Lena stood halfway up, one hand resting lightly on the railing. The dim light caught her face just enough for me to see it—the faint curve of her lips, that small satisfied smile she thought no one noticed.
She did it.
She bought the story. She paid for it. She built the lie piece by piece.
And Vincenzo believed every word like it was truth carved in stone.
They started walking upstairs like nothing had happened.
Lena leaned into his shoulder as they went, moving slowly, almost delicately, like she was made of something fragile.
“Come to bed, amor,” she murmured softly. “I can’t stay down there another second with her.”
Noel glanced back once. Just once. His expression twisted in disgust before he lifted his chin and followed behind them.
And then the house went quiet.
I was still on the floor.
Blood on my hands. Broken pieces around me. I gathered what I could of my son with fingers that wouldn’t stop shaking, even though there was nothing whole left to hold.
Time passed after that—but I couldn’t tell how much. The world stopped feeling like it moved at all.
I never slept.