By the time Val came out of the bathroom, I was already seated at the dining table.
Aline had laid out breakfast — toast, eggs, a pot of coffee, and something that smelled like guilt and silence. She didn't ask questions. She never did. But from the way she avoided looking at either of us, I could tell she knew we weren't exactly on good terms again.
I hadn't touched my food yet.
Not because I was waiting for Val — at least, that's what I kept telling myself — but because the conversation I had with Charlie kept replaying in my head. Every word, every pause, every smug laugh. The way he'd called me son like he owned the title. Like he owned her.
The scrape of a chair snapped me out of it.
Val had taken the seat across from me. Her hair was still damp, tied back loosely, and there was something fragile about her face, a kind of exhaustion that made her look both soft and heartbreakingly human.
She tilted her head slightly. "Were you waiting for me?"
"Yes," I said.
