Elena’s POV
The next few days blurred into a strange kind of quiet survival. I spent most of my time on Sofia’s couch, wrapped in a blanket.
I barely spoke. Sofia didn’t push. She brought me food, made terrible jokes about reality TV contestants, and sat with me in comfortable silence when I needed it. It was the kind of friendship that didn’t need words to feel like home.
That afternoon, a loud knock shattered the quietness. Sofia was in the kitchen making coffee. I tensed immediately, my body going rigid on the couch. No one was supposed to come here. Not yet.
Sofia peeked through the peephole, her face hardening. “It’s Victor,” she whispered, turning to me. “You don’t have to see him. I can tell him to leave.”
I sat up slowly, my heart pounding. Part of me wanted to hide. The other
