a dress. Get over it.” Natalia didn’t argue. She didn’t scream back. She simply picked up her purse from the patio table, turned her back on the pool, and walked toward the house with a quiet, devastating dignity.
I followed her, my wet shoes squeaking on the tile. As we passed the threshold of the house, I heard Camila mutter loudly enough for the entire patio to hear, “She acts like she’s some kind of queen. Good riddance to the drama.” Natalia didn’t pause. She didn’t even flinch. She just
