But his hands are burning through the thin fabric of my shirt, and my treacherous body remembers every single place those hands have touched, every single way they’ve ever made me come apart.
His eyes are blue in the dark. They don’t blink or waver. They just watch. They just wait.
Sofiya’s cries grow more insistent, breaking the spell. We both move toward her door, still too close, still brushing against each other in the narrow hallway.
“Mama!” Sofiya sobs when we enter, her little face red and tear-streaked. “Papa!”
Vince reaches her first, lifting her from the crib with such naked tenderness that I have to look away. It hurts too much to see him be kind.
“Nightmare, solnishka?” he murmurs, pressing his lips to her forehead and humming under his breath.
I stand frozen. Hating him.
