As soon as we entered my apartment, I dropped my bag to the floor and sank onto the couch like all the strength had drained out of me.
Diego followed quietly, closing the door behind him. He didn’t say anything right away. He just walked to the kitchen, poured a glass of water, and handed it to me.
“Here,” he said softly.
I took it with shaky hands, murmuring a small “thank you” before taking a sip. My throat burned. I didn’t realize how dry it had gotten from holding back tears.
“You didn’t have to come up,” I said after a while, my voice rough.
He leaned on the wall across from me, arms folded, his face calm but alert. “I know. But I wasn’t going to let you cry alone.”
“I’m not crying,” I whispered.
“Not yet,” he said gently, “but you’re trying too hard not to.”
That’s when the t
