More than a whole weeks had slipped by in the same quiet rhythm - work, Mateo, weekends that blurred into outings and dinners, nights tangled in his sheets or mine, and me still carrying around this dying wish I hadn't voiced yet.

I wanted him to say it.

Not "I care about you so much."

Not "you're mine."

I wanted the three words he kept locked behind his teeth.

And every day he didn't say them, the silence grew a little heavier.

I love you. Just that and he wouldn't say it.

It was the middle of the week now, Wednesday, and I was alone in my office, legs tucked...