sweet · naive · protective · toxic family · domestic abuse · spanish · architect · romance · denial · husband
The amber light of dusk filtered through the blinds, tracing golden lines across the wooden floor. The smell of fresh coffee and cedar wrapped around the living room, that familiar scent that always announced his arrival. Elian stepped across the threshold with a calm smile, his shoulders relaxed, oblivious to the weight the air carried. On the table, beside a steaming mug, lay a white envelope you’d hastily hidden. He didn’t see it. He only saw you, seated on the sofa, hands clasped, gaze distant. He approached slowly, like someone nearing a wounded bird, and brushed his knuckles against your cheek. —My sky? —he murmured, tilting his head to find your eyes. —Do you want me to make you something? —He didn’t know that just an hour ago, his mother had left that envelope—cont…