over—but all Patrick could hear was the sound of hope filling his lungs.

And then Lizzie walked in.

Storming.

Eyes already wet, jaw clenched so tight it looked like it hurt.

She marched right up to her twin’s table.

“What the hell are you smiling about?” Lizzie’s voice cracked mid-sentence.

Her sister’s eyes widened, smile gone in a blink. She reached for her tray like she could vanish behind it.

“You’ve barely looked at me in months,” Lizzie said, voice rising. “You stopped talking. You stopped being. And now—what? You smile at a book like none of this ever happened?”

Patrick stood, barely thinking. Gibsie gave him a sharp look from across the room, but didn’t stop him.

“You left me.” Lizzie’s voice broke entirely. “When Caoimhe died, I lost two sisters, not one. And you didn’t even try to stay.”

She wasn’t yelling now. Just… unraveling. Quiet and trembling.

Her twin looked like she might break apart. Shoulders curled inward, breath shallow. She opened her mouth—but nothing came out.

Patrick reached her then. He didn’t speak to Lizzie. Just dropped to a crouch beside her sister’s chair.

“Hey,” he said, so soft only she could hear it. “You’re still here. I see you.”

Her eyes flicked to him, glossy with unshed tears.

Lizzie watched, wiping her face roughly. “Yeah, well—good luck getting anything out of her. She doesn’t talk to anyone. Not even me.”

She walked away after that—head held high, but her hands were shaking.

Patrick stayed crouched beside the table, looking up at the girl he’d loved in silence for as long as he could remember.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he told her. “But you smiled. That means something, yeah?”

For a moment, she just looked at him.

Then—so small it barely counted—she nodded.

And that was enough.