The golden hues of the late afternoon sun faded into twilight, casting long shadows over the North Suburb’s gleaming high-rises.
From her vantage point near the entrance, Seraphine Mancini caught sight of Luther Harword stepping out of an elevator, Cornelia at his side.
Their arms were loaded with shopping bags from the upscale supermarket nearby. To the casual observer, they looked every bit the picture of domestic bliss. To Seraphine, it was a final, painful reminder of everything she had already lost.
Her Aunt Monica’s car pulled up just as the elevator doors slid shut behind the pair. Monica’s sharp eyes didn’t miss the scene, her lips pressing into a thin line at the sight of Luther with another woman.
She turned toward Seraphine, ready to comment, but Seraphine spoke first, her tone even.
“Mom sent gifts for you,” she said, gesturing to the truck parked nearby. “You’ll want to check the perishables. You know how she is—always overdoing things.”
Her calm demeanor masked the storm brewing beneath. Though she didn’t look toward Luther, she could feel his gaze lingering. To her surprise, he broke the silence.
“Seraphine,” he called out, his voice tinged with defensiveness, “this isn’t what it looks like. Cornelia’s old neighborhood wasn’t safe, so I helped her find a new place. I didn’t even know your aunt lived here.” He gestured vaguely at the truck. “What’s all this?”
Seraphine met his explanation with an impassive stare. “Mom wanted to restock my aunt’s pantry before we leave. Since we’re not coming back, she figured it was practical.”
Luther’s brow furrowed slightly at her choice of words but seemed relieved she wasn’t accusing him. “Not coming back? The North Suburb isn’t far. You can visit anytime.”
His casual response stung, though Seraphine let none of it show. Instead, a faint, humorless smile flickered across her lips. Luther still didn’t realize this was goodbye.
Monica, however, wasn’t as composed. Her sharp gaze flicked between Luther and Cornelia, who clung to his arm like an overplayed damsel in distress. Finally, Cornelia spoke, her voice soft and melodramatic.
“Luther, I’m so tired,” she murmured, leaning against him.
Immediately, Luther turned his attention to her, motioning for the delivery driver to pause. “I’ll get her upstairs first,” he said to no one in particular.
Seraphine stepped aside without a word, her expression unreadable as the elevator doors closed. Luther hesitated, his gaze darting to her one last time—hesitant, questioning—but she didn’t meet it.
The moment replayed in her mind, unbidden, as she stood there. Years ago, it had been her in that elevator, Luther by her side, carrying her boxes into his apartment. He had smiled at her then, full of promises for a future that now seemed like a cruel joke.
Monica sighed, breaking the heavy silence. “You’re really going through with this?”
Seraphine nodded, her voice steady but cold. “There’s nothing left to explain. If he cared, he wouldn’t leave things unresolved. He’s made his choice.”
The truck was unloaded quickly, but when Seraphine returned downstairs, Luther still hadn’t reappeared. Out of courtesy—or perhaps lingering habit—she sent him a brief message asking if he’d be back soon. The reply came moments later, not from Luther, but from Cornelia.
“Hi, Seraphine!” The voice message carried Cornelia’s saccharine tone. “Luther is helping me fix some issues here. The wiring’s ancient, and it’s a mess. You should head home—we’ll be a while. Don’t wait up!”
Seraphine’s grip tightened on her phone. Before she could close the app, another message came through.
“Oh, and please don’t misunderstand,” Cornelia added, her tone dripping with false innocence. “Luther’s just being thoughtful. He’s such a kind person, isn’t he?”
The audacity was almost laughable. Almost. Instead of replying, Seraphine silenced her phone and hailed a cab.
As the city lights streaked by in the window, her phone buzzed again. This time, it was Luther.
“Seraphine,” he began, his voice laced with accusation, “why were you so cold to Cornelia earlier? She’s my subordinate, and I was just helping her. That’s normal, isn’t it?”
Her tone remained steady, though her patience frayed. “Normal? Like how you sulked through her birthday party, claiming you didn’t feel well, and now you’re practically her personal handyman?”
Through the speaker, she could hear faint sobbing—Cornelia’s, no doubt perfectly timed.
“See? Now you’ve upset her,” Luther snapped, frustration bleeding into his words. “You’re overreacting again.”
A sharp, humorless laugh escaped Seraphine. “You’re right. I overreacted. Don’t worry—I’m already on my way home. You won’t have to deal with me anymore.”
For a moment, the line went quiet, then Luther’s voice softened. “Seraphine, don’t—”
But she ended the call before he could finish.
When the cab pulled up to her destination, Seraphine stepped out and exhaled, her breath misting in the cool evening air. The weight of her choices settled heavily on her, but it wasn’t crushing. It was liberating.
For too long, she had been Luther’s shadow—waiting, hoping, sacrificing. But no longer.
She straightened her shoulders and walked inside, her heart steeled against the pain. Soon, the world would know her not as the woman left behind, but as the one who seized control of her destiny.
