A sliver of shadow. A pale cheek, the edge of an eye—watching. And then, unmistakably, the smallest, most disturbing thing: a smile. Rosa. Clara’s breath hitched. The shadow disappeared in an instant. The hallway was empty again. She blinked. Did she really see that?
The fight simmered over the next two days. Marc gave her space, sleeping in the guest room, avoiding confrontation. Clara didn’t bring it up again either—not because she believed him, but because she didn’t know how to continue the conversation without unraveling.