She let out a long, shaky breath, her hand trembling as she touched a photo of Diego smiling at Sofia over a bottle of vintage wine.
“I felt so crazy for so long. He made me feel like I was imagining things, like I was just a jealous, insecure wife. And all this time…”
“All this time, you were right,” I said.
She looked at me, her eyes brimming with a mixture of grief and profound gratitude. “Thank you, Miro. I don’t know why you’re doing all this for me, but… thank you.”
The urge to round the desk and pull her into my arms was almost overwhelming. I wanted to hold her until the memory of Diego was nothing but ash. I wanted to tell her that I’d been doing this because I’d loved her since I knew her, long before the word ‘stepbrother’ had ever been whispered.
But I couldn’t. Not yet. S
