Page 10 of Shattered

Nothing had changed. Jake leaving didn’t make Delia suddenly—magically—available to me. It didn’t erase the fact that the Santoros had saved me, that wanting her had always been a betrayal of the family who’d given me everything.

The distance I’d maintained for seventeen years was still necessary. Still right. Still the only way to keep everyone safe.

I’d go back to my life. Delia would go back to hers. We’d return to our separate orbits, connected only by Daniel and occasional family events I’d continue to avoid.

This was just a temporary crisis—a moment where our paths crossed out of necessity, not choice.

And whatever I felt—whatever I’d always felt—had no place in this moment. She needed support, not someone waiting in the wings hoping for an opportunity that should never exist.

She deserved better than that—better than me using her devastation as an opening.

I repeated that to myself as I finally started the car and drove back to my empty penthouse.

CHAPTER 3

Delia

One monthafter my wedding that wasn’t, I learned that unraveling could be quiet.

No dramatic breakdowns in grocery stores. No public scenes. Just a slow, steady dissolution that happened behind closed doors, where no one had to watch.

I taught ballet to seven-year-olds who kept asking why I looked sad. I picked up illustration work I could barely focus on, missed two deadlines, and stopped checking my email. Sympathy cards piled up unopened on my kitchen counter beside takeout containers I kept forgetting to throw away.

My apartment became a cave—dark, cluttered, shrinking around me. Dishes multiplied in the sink. Laundry formed mountains on my bedroom floor. The canvas I’d set up in the corner stayed blank, accusing me every time I walked past.

Tuesday afternoon, my phone rang.

Mom’s name flashed across the screen, a jolt I wasn’t ready for. I almost didn’t answer—I was tired, still in yesterday’s clothes, hadn’t brushed my hair in two days. But the guilt of ignoring her felt worse than whatever conversation was coming.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Sweetheart! I’m so glad I caught you.” Her voice was bright, cheerful. A good day. “Tell me all about the honeymoon. Did you go to Greece like you planned? Your father and I always wanted to go to Santorini.”

My stomach dropped straight through the floor.

“Mom—”

“Oh, you must have so many pictures. I can’t wait to see them. Was it beautiful? Did Jake love it?”

The words hit like fists—hard, fast, impossible to dodge. Greece. Honeymoon. Jake. Things that didn’t happen, couldn’t happen, would never happen.

I closed my eyes and made myself breathe. “Mom, there wasn’t a honeymoon.”

“What do you mean? Of course there was. You just got married last month.”

“No.” My voice came out gentle, patient, even though my hands were shaking. “There wasn’t a wedding. Jake left. Remember? We talked about this.”

There was silence on the other end. Long enough that I checked to make sure the call hadn’t dropped, even though I knew it hadn’t.

Then, quietly: “He left?”

“Yes.”

“At the wedding?”

“Yes.”

More silence. I could hear her breathing, could picture her face as she tried to hold onto information that kept slipping away like water through her fingers.