A small pause followed that name.
Señor Rafael.
Even hearing it spoken aloud made something in my chest tighten faintly.
I hoped so.
I wasn’t sure why it mattered so much that he would be pleased.
But it did.
Once everything was ready, I turned slightly toward where I knew Maria stood.
“Could you please go to Rafael’s study and tell him dinner is ready?” I asked politely. Then, after a brief hesitation I couldn’t quite hide, I added, “And that... I have a surprise for him.”
My fingers tightened faintly around the edge of the counter as soon as the words left my mouth.
“Of course, señora.”
Maria’s voice carried that familiar respectful tone, followed by a faint bow I could hear more than see.
Her footsteps retreated quickly after that, the soft click of the door marking her departure and leaving the kitchen quieter than before.
For a moment, I just stood there.
Still.
Listening to the house settle around me again.
Then I moved.
I served three plates with careful, deliberate hands—slowing down more than necessary, not because I doubted myself, but because I refused to let even a single detail slip.
My fingertips traced the edges of each dish, checking boundaries, confirming placement through texture and temperature rather than sight.
One for me.
One for Tess.
One for Rafael.
He had said it once during our last real conversation in this house—that we should begin sharing breakfast and spend the evenings playing games together, like a real couple.
Yet after that night, he never acted on it.
Not once.
No breakfast together.
No games in the evening.
No follow-through at all.
He barely spoke to me anymore, and when he did, it was clipped and distant, as though even ordinary conversation had become something to ration.
Most mornings he was already gone before I fully woke. The house would feel emptier than it should, even with Tess’s presence beside me.
Most evenings, he returned late or finished eating separately.
