Recognition.
It lasts less than a second.
Then it vanishes, replaced by his usual mildness. “Morning,” he says.
Lucía does not meet his eyes. “Morning.”
You feel the exchange like a chill across the back of your neck.
For the first time, the strange arrangement in your bed begins to rearrange itself in your mind. Until now, you have treated Lucía’s nightly presence as a problem orbiting shame, propriety, and gossip. A strange family habit. A boundary issue. Something to resent because it made your home feel absurd and your marriage feel invaded.
But now another possibility opens.
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