It was 3 a.m. when we finally fell into each other's arms again, heads on opposite ends of the mattress like kids after a sleepover. I watched her in the dark as she fiddled with the corner of the sheet, lips moving silently like she was still rehearsing strategy.
"You're not going to sleep, are you?" I asked.
"Nope."
"Me neither."
"I thought I lost you," she whispered.
"You didn't," I said. "But I almost lost myself trying to hate a version of you that didn't exist."
Her eyes flicked to mine. "We let our guard down."
"We did."
"We won't again," she promised.
"We can't," I agreed.
And then, we fell into silence. I turned to my side, reached for her, and pulled her back to me.
"You're still shaking," I murmured into her skin.
"I'm scared," she admitted. "What if I lose the court hearing tomorrow or what if Ignacio is in this house right now?"
I didn't answer. Because he probably was. Instead, I tightened my grip around her waist and kissed the nape of her neck.
