Roberto woke to an empty bed. The sheets beside him were cool, her absence stark in the early morning stillness. He turned onto his back, staring at the ceiling as he processed what had happened. She was gone. He didn’t need to check the rest of the apartment to confirm it; the silence said everything.
She’d waited until he was asleep to leave, slipping out like a thief in the night.
Anger and relief warred within him. He wasn’t sure whether to be pissed that she’d left without a word or grateful that she’d spared him the awkward goodbye. Their conversation last night had pushed her too far—that much was clear. But how could it not? He’d seen the shadows in her eyes, the weight she carried. And those bruises. His fists clenched just thinking about them, ghostly marks that whispered of a
