Sophia's POV
That night, I slept in the guest room.
Vito didn't stop me when I gathered my pillow and walked out of our bedroom. Maybe he was still angry about our argument. Maybe he understood that I needed space. Either way, the silence between us felt like a wall neither of us knew how to climb.
I lay awake for hours, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling while my stomach continued its dull protest. The nausea had faded, but there was still that persistent ache—like someone had their fist pressed against my insides.
It's just stress. Too much pressure. Too many lies. Too much fighting.
I'd seen it a hundred times during my residency—patients coming in with stomach pain, headaches, heart palpitations, convinced they were dying, only to discover that their bodies were simply screaming fr
