The words never made it out.
Something slammed into me from the side. I lost my balance and hit the marble floor hard, pain shooting through my wrist on impact. The bag shifted violently, and for a second I thought I’d lose it—the urn inside almost slipping free. I pulled it back against my chest just in time, holding on like my life depended on it.
“Hey! Watch where you’re going!” I shouted, voice sharp with shock.
It was Noel.
Lena’s son. Fresh out of the hospital like nothing had happened, like a simple stomach ache was enough to bring the entire world to its knees. He looked up at me with a spoiled kind of confidence, the kind kids don’t just have—they inherit.
“Why don’t you watch where you’re going, stupid?” he shot back. “What are you even doing here?”
Vincenzo’s voice cut through the air instantly.
“Noel. Enough.”
Then his attention snapped to me, colder. “Olivia, he’s just a child. Don’t make a scene out of this.”
Lena stepped in softly, like she always did—gentle voice, careful movements, practiced innocence. Her hand rested on Vincenzo’s chest as if she belonged there.
“I’m really sorry,” she said quietly. “It’s my fault again. Noel and I can just leave.”