BrightThe silence in the living room stretched after Sophia went upstairs. I could hear the echo of her footsteps, each step marking the distance opening between us. I didn’t go after her. Not because I didn’t want to, but because something inside me told me that if I did at that moment, it would all end in a greater disaster. I was angry, furious. But not only with her, also with myself.I clenched my fists tightly. The wood creaked beneath my boots as I paced back and forth in front of the window. Her voice kept ringing in my head: “He would never hurt me, never.” That never cut through me like a knife. Did she really trust Dante that much? More than she trusted me?The rage burned in my chest. Not because I wanted to control her thoughts, but because it hurt to see her defend another man with such passion, with such blind faith. I —the one who had given everything for her, who had loved her even in my darkest moments— was reduced to being the one who doubted, the one consumed by d
Sophia The silence in my parents’ room was so thick it felt like it swallowed even my thoughts. I had sat back down on the bed, pretending to be interested in the fabrics my mother was showing me, but my mind was somewhere else, on that conversation I had overheard, hidden behind the wall. Bright and Dad. Their voices kept replaying in my head, pounding like hammers: Dante… It was Dan… jealousy… Stefan. I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t accept that Bright thought that about Dante, that he would put him on the same level as the hunters, or as some nameless murderer. Dante, the one who was there when I felt broken, when I had no one else to hold me up. Rage burned inside me, mixed with a pain I didn’t know how to contain. Mom was speaking, but I wasn’t listening anymore. I moved my lips to fake a smile, nodded whenever I thought I should, but inside I was boiling. When I finally escaped the room, my heart was racing at a frantic pace. I went down the stairs barely feeling the step
BrightWe were standing in front of Sophia’s parents’ house.I knew why they had invited us. They hadn’t said it outright, but it was obvious: they wanted to protect her, to bring her back to a place they considered safe, surrounded by family. And I couldn’t blame them. After the attack, anyone would want their daughter under their roof, watched over. Yet inside me there was an almost instinctive rejection. I couldn’t allow her to go back to depending on others. It had to be me who protected her.Her mother took her upstairs with some trivial excuse about fabrics and curtains. I stayed downstairs with her father. I knew this moment would come.We sat in the living room, a couple of glasses on the table, the clock ticking with an unbearable rhythm. Her father watched me calmly, as if weighing every move, every gesture.“You’re worried,” he finally said, with that deep voice that always commanded respect.“I am,” I replied bluntly. “We can’t pretend what happened at the house was an iso
SophiaMom and Dad had invited Bright and me over for dinner. In fact, the whole pack would be there for a delicious meal, but in the guest hall. Bright’s parents, my brother and his wife, and my parents would have a private dinner in the dining room. They wanted to talk to us. Mom and Dad were worried about what had happened a few days ago at home, and they would probably suggest that we move back into their house. James was still living there with his wife, so now that things with Dad had improved a little, it was likely they wanted us to stay here again.The air in my parents’ house had always carried a different weight. The same scent of old wood, freshly brewed coffee, the flowers my mother placed in the vases every morning. But this time, when I stepped through the door with Bright, I felt that air was heavier, thick with a silence that had no way of being relieved.My mother welcomed me with a warm hug and immediately pulled me upstairs, saying she had to show me something in t
BrightThe change in Sophia was almost imperceptible at first. A faint grimace of discomfort on her face, a hand pressing against the table with more force than necessary. But I know her too well. Since I accepted being her guardian —her partner— I’ve learned to read her in every tiny detail. And that day, the moment I crossed the hallway and saw her in the kitchen, I knew something was wrong.I saw her place a hand over her belly, and my heart stopped for an instant. Fear —the one I always try to keep locked away— hit me with the force of a full-on strike. I couldn’t afford to lose control, not in front of her. But the anxiety spread like poison in my blood.“Sophia…” I said calmly, though inside I was being eaten alive by urgency.She tried to straighten, to feign normalcy. I know her. That rushed “I’m fine” was proof of the opposite. I stepped closer and brushed a strand of hair from her face, searching her eyes. And there it was, the truth: the pain, the fear, and that fragility s
SophiaThe pain began as a sharp prick, brief, just a reminder that something inside me was changing. At first, I didn’t pay much attention to it. I had learned to live with the ups and downs of my body since I found out about the pregnancy, the dizziness, the fatigue, that feeling of fragility that never matched the image I always wanted to project. But this time was different.It was a pain that didn’t fade away.I was in the kitchen, trying to make some herbal tea, when a sudden wave of heat rushed to my head, and I had to grip the counter to keep from falling. The air felt heavy, and every breath slipped away halfway, as if my lungs refused to cooperate. Fear, silent and relentless, slid into my chest and settled there.“Please… not now,” I whispered under my breath, as if I could bargain with my own body.My hand went instinctively to my belly, protective. I still hadn’t had the courage to say out loud the word that scared me the most: child. My child. And yet, with every stab of