“I’m sorry, Adriana,” Olivia said brightly, though her tone carried only the faintest trace of guilt. “I was starving and couldn’t wait any longer.” She slipped her arm through Adriana’s and guided her toward the dining table as if everything were perfectly normal.
Adriana’s steps were slow, her ankle throbbing with every shift of weight.
When she reached the table, she stopped.
The dishes were nearly empty—just scattered scraps and cooling plates left behind. Whatever had been “cooked specially” was long gone.
She stared at the remains in silence.
A dull ache spread through her chest, heavier than the pain in her ankle. Disappointment. Hurt. Something quieter and more humiliating beneath it.
“It’s fine,” she said softly after a moment. “I’m not feeling great tonight. I’ll skip dinner. You two go ahead.”
She turned before either of them could see her expression and began making her way toward the staircase, gripping the railing for balance.
Behind her, Olivia’s voice rose in exaggerated concern. “Adriana? Are you upset because I didn’t wait for you?”
Nathanie’s low chuckle followed.
“You think too much,” he said, reaching out to pat Olivia’s head in an almost indulgent gesture. “She twisted her ankle earlier. She’s just uncomfortable.”
The easy familiarity of it—the way his hand lingered in Olivia’s hair—made Adriana pause for a split second.
She glanced back without meaning to.
Her lips parted, as if she wanted to say something.
In the end, she said nothing.
Only a quiet exhale left her as she continued upstairs and shut herself inside the master bedroom.
The silence there felt thicker.
Her mind replayed the day against her will. Olivia’s single call had been enough for Nathanie to drop everything and rush home. Meanwhile, she had limped through the hospital alone, waited alone, returned alone.
The comparison cut deep.
She shook the thought away and focused on the practical problem—her ankle.
Opening drawers and cabinets, she searched for the first-aid supplies. Minutes passed. Nothing.
Eventually, she remembered the spare medical kit that had once been placed in the guest room.
She made her way there slowly and crouched with difficulty to peer under the closet.
There it was.
Dusty. Forgotten.
Inside, she found only a small bottle of iodine—expired.
She hesitated, then took it anyway.