Delilah’s POV
“Can I help you?” he asked, his tone clipped.
“I need bell peppers, please. Three red ones.”
He selected the peppers with mechanical efficiency, dropping them into a bag without meeting my eyes. When I handed him cash, he took it like I might contaminate him, setting my change on the counter rather than placing it in my hand.
“Thanks,” I murmured, but he’d already turned away to greet his next customer with genuine warmth.
My hands trembled as I added the peppers to my basket. Maybe I was reading too much into things. Maybe the woman had been staring at something behind me. Maybe the vendor was just having a bad day.
But deep down, I knew better. This was what my life was now. Whispers and cold shoulders. Judgment from strangers who only knew the version of my story the
