The light slices across the wall. Sofia moves immediately, placing her head in its path. A soft tap follows.
Tac.
Then darkness.
Footsteps retreat.
Five minutes later, Sofia sits up. “Now,” she whispers.
You both slip out into the hallway and climb to the roof.
The night air is cold. The city stretches out in distant lights and quiet noise.
“Talk,” you say.
She wraps her blanket tighter. “It started before we moved here.”
You wait.
“At first it was small,” she says. “Mateo would come by the apartment. He was always helpful. Then one day… he stood too close. After that, comments. About my body. My face. Things that could sound harmless if I repeated them.”
“And you told David?” you ask, naming your younger brother—her husband.
She shakes her head. “I wasn’t sure. And if I was wrong… I’d destroy everything.”
She stares out over the rooftops.
“After we moved in, it got worse. One night I saw light under our door. The next night I heard footsteps. The third night…” She swallows. “The doorknob moved.”
Your stomach turns.
“I locked the door,” she says. “The next morning Mateo joked about the house making noises. I hadn’t told anyone.”
“He knew,” you whisper.
She nods.
“Why sleep in our bed?” you ask.