Cassandra leaned back against the wall, her eyes still fixed on the window, on the city lights beginning to flicker to life beyond the glass. “Much better,” she said.
But her tone said otherwise. It was hollow. Distant. Like she was reading lines from a script she didn’t believe in.
I studied her profile—the sharp line of her jaw, the way her hair fell across her shoulder, the tension that never quite left her body even when she was trying to relax.
“Rafael looked messed up today,” I said, testing the waters. “Lost. Impeccably disturbed.”
Her lips twitched, but it wasn’t a smile. “Did he?”
“The whole damn office felt off without you.” I paused, watching her reaction. “It felt like he was about to burn theplace down because he doesn’t know how to move through his schedule without you.”
She let out a dry chuckle, but still didn’t look at me. “I doubt that. Rafael’s smart enough to thrive without me.” Her voice dropped, something bitter creeping in. “I don’t even know why he keeps me around.”
The words hit me harder than they should have. Because I’d seen how Rafael looked at her. Trusted her. Relied on her in ways he didn’t rely on anyone else. And yet here she was, questioning her own worth like she was disposable.
Like she was nothing.
I wanted to tell her she was wrong. That Rafael would be lost without her. ThatIwould be lost without her. But the words stuck in my throat, tangled up with everything else I couldn’t say.
“Father Vincent,” I said instead, shifting gears. “What’d he tell you??”
Her shoulders tensed. Just slightly. But I caught it.
“Same old.” she said quietly, “Nothing I didn’t already know.”
I kept my face neutral, even though my pulse kicked up. “And that’s all?”
She finally turned to look at me, her brown eyes searching mine for something I couldn’t name. “Yeah, I guess. It was nice to remember a time when things were simpler.”
“Tell me about those days,” I said, my thumb brushing over her knuckles. “The orphanage. What was it like?”
Her expression softened, just a fraction. “Chaotic. Father Vincent tried his best, but Hailey and I were hell on wheels.” A real smile ghosted across her lips. “We used to sneak into the kitchen after lights out, steal cookies, leave crumbs everywhere just to watch him lose his mind the next morning.”
“Sounds like torture for the poor bastard.”
“It was.” Her smile widened. “But he never gave up on us. Even when we probably deserved it.”
I could picture it—a younger Cassandra, all sharp edges and wild energy, refusing to be tamed. It made something in my chest ache.
“You and Hailey,” I said. “You’re close.”
“She’s the only family I’ve ever had.” Her voice dropped again, the warmth fading. “We shared everything. Cheap bras. Whispered heartbreaks. First paycheck. First….” She trailed off, but I knew what she meant.
The thought of her with someone else—someone before me—shouldn’t have bothered me. But it did. It burned like acid in my veins.
“Father Vincent must’ve been relieved when you two finally left,” I said, trying to lighten the mood.
“Probably.” She looked out the window again, her reflection ghostly in the glass. “But I think he missed us, too. We were problem children, but we werehis.”
Silence settled between us, heavy and uncomfortable. I watched her face, the way her expression shifted from fond to melancholic, like she was mourning something she couldn’t get back.
Then, without warning, her smile vanished completely. Her eyes glazed over, lost in some distant memory or thought. When she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper, like the words were dragging themselves out of her against her will.
“Maybe my life would have been different if I had a family.”
The pain in those words—raw, unfiltered—hit me like a punch to the gut.
I tightened my grip on her hand. “Cassandra—”
