I turned to the driver and told him to bring everything straight into the kitchen. Only then did I answer, my voice flat.
“You don’t need to justify anything to me, Lorenzo. This was my mother’s decision. We’re not sure when we’ll be back, so she sent more than usual.”
The instant I spoke with that much detachment, I saw the tension ease from his shoulders. That small reaction sparked something sharp and unpleasant in my chest.
“Alright,” he said casually. “North Ridge isn’t far. If you need anything, just reach out.”
As if we were still close enough for that kind of familiarity.
What he didn’t know—and what I had no intention of correcting—was that I wasn’t here for a visit. I wasn’t leaving.
Aunt Lyra, who had been silently watching the exchange, finally spoke.
“Lorenzo,” she said carefully, “you and Sofia go back to childhood. Is this really how things stand between you now? It would be a shame to let years of history rot away because no one wants to speak honestly.”
Before he could answer, I shook my head slightly.
“There’s no confusion, Aunt Lyra,” I said. “Lorenzo has never hesitated when something truly mattered to him. If he hasn’t chosen by now, then the answer’s already clear.”