Barry’s POV

The house was quiet, too quiet for my liking. Camelia had gone out to meet one of her friends, and for the first time all week, I had the space to myself. Normally, silence was something I cherished—no interruptions, no forced conversations, no sideways glances from Camelia that felt like daggers cutting straight through me. But today, the silence pressed against my chest, heavy and suffocating.

I sat in my study, nursing a glass of scotch I hadn’t touched, staring blankly at the fireplace that hadn’t been lit in months. The firewood lay stacked and neat, a silent testament to order, but the flames were missing—much like everything...