Anastasia sat by the pool, her leg dangling in the water. It had been a week already since the incident. And in those seven days, the house became a ticking clock with a broken chime.
By the fifth door, she had stopped hearing the lock click behind Matteo after his infrequent visits.
He hadn't slept in their bed. He hadn't spoken. He simply appeared in the doorway at odd hours of the night.
He didn't seem to care after cleaning her up. Even though he strapped a pad on her panties when he couldn't figure out if she used tampons or pads. Yet, Anastasia was too drained, and full of hatred to pay attention to any of that.
She never bothered about stepping outside the room. It had become her sanctuary. Where she could wallow in the guilt of Raquel's life.
She had been the one to reach for the phone... she was the one who had pulled the trigger. She snatched a mother away from her daughter.
