Chapter 90

• The house was quiet, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the floorboards. The children were upstairs asleep, their laughter and energy now replaced by a calm stillness. Rafael sat at the dining table, his head bowed and his hands clasped tightly in front of him. A cup of coffee sat untouched, its warmth fading into the cool evening air.
• Maya stood in the doorway, watching him. The lines of tension in his shoulders, the furrow of his brow—she knew he carried the weight of their family on his back. But she also carried her own burdens, ones that had grown heavier with each passing day.
• “You’re not going to drink that,” she said softly, stepping into the room.