Page 112 of Forty, Flirty & Framed

I haven't checked my phone since leaving Callum's office.

The device sits cold and silent in my purse, a ticking bomb of notifications I'm not ready to face.

Instead, I focus on putting one foot in front of the other, traversing the cracked concrete path to the front door, still wearing last night's party dress like some bizarre walk of shame.

I don't even need to knock.

The door swings open to reveal my mother, dressed in a faded housecoat, her silver-streaked dark hair pulled into a practical bun.

"I knew you would come," she says simply, opening her arms.

I collapse into her embrace, inhaling the familiar scent of cardamom and rosewater that has meant safety since childhood.

For a moment, I'm twelve again, seeking comfort after my father left, rather than forty-one and watching my career implode in real-time on social media.

"You heard?"I manage, voice muffled against her shoulder.

"Susanna called.She saw everything on the internet."Mom pulls back, examining my face with those perceptive eyes that miss nothing."Come.Inside now.You look terrible."

"Thanks, Mom.Always good for my ego."

"Ego is luxury for people without problems," she replies, leading me toward the kitchen."You have problems.No time for ego."

The kitchen is exactly as it's always been.

Worn linoleum floor.Ancient appliances.

The wall calendar still showing recipes from Armenia.

But there's an unexpected addition in it this time.

Dr.Seamus Finnegan sits at the table, spectacles perched on his nose, reading a medical journal as casually as if he lives here.

Which, based on the men's slippers by the back door and the Irish breakfast tea steeping on the counter, he might actually be doing.

"Ah, the prodigal daughter returns!"he exclaims, setting down his journal."Just in time for breakfast and global infamy.Your timing was always impeccable, Karina."

"Seamus," my mother scolds.“Be nice.She is heartbroken."

"I'm not heartbroken.”I swallow.“I’m professionally ruined.There's a difference."

"Professional ruin is temporary," Seamus says, adjusting his glasses."Heartbreak is the real devil.Especially when it involves a Highland lad with eyes like a stormy sea."

I stare at him."Have you been reading romance novels?"

"Medical journals.”He holds up his reading material."But your mother's bedside table is another matter entirely."

Mom swats him with a dishtowel."Shameless man.Sit, Karina.You need food."

Before I can argue, I'm installed at the kitchen table, a steaming mug of coffee placed before me.The familiar routine is soothing, even as my world collapses elsewhere.

"So," Seamus says conversationally, "you've become a hashtag.Several, actually.Quite impressive for a Sunday morning."

"You're tracking the hashtags?"I ask, chest tightening.

"Of course.Your mother was worried sick when Susanna called.I set up alerts on my phone."He holds up his device proudly."The internet never sleeps, and neither do grandmothers when their grandbabies are in trouble."

"I'm forty-one, not a baby," I mutter into my coffee.