Aldo
The silence of my office was suffocating, broken only by the soft hum of the desk lamp and the rhythmic pacing of my polished shoes on the floor. Layla perched in the chair beside my desk, her arms wrapped around herself.
Like she was holding herself together. Or perhaps shielding herself against the brute force of all that had happened. All that had still to happen.
I hated seeing her like that.
It broke something inside me.
I could only be grateful that Eli was upstairs, sound asleep and blissfully unaware of the trauma his mother and I faced alone in this room.
I hadn’t asked Layla if she’d given him something to help him sleep. I couldn’t bear to ask—to know. What kind of life was I giving my son?
“They’re getting stronger,” I muttered as I turned the corner of yet another
