The silence after Amina stormed out was worse than any scream could have been.
For the next three days, the house on Maple Lane felt like a tomb. The rain had returned with a vengeance, drumming steadily against the roof as if the sky itself was mourning what we had broken. Elias and I moved through the rooms like ghosts — speaking in hushed voices, avoiding the spaces heavy with memories that now felt poisoned.
The kitchen island where he had bent me over and f****d me while Amina slept upstairs. The living room couch where we had watched movies pretending to be a normal family. The hallway where he had pressed me against the wall and taken me with desperate, filthy hunger. Every corner whispered accusations I couldn’t escape.
Elias was clingier than ever, as if physical closeness coul
