After midnight, the floor creaked in the same spot outside Sylvia's door.
Always the same time.
Always the same silence before the knock that never came.
She lay still, every muscle braced.
The doorknob turned. Slowly. Like a ritual.
Albert entered.
She stared at the ceiling, counting seconds.
He sat on the edge of the bed. “You're not crying anymore."
“I ran out," she said flatly.
He touched her wrist, almost gentle. “You're stronger than you look."
“That's not a compliment," she muttered.
He leaned closer. “It means I chose right."
Sylvia turned her face away.
“You'll thank me one day," he whispered.
“I'll never thank you for this."
Albert stood. “You will. When the world sees you as mine. When your child does."
Then he left.
She stared at the ceiling, unmoving, until mo
