But something in her had gone still — not numbness, clarity.

Ryan spoke without fully looking at her. “Don’t make this awkward, Maya.”

That sentence did what three years of insults hadn’t managed to finish. It removed the last excuse she’d been making for him.

Maya opened the van door and stepped onto the curb. Hot pavement pressed through her sandals. The wine cooled against her stomach. The door slid closed, and Linda laughed again as the van pulled away, carrying the Mercers into the place they thought had agreed with them.

A security guard approached quickly — young, maybe late twenties, concern plain on his face. “Ma’am, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Maya said.