When I got back home, the apartment felt heavier than ever, like even the air had given up. I hugged my mother’s worn sweater tightly against my chest and slid down to the floor, crying until my throat felt raw and useless.
I didn’t know how long I stayed there.
Maybe hours. Maybe the whole night.
Then the door opened.
Julian walked in like nothing had happened in the world.
“Aria?” he called casually, almost cheerful. “I brought you something—Grandma said you might like it.”
He came in holding shopping bags—expensive brands, perfumes, clothes I used to love once, back when life still felt normal.
He didn’t even glance at my face properly. Didn’t notice my swollen eyes. Didn’t see how drained I looked. The funeral card was still on the table, but it didn’t register to him.
Instead, he smiled like everything was fine. “I missed you.”
I just stared at him.
He dropped onto the couch and casually pulled out wedding brochures like we were talking about dinner plans. “So… garden wedding or hotel ballroom? Grandma wants us to decide soon.”