There they were. Damian and Chiara, standing together in the kitchen, their presence filling the space like they had every right to be there.
The morning sunlight streamed through the window, catching the strands of her hair as his arm wrapped around her waist. Their bodies were impossibly close. Too close.
My stomach twisted violently, a cold, sick feeling spreading through me.
Damian glanced up the moment he heard me. His face paled for a heartbeat, but then he forced a calm smile. A bright lipstick stain lingered near his mouth, bold and unapologetic, as if he wanted me to see it. He hadn’t even bothered to wipe it away.
“Chiara… why are you here?” I managed to croak.
Before she could answer, Damian spoke for her. “She just wanted to come by,” he said, voice steady. “She heard you were out. Chiara helped me a lot while you… weren’t around. She visits the cemetery every year, too. Brings flowers, toys, ballet shoes. Takes care of your daughter’s grave.”
My chest constricted. My heartbeat thundered, drowning out every sound around me.