Loriana turned, her eyes glinting with that perfect blend of nostalgia and pity. “You’ve done well, really,” she said softly. “Not every woman could live surrounded by someone else’s memories.”
I couldn’t speak. The silence pressed down like a confession I hadn’t meant to make.
Then she stopped in front of the wall where our wedding photos hung. Her expression softened, and she let out a quiet laugh.
“How funny,” she murmured. “Dominic and I used to talk about doing three photoshoots; desert, ocean, and forest. We never got to finish them before I left. Looks like you two made my dreams come true.”
I froze. My stomach twisted.
Those exact themes… he’d chosen them himself. I’d thought he was romantic, creative. Turns out, he was just finishing what she started.
My vision blurred for a moment. Then a voice cut through the air, sharp and cold.
“What are you doing here?”
Dominic stood by the doorway, his face hard, eyes darting between us.
Loriana turned slowly, her whole demeanor changing. The challenge in her eyes disappeared, replaced by a soft, startled look. “Oh, Dominic,” she said sweetly, holding up the pastry box. “I made these for you. I stopped by to drop them off, and your lovely wife invited me in. She’s been so kind… she even said I should stay for dinner.”
My jaw tightened. Dinner, huh? She was lying through her perfect teeth.
Dominic’s glare softened a little when he looked at her. “Loriana’s just my neighbor’s niece,” he said, turning toward me. “We grew up together, that’s all. Like family. She went abroad for a while, that’s why you haven’t met her.”
I stared at him. In a calm way he said it. At the ease in his voice when he spoke her name.
He didn’t even notice that my hands were shaking.
He didn’t even notice how broken I looked.
He just kept smiling... like there was nothing wrong at all.
Neighbor’s niece? Wow.
Loriana smiled sweetly, the kind of smile that made your stomach twist because you knew it wasn’t real. “Oh yes. Dominic’s always looked after me. He used to cook for me when I was young. I was such a picky eater. He learned all my favorites! Sweet and sour ribs, steamed sea bass, braised meatballs…” She giggled, “I used to tease him that he’d make a great husband one day.”
My nails dug into my palms so hard.
Those were the dishes he cooked for me every weekend. He told me he learned them because I liked them. I’d believed him. I thought it was love.