Moonlight filtered through the tall windows, catching dust suspended in the air like fine ash. The room was larger than the one we sleep in now. It was another main bedroom. The bed was made, but everything was covered in a faint, even layer of dust. Like it hasn’t been disturbed in years.
My stomach tightened. This wasn’t a guest room.
This was his room.
There are framed photos on the dresser, the glass dull with neglect. I step closer slowly, pulse ticking louder in my ears.
And there he was. A much younger Raphael. He looked . . . different. He seemed softer, less guarded than the man I knew.
He was standing beside a woman with beautiful auburn hair cascading over her shoulders, her green eyes bright and laughing at something outside the frame. She’s leaning into him, and he’s looking down at her like she is the center of his world.
He was smiling. Not the restrained curve I’ve seen, but a full, unguarded smile.
This was a wedding photo.
The room feels sacred in a way that makes me step back instinctively.
This wasn’t some salacious secret. It was a wound. I didn’t know what to feel.
Jealousy flickered, quickly chased by shame. Sadness settled in its place. I’ve only ever known the version of him that carried this weight. I didn’t know there was a version that once carried joy so easily.
I swallowed and backed toward the door.
There’s still another one. My heart is already pounding when I reach it. This one felt heavier. I hesitated. Then I opened it.
The air inside was colder. The moonlight here was softer, filtered through sheer curtains that had yellowed slightly with time. The walls were pale.
And in the center of the wall is a crib. This was a nursery.
My breath left me in a rush.
There was a rocking chair in the corner. A mobile hanging above the crib, still as if it hasn’t been touched in years. Tiny folded blankets rested on a shelf. A stuffed rabbit slumped against the wall.
It’s untouched. Preserved. I took one step inside. Then another. My hip bumped lightly into a small dresser beside the door. There was a faint click. Then music filled the air. It was slow and tinny, but clearly La Vie en Rose. But it wasn't the warm, lilting version I hummed in the kitchen. This one was slower. Haunted. The melody stretches thin and delicate, echoing through the stillness of the room.
My blood ran cold. The song. The way he had commanded me to stop.
My heart dropped into my stomach.
I really didn’t know anything. Nothing about this. Nothing about her. Nothing about what happened here.
The music continues its fragile, broken lullaby, winding through the dark.
A low, rumbling voice from the doorway.
“What the fuck are you doing in here?”
24
RAPHAEL
Ireached for her in my sleep. It had become instinct now, even though it’d only been a few short weeks. My hand slid across cool sheets. Empty.
I was awake instantly.
I sat up, scanning the room. The moonlight spilled across the floor, pale and indifferent. Her side of the bed was rumpled but vacant.
Her crutches leaned where they always do against the nightstand. She had been walking without them more often. Too often.
