I watch anxiously, my heart heavy with sorrow and apprehension, as Corazon, adorned with confidence that borders on arrogance, addresses Knox.
"Knox," Corazon's voice rings out, firm and unwavering, "Aren’t you gonna invite us inside? I hope you can ‘cause we traveled long hours to discuss something important."
Something important.
I know all too well what that "something" is – it’s me. My presence, my existence, an unwanted reminder of a past shrouded in darkness and pain.
Knox, his expression showing discomfort and resignation, glances sideways, his gaze briefly meeting mine before he steps aside beside me, allowing Corazon and Reynaldo passage into the opulent interior of his home. It’s a gesture born out of respect, perhaps tinged with a hint of obligation to entertain the unexpec
