Fortune intervened in the form of my mentor, who came to congratulate me. His joy at seeing me accepted for the scholarship warmed my chest, and he treated me to a celebratory meal.
“Italy will transform you, Toni,” he said, his smile bright as the morning sun. “I can’t wait to witness the artist you become.”
“Thank you, Professor,” I replied, my smile genuine.
His words were a balm, a spark of hope. But as I left campus and rode home, a shadow of doubt slithered into my mind.
I stared out the car window as we passed the courthouse, its looming presence a reminder of the weight that hung over me: the divorce I had yet to finalize. For a fleeting moment, I nearly told the driver to stop. But then, Lorenz’s mother flickered into my thoughts. How would she react if I acted now?
I sighed and let the moment pass.
Then my phone buzzed. Her name lit the screen.
“Toni, darling!” she chimed, her voice warm and bright. “Congratulations on your graduation! Let’s celebrate with a day of shopping, just the two of us.”
“That sounds wonderful,” I said. I directed the driver back to the manor to pick her up.
When I saw her waiting, the anger toward Lorenz softened, replaced by a quiet warmth. Despite everything, his mother had always treated me kindly. Being with her reminded me that I still had a family somewhere in this fractured world.
We wandered the shops for hours, chatting like companions of old, and she ensured I did not leave empty-handed.
While she examined a designer bag, I scrolled through my phone—and froze.
A post from Emily appeared: New York Fashion Week. Lorenz stood beside her, arms linked, smiles bright, their joy unmistakable.
The caption read, [So happy 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 Lorenz’s mother noticed my tension. “Toni, dear, are you alright?” she asked, concern in her eyes.
I forced a calm smile. “Yes, I’m fine. Did you find something you liked, Mom?”
“I did. And I picked one for you, too. I hope you’ll enjoy it,” she said, handing me a shopping bag.
“Of course, thank you. Truly,” I replied, the warmth of her gesture cutting through my bitterness.
Returning home, the manor felt emptier than ever. Lorenz did not return that night, nor the next. I tried to distract myself, but a persistent unease kept me restless.