I have you

4th July

Mia still held the salmon baguette when she stepped into the arrivals hall at Beauvais–Tillé. The bread had gone cold inside its crumpled paper bag. She dropped it into a bin without looking and followed the two police officers through the crowd.

2nd July, Copenhagen

The apartment felt larger without them. For once, the apartment was hers. No Lara singing outside the bathroom door. No mother calling her to dinner. After exams and graduation, Mia wanted only sleep, silence, and the pleasure of waking when she pleased.

Mia slept late and woke to the low hum of the refrigerator. She walked barefoot into the kitchen and opened the freezer. The containers stood in neat rows, each one labelled in her mother’s careful handwriting. Monday. Tuesday…and so on. “Jeez, Mom….”She rolled her eyes and smiled. She picked up Wednesday’s box. Lasagna.

While the oven was warming the lasagna, Mia leaned against the counter and looked at the Insta post that had arrived the night before. Her mother was laughing with her head thrown back. Marko held up a glass as if making a toast to someone off-camera. Lara had chocolate on her cheek and didn’t seem to know it. The caption read Wish you were here. Mia had replied with a silly face and then forgotten about it.

The cheese had browned at the edges, and the smell of tomato sauce, basil, and melted Parmigiano filled the kitchen. Mia took the container out, sat down, and ate slowly. The food tasted exactly as it always had.

3rd July, Paris

Lara woke to the sound of nothing. It was a hot morning, and the sun was already flooding the balcony and her room. She lay still for a while, listening for the usual morning noises — music, her parents’ voices, the soft clink of cups and dishes. There was only the distant traffic and the slow movement of light across the floorboards.

She got up and went to the kitchen. The granola box stood where her mother had left it. Lara poured some into a bowl, added milk, and carried it to the table. She sat facing the door. They had gone for a walk, the way they always did even when they travelled. Even on holiday, they woke early and went for a walk before the city was properly awake. She remembered they had promised to bring freshly baked croissants after their walk in the nearest park.

Lara ate a few spoonfuls and waited. The granola softened. She stirred it once, then left the spoon in the bowl and went out to the balcony. The street below was already busy. A couple walked past carrying a long baguette. A man with a dog stopped to talk to someone. None of them was her parents.

She went back inside and lay on her bed with her legs against the wall. When she returned to the kitchen, the milk had turned the granola into a pale mush. What time was it? Her smartwatch couldn't charge; she had forgotten her battery back at home. And the only clock on the oven was showing funny time. She felt a small, cold knot in her stomach and did not finish the granola.

By midday, the knot had grown. Mia lay her head on the apartment door, her ear touching the cold metal - she heard only the ordinary sounds of the building. Then sat on the floor with her back against the wood, pulling her knees to her chest. The first tear surprised her. And there was a flood. Mia cried until her throat hurt and her face was hot.

Across the landing, a door opened.

Madame Laurent rang the bell and, after seeing the girl, decided to hold off on the questions.

“Bonjour! Ça va ?”

“I don’t speak French,” Lara said, keeping one hand on the door.

The old lady disappeared into her flat. A minute later she returned carrying a small saucepan. It smelled of onions and thyme. There was a bag of baguette, which she placed next to the saucepan.

“I come in? Something happened?

The lady’s eyes said, “You can trust me” So Lara let her in.

I’m not hungry,” Lara said.

“I know,” Madame Laurent answered. “Eat anyway.”

Lara lifted the spoon. By the fourth mouthful she was crying into the soup. Madame Laurent pretended not to notice. She only refilled the glass of water and stayed at the table

“Where are your parents, ma chérie?” Madame Laurent asked in careful, accented English.

After seeing the girl bursting into tears, the lady was sure she had to call the police.

Later that day, Copenhagen

Mia came home in the evening. The lasagna she had left on the counter had dried at the edges. She reheated a small portion out of habit and sat down. It tasted flat. She checked her phone again. No new messages. Not even seen. This wasn’t like her mom. After a few messages and no reaction, Mia got worried. She called her mother’s number. Voicemail. She called again at nine, then at nine-twenty, then at nine-thirty. The line was dead. The same was with Marko’s phone.

She walked in circles around the kitchen table. The apartment felt too small, too quiet and too big at the same time. Every surface carried something her mother had touched — the shopping list on the fridge, the pile of books on the table and the plants that she had to water in their absence. Mia checked her messages again, all apps. WhatsApp Last seen 7:52.

Why do you always think of the worst? Don’t be like Mum. Pull yourself together!!

When her phone rang with an unknown number, Mia didn't hesitate to answer.

“Miss Petrović,” Captain Moreau said. “I am calling from France, Police Department. There has been an accident. Your sister is in Paris. When can you come? I will send you the details in a text message.

Mia ended the call without speaking. She stood in the kitchen for a long time, staring at the lasagna container. Then she opened the freezer again and looked at the rows of meals her mother had prepared. She closed the door gently, as if any noise might disturb them.

She called Ana, her mother’s colleague from work. She knew they were besties.

“I need to get to Paris. My sister is there all alone…,” she said. “I don’t have money for a ticket.”

Ana did not hesitate after hearing the story. “I will book it. And I will send you what you need for food and transport. Go and bring your sister home. And hey…let me know if you need anything else. Text me any time ok?”

Mia stayed by the kitchen table with the phone still in her hand. For a few minutes she did nothing. Then something shifted inside her, quiet but absolute. The thought of Lara somewhere in Paris became the only clear thing in her mind. He didn’t say anything about her parents. She could only assume the worst. Maybe the conversation would have been too much for her for now?

Everything else — the summer she had planned, the freedom of having the apartment to herself, the vague idea of travelling with friends — suddenly felt small and distant.

She opened the banking app. The number hadn’t changed. She refreshed it anyway, then closed it. After that, she went through her messages with her mum, scrolling back through old conversations as if one of them might suddenly tell her what to do. None of them did.

As soon as the money arrived and Ana told her the flight itinerary, Mia checked in and started packing. She followed the instructions to take some documents. It was not easy to find them, but her mom showed her the big box of documents under the bed a few times. Everything was there... Mia put it all in a folder and shoved it into her backpack.

Then she grabbed some clothes, her passport, charger, and the small recipe notebook from the counter. She didn’t pack anything for Lara. She didn’t even know what she would need. All she knew was that she had to get to her.

She barely slept. Every time she closed her eyes, she kept seeing Lara sitting alone on a bench in Paris, waiting for something that wasn’t coming. Around four in the morning she gave up and got out of bed. She walked through the apartment, turning on every light. In Lara’s room, the bed was perfectly made. Her sister was really neat. Only a pink sock with happy avocados was lying on the floor- a last-minute change when they had to leave a few days very early in the morning. Mia picked it up, held it for a while, then put it back where she found it.

By 6 AM she was already at the airport. The flight Ana had booked was the first one out. Mia sat at the gate with her backpack between her feet and watched other people. A mother bought her child a croissant. A couple shared a coffee. Mia looked away. The thought of food made her stomach turn.

On the plane she pressed her forehead against the window. Below her, Denmark disappeared into clouds. And then she zoned out completely. For the past year, Mia had wanted distance. Her own plans. Her own room. A life without being asked to watch Lara, share everything, or listen to her endless chatter when Mia wanted quiet. Now the thought of Lara alone made those wishes feel cruel and childish.

Now the idea of Lara being alone somewhere felt unbearable. The obsession grew with every minute. Mia kept checking the time, counting the hours until she would land. She imagined walking into the apartment and finding her sister. She imagined what she would say. Nothing felt right.

When the plane landed at Beauvais, Mia was the first to stand. She walked fast through the terminal, the backpack digging into her shoulders. She bought the salmon baguette without thinking, then regretted it the moment she held it. The bread was warm. She could not bring herself to eat it.

6 July, Paris

The police officers were waiting for Mia at the airport. Traffic kept them on the road for nearly an hour and a half. Captain Moreau did not speak much. Mia kept her hands in her lap and watched the city pass. Every red light felt like a delay she could not afford. She kept thinking about Lara waking up that morning in a stranger’s home, not knowing where her parents were, not knowing if anyone was coming for her. The thought made her chest tight. She had spent the last year wanting space. Now the only thing she wanted was to close the distance between herself and her sister.

When they reached the building, Madame Laurent opened the door. She was also with the host of the Airbnb apartment, Celine.

Lara stood in the middle of the small living room. She was barefoot and wearing the same clothes she had worn three days earlier. Her eyes were swollen and red. She looked at Mia as if she were trying to place her.

Mia dropped her backpack on the floor and knelt down. For a moment neither of them moved.

Then Lara walked forward and pressed her face into her sister’s shoulder. Mia wrapped her arms around the small body and held on. Lara’s shoulders shook once, then again. Mia felt the girl’s thin arms tighten around her waist. Neither of them spoke.

Captain Moreau looked from Mia to Lara. “There was a bus accident near the bakery,” he said. “Your parents were there.”

Mia understood before he finished. “I’m so sorry,” he added very quietly and continued talking…

But the world collapsed for seconds. It was hard to believe that all the fear had turned out to be a fact, just announced and assumed to be accepted.

Mia could not hear the rest of what Captain Moreau said. Lara’s fingers had found hers under the table and would not let go.

After a long time, Lara pulled back just enough to look at her sister’s face. She reached up and touched Mia’s cheek with her fingertips, as if checking that she was real.

“I am here, Lara. You have me. I have you. We have each other….”

Mia was trying to sound calm, as if the voice belonged to someone else.

Madame Laurent cleared her throat softly from the doorway.

“Come,” she said. “Sit.”

She led them to the small kitchen table. Two bowls of vegetable soup were already waiting, steam rising gently from the surface. She had warmed them again while they stood in the living room. A fresh baguette lay on a wooden board between the bowls, and she had placed two small spoons beside them.

Mia and Lara sat down opposite each other. The soup smelled of carrots, celery, and thyme. For the first time in days, the smell did not make Mia feel sick.

Madame Laurent tore the baguette into pieces and placed them on the board.

“Eat,” she said quietly. “A little.”

Mia looked at the soup. The surface was smooth and golden. She picked up her spoon and dipped it in. The first mouthful was warm and simple. It tasted of salt and vegetables and something else she could not name. She swallowed and felt the warmth spread through her chest.

Lara watched Mia for a few seconds before finally picking up her spoon. Her hand was unsteady, and her first sip was small, almost cautious. She went still as she swallowed. It wasn't like the soup she'd forced down two days ago while crying on her own. This time, it tasted real. It tasted better.

They stayed like that for a long time, eating slowly. Neither of them could finish the whole bowl, but they kept lifting their spoons anyway. Mia tore off a soft piece of the baguette and pushed it across the board to her sister. Without saying a word, Lara took it, dipped it deep into the broth, and ate.

Captain Moreau waited until they had each eaten a few spoonfuls. Then he spoke softly. Mia did not catch every word. There had been an accident. A bus. Her parents had not survived.

For a second, she thought he must be talking about another family. Then Lara made a small sound beside her—not quite a cry, not quite a question—and Mia understood.

She turned to her sister. Lara’s face had gone pale beneath the red around her eyes.

“I’m here,” Mia said. Her own voice sounded strange. “I’m here, Lara. You have me. I have you.”

Lara looked at her as if Mia had travelled a very long way to find her. Then she stepped forward and folded herself into Mia’s arms.

Mia held on to her. Lara was shaking, but she was here—warm, small, breathing against Mia’s shoulder.

A few days ago, Mia would have said she needed space. She had wanted to make her own plans without being asked when she would be home, without Lara following her around or talking when Mia wanted quiet. Now none of that seemed to matter. She only knew that she had found her sister, and she was not going anywhere.

When they returned to the table, Lara picked up a piece of bread and dipped it in the broth.

“They said they would bring croissants,” she whispered.

Mia’s throat closed. She placed her hand on Lara’s shoulder.

“Bon appétit,” she said.

The words did not mean what they had meant before. They meant: I am here. Eat. Stay with me.

Lara took another bite. This time, the soup tasted a little better.

Mia kept her hand on Lara’s shoulder. Under it, Lara became ten years old again—not brave, not abandoned, just someone’s little sister.