I stepped into the bedroom and found her curled up on top of the covers, still in this morning’s clothes. Her hair was wild, damp at the temples. She was lying on her side, knees pulled up to her chest, her back to me.
Her body shook with quiet, controlled sobs, and my heart cracked open.
“Carmen,” I said softly, approaching the bed. “Baby.”
No answer.
I sank down beside her, careful, slow. Reached out and touched her arm. She flinched, and I stilled.
“It’s me,” I whispered, smoothing a hand down her back. “I’m here,Amore mio.”
Still nothing.
I moved around to kneel in front of her, needing to see her face. Her eyes were open but distant. Red-rimmed. She looked right through me.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “I just found out. Your mom called me. I came as fast as I could.”
Her lip trembled, but her gaze didn’t shift.
She didn’t blink.
Didn’t speak.
“I’m here,” I repeated, brushing her hair from her face. “You don’t have to say anything. I just want you to know—I’ve got you. Okay? I’ve got you.”
I tried to hold her hand. She didn’t squeeze back.
I lay down beside her, and still, she didn’t move. No matter what I said—how many times I said I loved her, or that I’d stay with her through all of it—she didn’t respond.
She just cried. Silently. The sound was so soft it was almost worse than screaming.
And I stayed. Listening and wanting nothing more than to take it all away.
But all I could do was be there.
And I was.
2:03 a.m.
The room was dark except for the muted light bleeding in through the windows. Outside, the world slept. But inside our suite, time had stalled.
She hadn’t eaten. Hadn’t slept. Barely moved.
I’d brought her soup. Toast. Tea. I offered to run a bath, to hold her, to step outside if she needed space. Nothing worked.
She just laid there, staring at the wall.
I sat at the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees, staring down at my hands. I’d always thought I’d know what to do ina moment like this. But right now, I was useless. No words. No touch. No closeness reached her.
I tried again.
“Carmen,” I whispered, brushing the back of my hand over her cheek. Her skin was warm and damp. “Just a few sips, baby. Please.”
No answer. Not even a blink.
The air conditioner clicked on with a low hum. I stared at her for a long minute before pulling my phone from my pocket.
Georgia was six hours behind.It was just past eight o’clock at night. Alyssa should be home.
