Did you both sleep well?

The moment we stepped into the kitchen, the smell of freshly brewed coffee and something sweet hit me, but it did little to settle the storm brewing in my chest.

My mom was at the stove, humming softly to herself, her back to us as she flipped pancakes with the kind of ease that only years of practice could bring.

"¡Buenos días!" she greeted cheerfully without turning around.

"Good morning, Mamá," I managed, trying to keep my voice steady.

Zaya, ever the picture of composure, stepped forward and said, "Good morning, Mrs. Diaz."

My mom turned, her face lighting up when she saw us. "Ah, good morning, Zaya. Did you both sleep well?"

I felt my stomach drop, my cheeks immediately heating. Was that a pointed question? Or was I just paranoid? Zaya, of course, handled it effortlessly.

"Yes, thank you," she said smoothly, her tone polite but casual. "The bed was very comfortable."