I got home late that night.

The house was quiet — too quiet.

Mom had already gone to bed. The janitor and cook were gone. Only the faint hum of the hallway light followed me down the corridor.

I unbuttoned my blouse as I walked into my room, letting it fall to the floor beside my heels. The motions were automatic — skirt, jewelry, hairpins — each one undone without thought. But my mind wasn’t here.

It was at that restaurant.

At that table.

In a memory I hadn’t yet lived, but ...