Sofia understood without asking. The house carried the absence of a woman like a wound that refused to heal.
“Can you stay,” he asked after a long pause. “Not just tonight. I will pay you whatever you want. Just stay.”
Sofia looked down at the baby sleeping against her chest, his breathing slow and uneven. Every instinct warned her to leave, to protect herself, to avoid attachment. But his hand tightened around her finger, and she felt the weight of that trust settle into her bones.
“I will stay tonight,” she said. “We can talk in the morning.”
He nodded once and turned away.
Morning came quietly. Sofia woke on the living room couch with the baby still in her arms. She moved through the kitchen carefully and found an older woman standing by the counter, pouring coffee with rigid precision.
“You must be the new one,” the woman said without warmth. “My name is Gloria Walsh. I have worked here for years.”
“Sofia Ramirez,” Sofia replied.
Gloria’s eyes swept over her with thinly veiled disdain. “You will not last. None of them do. He does not want anyone attached to the child.”