The afternoon had taken on a lighter tone as Lena and I returned from the restaurant. Even though I still felt the weight of the stares and whispers, her contagious laughter and constant attempts to change the subject had managed to distract me—at least a little.
“So,” Lena said, pushing the front door open. “What about a movie afternoon? Nothing like a marathon of bad comedies to lift the mood.”
“Bad comedies? Your kind of bad comedies?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Of course,” she replied with a mischievous grin. “You know I’m a connoisseur of terrible cinematic choices.”
I let out a brief laugh, a genuine one, for the first time in what felt like forever. But that small moment of calm shattered as soon as we stepped into the garden and I saw her.
Morgana was there, standing in fro
