The storm had passed, but the house still held its breath. Rain dripped from the corners of the roof, steady as a clock, ticking toward something Lina couldn't name.
She stood barefoot in the hall, staring at the next page—left at her door without sound, as always. It was wet and smudged as if whoever left it had hesitated, fingers trembling.
> "He said the wrong thing at the wrong time. He said you'll never be enough. And she broke, not like glass, but like a tide—ruthless, pulled by a full moon and too many years of swallowing herself whole."
Milo found her like that. Barefoot. Pale. Her hair was damp from standing in the rain.
"Another one?" he asked.
She held it out wordlessly.
He read. Jaw tight.
"Lina," he said. "You need to stop reading these alone."
"I'm always alone when I remember things."
He stepped closer. "What did you remember?"
Her voice was brittle. "His hands. Shaking me. Not hard, but hard enough. Telling me I was destroying him. And I remember thinking—then let me."
Milo didn't flinch. "And after that?"
She shook her head. "Nothing. Just the ocean. Cold. A scream. I don't know whose."
He hesitated, then reached out and tucked a strand of wet hair behind her ear. "You're shaking."
"I'm always shaking," she whispered.
He guided her back into the kitchen. The fire in the hearth was a weak comfort, but it was something. He poured them both a glass of red—cheap, bold, burning.
They sat in silence, until Milo said, "You think it was you."
She nodded.
"I don't," he said simply.
Lina looked up. "You don't even know me."
"I know what guilt looks like. I know what performance looks like. And I've watched you enough to know you're not pretending. You're haunted, not hiding."
"You don't know what I'm capable of."
He leaned forward, elbows on knees. "Then show me. Tell me everything. Even the worst parts."
She hesitated, then began slowly. "He was cruel in small ways. Cutting. Passive. Smiling when it hurt. He never hit me, but he liked to make me beg. For his affection. For space. For silence. And I gave in. Over and over."
"Because you loved him?"
"No. Because I thought I had to. Because I thought broken love was still love."
Milo looked down at his hands. "People don't understand how much damage words can do."
"They slice deeper than fists."
He refilled their glasses. "You remember what happened that night, even if not in order. Even if not in language."
Lina's voice was soft. "What if I pushed him?"
He met her eyes. "Then we'll find out. Together. But you don't have to keep drowning in it alone."
The storm inside her quieted. Not gone. But stilled. For the first time.
Outside, the sea whispered. This time, it didn't sound like an accusation.
It sounded like a witness.