Delia’s POV
I knew something was wrong the moment Katia walked out of that restaurant and didn’t look back.
She didn’t slam a door. She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t threaten me or humiliate me the way I half-expected her to. She just stood up, said her piece with frightening calm, and left me sitting there with my insecurities laid bare on a polished tablecloth.
I went home unsettled.
My mother was in the sitting room when I arrived, seated stiffly on the cream sofa, her tablet resting unused on her lap. She looked up the moment I stepped inside, eyes sharp, already searching my face for answers.
“Well?” she asked.
I dropped my bag and paced once, twice, before answering. “I met Katia.”
Her brows lifted. “And?”
“And it didn’t go the way I expected,” I said, pressing my lips t
