Aria didn’t go back to her room.
She didn’t sit in the living room either.
Instead, she chose the stairs.
Right at the edge—halfway between going up and going down. Like she didn’t belong in either place.
She sat there, her arms wrapped around her knees, her back straight at first.
Waiting.
At the beginning, she told herself it wouldn’t take long.
He would come back.
He always did.
And when he did, she would be right there.
Waiting.
So he wouldn’t avoid her.
So he wouldn’t pretend nothing happened.
So he wouldn’t walk past her like she didn’t exist.
Her jaw tightened slightly.
No.
This time, he was going to listen.
The house was quiet.
Too quiet.
Even the maids stayed out of her way, moving carefully, speaking in low voices like they didn’t want to disturb her.
Or maybe
