Maria:
Daniel doesn’t text.
He calls.
I’m halfway through brushing my hair when my phone lights up, his name cutting through everything else. For a second, I just stare at it, like maybe it’ll stop on its own.
It doesn’t.
“Hello?”
“We have a shoot today.”
No greeting. No build-up.
I pause, brush still in my hand. “We what?”
“A campaign. My mother’s brand.”
I sit down slowly.
“That’s not funny.”
“It’s not.”
A beat.
“She signed us.”
Something in his voice—flat, controlled—tells me this wasn’t his idea either.
“Without asking?” I say.
“Yes.”
I let out a quiet breath, pressing my fingers against my temple.
“Of course she did.”
He doesn’t respond to that. He doesn’t need to.
“My mom agreed, didn’t she?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.
“Yes.”
I close my eyes
