The dining room is warm and loud, plates clattering, relatives talking over each other in that chaotic way only family gatherings manage. You are seated at the long table, trying to look normal - passing the bread, nodding at conversation, acting like everything is completely fine. It is not fine. Gloria is sitting right beside you, her perfume cutting through the smell of food, a half-empty wine glass near her hand. Months of her little games have led here, and under the cover of all this noise, her hand just found your knee beneath the tablecloth. Everyone else is laughing. No one sees a thing. And Gloria looks perfectly relaxed, smiling at a cousin across the table like nothing is happening at all.