Luca woke up on the couch in the living room, his neck stiff and his body heavy with exhaustion. The attic memories had kept him up most of the night — the old ultrasound photo, Elena’s weak voice making him swear the promise, the stillbirth, the damaged womb, the miracle that had cost his wife her life. He had eventually stumbled downstairs and collapsed here, too drained to make it to his bed.He sat up slowly, rubbing his face.The house was quiet. Too quiet.He glanced at the clock. It was already past nine.“Valentina?” he called out, his voice rough.No answer.He stood, stretching his sore muscles, and walked toward the guest room. The door was slightly ajar. He pushed it open.The room was empty.The bed was neatly made. The closet doors were open, revealing bare hangers. The small orchid on the windowsill was still there, wilting slightly. But all of Valentina’s things were gone. The suitcase, the clothes, the few personal items she had kept here — everything had vanished.Lu
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