The silence stretched, uncomfortable and sharp. No one wanted to speak first. I could feel Delilah's eyes sweeping over each of them, searching for someone to crack, someone to admit something ugly.
Finally Jasmine exhaled through her nose, set her elbows on the table, and looked right at her.
"You think he's using us?" she said quietly. "That's not it."
Delilah's brow arched. "Then what is it, exactly? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you've all just… accepted being one of many."
"That's not fair," Nala said softly.
"Isn't it?" Delilah's voice carried an edge. "You share him. You know that. You act like it doesn't bother you, but—"
"Because it doesn't," Jasmine interrupted, her voice firm this time. "I'm not here because I need someone to own me. I'm here because he makes this place feel… normal. Like I can breathe again. I don't expect him to fix me or marry me or whatever fantasy you think we're all living in."
