Gabriel did not sleep the night after the argument with Prisca.
He lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, his arms crossed behind his head, his jaw tight. Prisca had turned her back to him, pretending to sleep, but he knew she was awake. He could feel it in the stiff way she lay there, in the silence she forced between them.
The house felt too small.
Too loud.
Every sound—prisca turning in her sleep, the hum of the refrigerator, the ticking clock—felt like an accusation.
He closed his eyes.
And Victoria appeared.
Not as she had been near the end—weak, pale, tired—but as she used to be.
Smiling, calm, and steady.
The woman who believed in him when he had nothing.
Gabriel sat up suddenly, his chest tight.
“Damn it,” he whispered.
At first, Gabriel told himself this feeling was n
