Millie-Rose POV
Four Years Later
The morning light in Barcelona was a soft, warm apricot color, filtering through the windows of our apartment, tinting the white walls with a blush of apricot.
If someone had told me years ago that I’d wake up here, in a quiet neighborhood beneath the shadow of the Sagrada Família, I would’ve laughed in their face.
Back then, peace was a fantasy. I used to believe that peace was for other people, for women who didn’t have to run, hide, or change their names. But here I was, standing barefoot in my kitchen, coffee brewing, sunlight spilling across the tiles, and my son’s laughter echoing down the hall.
It felt like the world had forgiven me.
“Mamá! Mamá!”
His voice was bright and impatient, the sound that kept me grounded every day.
My son. My everyt
