Rafael didn’t come home until nearly midnight, the clock on the wall ticking with a slow, rhythmic pulse that mirrored my anxiety. I had settled into the curve of the couch, cocooned in a soft blanket, a bowl of golden mango slices resting on my lap. Beside me lay a script—its pages crisp and untouched—an overdue promise I had made to myself to review. The moment the door creaked open, I felt an unsettling shift in the atmosphere, a heavy weight that hinted at unspoken tensions. Rafael stepped inside, his movements deliberate and measured, as if every step he took was on a fragile thread woven between us.
I set the bowl of mangoes on the coffee table, the fruit’s sweet aroma mingling with the palpable tension in the air. “What happened?” I asked, my voice a mixture of concern and curiosit
