ANTON’S POVErica did not turn around right away. She stayed where she was, facing the wall, shoulders slightly hunched, as if she were bracing herself against something invisible. For a moment, I thought she might change her mind and pull back again, retreat into silence the way she had been doing all evening.Then she spoke.“There was another time,” she said quietly. “Another incident.”The way she said it—flat, careful—made my chest tighten.I waited. I didn’t rush her. This wasn’t a story that could be forced out was also at night,” she continued. “Almost all of them were.”I shifted my weight, folding my arms loosely, giving her space. “What happened?”She sighed, long and heavy, like the breath carried years with it.“Another night,” she went on, “he woke up and realized she wasn’t beside him.”Her fingers curled tighter against her arms.“At first, he thought maybe she’d stepped outside. Or gone to the washroom. Normal things.” She paused. “But when he searched the house, she
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