His words soothed me, a spark of hope in a world that had often felt unkind. But as I left the academy and drove home, a shadow of doubt crept back in.
I watched the courthouse pass by from the car window, a looming reminder of the pending divorce I had yet to finalize. For a fleeting second, I considered ordering the driver to stop, to take action immediately. But the thought of Zaldy’s mother—the formidable matriarch—stopped me. How would she react if I acted rashly?
I exhaled, letting the hesitation pass.
Then my phone buzzed. Her name appeared on the screen.
“Sami, darling!” she chimed, her voice warm and melodic. “Congratulations! You’ve worked so hard. Let’s celebrate—just you and me, a proper day of shopping.”
“That sounds wonderful,” I said, directing the driver back to the manor to pick her up.
When I saw her waiting, anger toward Zaldy softened, replaced by a quiet warmth. Despite everything, his mother had always treated me with kindness. Being with her reminded me that I still had a place in a family somewhere in this fractured world.
We spent hours wandering the shops, chatting like companions from a simpler time, and she ensured I didn’t leave empty-handed.
While she examined a designer bag, I scrolled through my phone—and froze.
A post from Maria appeared: New York Fashion Week. Zaldy stood beside her, arm linked with hers, both smiling as if nothing in the world existed beyond the frame.
The caption read: [So glad to be here again this year, especially with someone you love.]
My chest tightened. So that was why he had skipped my graduation.
My fingers clenched the phone as Zaldy’s mother noticed my tension.
“Sami, dear, are you alright?” she asked, concern etched in her features.
I forced a calm smile. “Yes, I’m fine. Did you find something you liked?”
“I did. And I picked one for you, too. I hope you’ll enjoy it,” she said, handing me a bag.
“Thank you, truly,” I replied, letting the warmth of her gesture cut through my bitterness.
Back at the manor, the emptiness pressed heavier than ever. Zaldy did not return that night, nor the next. I tried to distract myself, but a persistent unease left me restless.
Days later, another post: Maria in Paris for Fashion Week. And there he was, by her side again—his posture protective, his gaze devoted, his smile reserved entirely for her.