Chapter 350

[ 1,039 words ]

Delia’s POV

My father stood in the middle of the room and said nothing.

I cried until I didn’t have anything left to cry with, and then I sat up and wiped my face with the back of my hand, and Martha handed me a tissue from the box on the side table without being asked.

“Why are you here at this hour?” she said, gently but directly, the way Martha asked things when she already suspected the answer wasn’t going to be simple. “What happened to you p>

“Katia threw me out,” I said.

Martha blinked. “She what p>

“Katia threw me out of the house,” I said. “She told us both to leave, and Julian just, he just picked up his jacket and walked out, no argument, nothing, like it was nothing at all. And I told her she had no right; I told her I wasn’t going anywhere, and she called security on me. Two men walked me out the front door. I didn’t even get to pack anything; I had no time. They just took me out.” My voice cracked on the last part. “She threw Julian out too. And he left without even looking back at me p>

My mother stared at me.

My father cleared his throat.

“Why would Katia throw you out of your husband’s house?” he said. “Your husband’s house is your house. How is that even possible p>

“I don’t know,” I said, which was not entirely true but was the only version of the truth I could manage at midnight with mascara on my chin and no clean clothes to change into.

“She even threw Julian out,” I said. “I just don’t know what is going on anymore. I don’t understand any of it p>

My father was quiet for a moment, his hands in the pockets of his dressing gown, his eyes moving across my face with the look he had when he was about to say something he had been sitting on for longer than tonight.

“This goes back to the question we asked you at Katia’s penthouse,” he said. “The question none of us got an answer to. Delia, is Julian really your husband p>

I looked up at him.

“Have you ever shared a bed with that man?” he said, and his voice was not unkind, but it was not going to let me out of the question either. “Because I have sat across from him at more dinners than I can count, and I have never once seen him warm up to you. Not the way a husband warms to a wife. Not the way a man looks at a woman he has chosen. That man has always been distant with you, and I noticed it the first time I met him, and I told myself it wasn’t my business, and now my daughter is on my sofa at midnight in yesterday’s dress with nothing in her hands, and I think it is my business. Is he your husband p>

The question sat in the room exactly the way it had sat at Katia’s penthouse, heavy and unanswered, the kind of question that didn’t get smaller the longer you left it.

“That’s not important right now,” I said. “What is important is that I’ve been thrown out of my own home and I have nothing, not even a toothbrush, and I need to figure out how to get back in p>

“Delia p>

“I’ll go back,” I said to my mother more than my father now, because my mother was the one still sitting beside me, and my father was the one asking questions I didn’t have answers to. “I’ll go back in the morning. I’ll say I’m going to collect my things. That’s all I need, just a reason to get back through the door, and then I can figure out the rest from the inside p>

My father looked at my mother, the look they exchanged across a room when they had both decided something but had not yet agreed on who was going to say it, and then, without another word, he turned and walked out of the front room, his footsteps moving down the hall toward the bedroom, the sound of a man who had run out of questions for one evening.

Martha watched him go.

Then she turned back to me, and her face had settled into something tired and careful, the face of a woman who had her own thoughts about what she had just heard and had decided tonight was not the night to say them.

“Okay,” she said quietly. “Go to sleep. We’ll talk in the morning p>

I nodded because there was nothing left to say and walked down the hall to my childhood bedroom, the room I had spent years trying to leave behind, and pushed open the door.

The morning sun hit my face, but I felt no warmth. I sat up in the stiff sheets of my childhood bed, my head throbbing with the memories of the night before. I did not bother with coffee or breakfast. I walked downstairs to find Martha and David sitting at the breakfast table, their faces tight with concern and pity.

“Delia, sit and have something to eat,” Martha said, her voice soft.

“I need to go back,” I cut her off. I did not listen to their protests. I grabbed the keys to Martha’s car from the hook by the door and walked out into the biting morning air. I drove toward Manhattan, my knuckles white against the steering wheel. Every mile brought more fury, more desperation. I had to fix this. I had to reclaim what was mine.

When I arrived at the mansion, my stomach dropped. Workers were hauling bags out of the front door, tossing them onto the lawn like trash. They were my things. Every silk dress, every pair of heels, every piece of jewelry I had carefully curated for two years was being treated like refuse. Katia emerged from the house, gesturing for them to load the clothes into a waiting car. I slammed the door of my mother’s car and rushed over, my heart hammering.

“Katia, what is this?” I screamed, my voice cracking under the weight of the humiliation.

If you find any errors (non-standard content, ads redirect, broken links, etc Please let us know so we can fix it as soon as possible.