She was dressed like she was the spotlight, tight, glittery evening dress, heels too high to walk in, cleavage out, lips cherry red.
Who dresses like that for a family reunion?
She looked more like the hostess than the maid.
And me? I was in jeans, sneakers, and a loose tee, dragging a heavy suitcase full of Dora’s favorite dolls and little pink things she used to love.
At that point, I wasn’t even sure who looked more like the maid, me or her.
I didn’t want to go anymore. Not like this.
But I pushed the thought away. I told myself this was about Dora. Only about Dora.
So when I saw Luca getting into the SUV, getting ready to leave without me, I snapped.
I rushed over and yanked the door open before he could even start the engine.
“No, I want to go with you,” I said, climbing in halfway.
Luca looked over at me, caught off guard, but before he could say a word, Dora, who was sitting on Maria’s lap in the passenger seat, burst into tears.
“No! I don’t wanna go with her!” she cried, her little arms wrapping around Maria’s neck like a lifeline.
Maria started patting her back gently, whispering something to calm her down, and then gave me this sweet, fake-ass smile.
“Mrs. Moretti,” she said softly, like she was doing me a favor, “how about this? You can ride with them, and I’ll wait here with Dora. Or if you’d rather…”
“No,” Luca cut her off, voice sharp. “Absolutely not.”
He turned to me, his face stiff, jaw tight. That little frown between his brows, that was his tell. He wasn’t just annoyed. He was pissed.
“Catrina,” he said in that low, cold voice of his, “be a good mom. I told you I won’t be long. But if you’re that impatient, you can always take the train.”
I stared at him. “Even on the fastest train, it’s five hours.”
He didn’t answer. Just turned back to the wheel like the conversation was over.
I stood there for a second, stunned.
Then, without a word, I pulled my suitcase back out of the SUV, dragging it across the gravel like it weighed a hundred pounds. Probably because it did.
I stepped to the side and watched as the car started to pull away.
Dora turned her little face away from the window so she wouldn’t see me.
And Maria? She smiled at me, actually waved, with this smug little look that made my blood boil.
Luca didn’t look at me at all. He kept his eyes on the road, his profile as cold and distant as ever.
For a moment, I just stood there, staring at my hand, the one still wearing the engagement ring he gave me all those years ago. I’d never taken it off. Not once. But right then… I wanted to rip it off and throw it across the driveway.
I didn’t.
Instead, I shook it off and walked back inside the house — empty, hot, and silent.
I flopped down on the sofa, pulled out my phone, and started scrolling through Instagram just to distract myself.
That’s when I saw it.
A story. Posted by Maria one minute ago.
Luca behind the wheel. That same sharp jawline, sunglasses on, looking like a damn magazine model.
Someone had already commented: “Maria, is this your boyfriend?”
I snorted. She better not answer that, I thought.
But a second later, she did.
A blushing emoji.
That was it.
What. The. Heck.
My chest tightened like I’d been sucker-punched. I felt like I couldn’t breathe.
This summer wasn’t supposed to be that hot, but right then, I was burning up inside.
I threw my phone on the table, marched over to the air conditioner, and pressed the button.
Nothing.
Electricity was out.
I looked around the sweltering, dead-silent house and muttered to myself, “Great. No AC. No lights. No husband. No daughter.”
And no damn clue how long I’d be stuck in this house.
