Ophelia’s POV:
I had to physically stop myself from bolting out of the restaurant and disappearing into the crowd. But I couldn't run. Not anymore. I had to be the anchor, the wall that protected Valeria from the storm.
After losing the meager contents of my stomach in the restaurant toilet, I stood over the bowl, breathing heavily. The scent of bleach and cheap floral air freshener cloyed at my throat. I made sure to flush and hosed down the area, ensuring it was spotless, before I walked out of the stall, standing in front of the mirror. My face was ghastly white, my eyes rimmed with red. I splashed cold water on my skin, and smoothed my hair, tucked a loose strand behind my ear, and straightened the lines of my blue dress.
I had already established one thing with absolute certainty:
