Luther’s brow furrowed slightly at her choice of words but seemed relieved she wasn’t accusing him. “Not coming back? The North Suburb isn’t far. You can visit anytime.”
His casual response stung, though Seraphine let none of it show. Instead, a faint, humorless smile flickered across her lips. Luther still didn’t realize this was goodbye.
Monica, however, wasn’t as composed. Her sharp gaze flicked between Luther and Cornelia, who clung to his arm like an overplayed damsel in distress. Finally, Cornelia spoke, her voice soft and melodramatic.
“Luther, I’m so tired,” she murmured, leaning against him.
Immediately, Luther turned his attention to her, motioning for the delivery driver to pause. “I’ll get her upstairs first,” he said to no one in particular.
Seraphine stepped aside without a word, her expression unreadable as the elevator doors closed. Luther hesitated, his gaze darting to her one last time—hesitant, questioning—but she didn’t meet it.