NATALIA
I lay on my back in the darkness with my eyes open, staring at the ceiling, and the house was completely quiet around me except for the occasional distant sound of the night staff moving through the lower floors. I had turned off the lamp an hour ago, maybe two, telling myself that if I just lay still long enough my mind would eventually tire itself out and let me rest.
It wasn't working.
Robert's face kept coming back to me. Not the smug, calculating face I had seen in our bedroom on my birthday, and not the performed remorse of the man who had knelt in my office. Something in between. The face from the kitchen earlier that evening, slightly uncertain, hoping he had done something right.
The blood on his finger.
The way he had reached for the knife again anyway.
I turned ont
