Her smile lingers for a moment before she gently squeezes my arm and her expression softens just a little.
“Go get some rest,” she says, warm but firm, then turns toward her room and disappears down the hall.
Only once she’s gone do I unlock my door, slip inside, and close it firmly behind me—locking the world out.
I lean against the door, my body sagging under the weight of everything I’ve been holding back.
My legs give out, and I slide down to the floor, breath shallow, chest tight, every limb trembling.
Exhausted. Hollow. Shaking.
It’s the first time I’ve ever come undone like this in front of someone else—especially a colleague. These past few days… they’ve been too much, too fast.
My defenses are crumbling, and I can’t put the pieces back together by the time they break apart again.
How could I have been so naive to think I could come back to Chicago, walk these streets, and not have the past come for me?
* * *
The sun filters through the hotel curtains, too bright, too harsh.
My head is heavy, but it’s manageable. What isn’t is the dull pressure in my chest—persistent, familiar.
I sit up, moving carefully, my body still tense from everything I carried last night.
I take a long shower, standing under the hot water until the heat burns my skin. It doesn’t wash away the weight. Nothing does.
But I still have to show up today. Still have to play the part.
I catch my reflection in the mirror as I dry my hair.
Pale skin. Shadowed eyes. A bit worn down—but nothing I can’t work with.
This isn’t new.
I know how to fix it. I’ve had years of practice.
I pause, watching myself in the mirror for a moment longer. Then, almost out of habit, I mutter under my breath:
“Four more days, Della. Then this city, these days… all of it stays behind the ocean.”
I say it plainly, not as a comfort—just as a fact.
I dress carefully, pulling on my usual armor—sleek business skirt, soft blouse, heels just high enough to make me feel steady. I tie my hair back tightly, taming every strand I can. Order. Control.
A few stubborn curls escape anyway. They always do.
Before I leave the room, I stop by the mirror for one last look.
Chin lifted. Shoulders squared. Mask in place.
I straighten my posture, smooth my hair, and push everything else aside.
I grab my bag, ready to face another day.
* * *
Downstairs, Adriana is already at a table near the window, her coffee halfway gone. She spots me right away, her gaze lingering just a little longer than usual.
