Elena lasted until the middle of the second night.

Victoria had gone to bed early. The house had settled into the deep quiet that only came after midnight. Elena lay on her back in the dark, staring at the ceiling, tracking the dull throb of every bruise and the hollow place the distance had opened in her chest. Sleep would not come. The argument still sat in the room like a third presence—his calm refusal to be the one who ended it, her own raw admission that she did not know how to stop.

She got up.

The hallway was dark. She stopped outside the master bedroom door and listened....