I looked at the gas station lights.
At the reflection of my own face in the windshield.
I barely recognized the man staring back.
“We go home,” I said.
The drive back felt longer than it should have.
Every turn.
Every stoplight.
Every second stretched.
By the time we reached the house, the sky had darkened.
The porch light was on.
That small detail made my stomach twist.
Marina always turned it on when I was late.
Out of habit.
Out of care.
Or—
Out of something else?
I parked.
Turned to Emiliano.
“Stay close to me,” I said.
He nodded.
We stepped out together.
The house looked the same.
Everything looked the same.
And yet—
Nothing felt the same.
I opened the door.
Slowly.
Carefully.
The smell hit me first.
Something sweet.
