Matio Rodriguez
“I’m staying,” I said again, this time firmer, as I closed the kitchen blinds myself.
Sara stood a few feet away, arms wrapped tightly around herself, looking torn between relief and guilt.
“You don’t have to,” she said softly.
“I do,” I replied, not looking at her. “This place doesn’t feel right anymore.”
Her silence answered that for me.
She felt it too.
I set up a few measures. Quiet things. Things she didn’t need to know about — like the discreet tracker I stuck under the window
ledge, or the extra lock I fixed with the spare tools I had in my car.
I wasn’t trying to be invasive.
I was trying to protect her.
Because, for the first time since this arrangement began, this wasn’t about a deal. Or control. Or revenge.
It was about her.
And the fear I saw in he
