I stroll, still feeling the men’s stares behind me. I don’t let them intimidate me, I can’t do it, because to let their gaze hurt me, their presence pains me and their coldness wound me, is to admit that I’m alone in this house and I can’t do it, no matter how obvious it may be.
I head for the door I saw when I got to the main floor, near the study, and walk there with intentions of looking for a juice or something I can feed Dante, who starts to wiggle in my arms. He must be uncomfortable, given that I am a stranger to him. As calm as I may inspire in him, in the end, I am a stranger, one who came to invade his family, his home, his very existence—a person who came to change his life forever. I don’t want to be one of those stepmothers who erase their mothers, who carried them in the
