Isabella's point of view

The taxi ride seemed endless. My body was tired, my legs heavy with every step, but my mind wouldn't rest. All my thoughts, all my unsettling fears, haunted me like shadows at the edges of my mind. When I arrived at my apartment, it was already dark, the sun sinking below the horizon, and the only sounds were the muffled murmurs of the street and the distant whisper of traffic. I opened the door clumsily, my hands a little shaky, and stepped inside. The apartment was so quiet it felt like it was pressing on my ears. The door closed behind me, and I stood still, my back against it, exhaling deeply. There was a moment of relief: Adrian wasn't there.

However, her absence offered no solace, only emptiness. The apartment was too large, too quiet, a hollow imitation of the home I once knew.

I threw my bag onto the sofa and bent down to kick off my heels. My legs ached, my feet were swollen, and the soft carpet beneath them felt almost unbearably familiar. I inhaled, trying to shake off the nausea that had followed me from the hospital. The smell of disinfectant had already left my nostrils, but my stomach still clenched at the thought. I walked to the kitchen, gathering some papers from the lawyer's office.

The divorce papers, the agreements, the records of our meetings... I threw them in a drawer and slammed it shut, as if locking away the memories could take away the pain. Then I saw the small, crumpled pregnancy test I'd put in my purse earlier. My hand hovered over it. A wave of panic washed over me. No. Not now. I needed control, sanity. I put it in a drawer at the back of the dresser, where no one would see it, where no one would think about it. Never seen, never mentioned.

The silence of the apartment returned, too profound. The whistling of the air through the vents, the hum of the refrigerator seemed amplified. I shuddered at the creaking of the floorboards beneath my bare feet. Adrian's absence was a strange mix of freedom and loss. I should have felt relieved, but I only felt empty.

A vibration startled me. My phone. I looked at the screen and froze. Victor. I didn't answer. I hesitated for a moment, then placed my thumb back on the edge. My heart pounding, I slumped onto the edge of the sofa and hugged my knees. I hated that his name made me tremble, that it stirred up a mixture of guilt, fear, and something I couldn't name. My pulse quickened, and I tried to control my breathing. I shouldn't hear it, should I? Distance. Space. Safety.

But even so, my mind betrayed me. I remembered the warmth of his hands, the firmness of his body, the way his voice had been both authoritative and comforting. I shook my head, trying to banish those memories. They were dangerous.

I got up and started cleaning. Things scattered on the sofa went back into the drawers; the dishes in the sink were washed and put away. The ritual of tidying up gave me a little bit of control. I took towels and put them on the shelf, hung pictures on the walls. My hands moved mechanically while thoughts crowded in: what would I do, how would I face it all, how would I get out of this impossible tangle of secrets and lies?

When I finished, I was breathing easier. My apartment seemed tidy, even serene, but that tranquility was like a trap. The silence pressed against my ears, and I had the unsettling feeling that I wasn't alone. I stopped, listening. The noise of the city filtered through the window, but beneath it, something else remained.

I walked toward the living room, half-convinced I'd imagined the feeling. Then I felt it. Something. A weight. A barely perceptible presence. My stomach tightened, and I froze halfway there, staring out the window. The reflection in the room showed me calm, empty, but something in the shadows within the shadows was pressing on my chest.

I swallowed.

"It's nothing," I whispered to myself, but the words sounded empty.

My heart pounded in my ears as I slowly approached the window, fearing and hoping it was all an illusion. I pulled back the curtain a little. Empty street. Nobody. Only the faint glow of the streetlights reflecting on the asphalt.

I let out a shaky sigh and took a step back. My hands were sweaty; I pressed them between my thighs, hoping my body would calm down. But even so, I couldn't shake the feeling of eyes watching, waiting.

Suddenly, my apartment, my home, felt like a cage. I sat on the sofa, leaning back against the cushions. My thoughts raced: Adrian. Victor. The baby. My mother. The legal mess. It was too much to bear. And yet, I couldn't stop the barrage of ideas, I couldn't stop imagining a shadow at the window, eyes scrutinizing me, waiting to burst into the life I had built.

Another vibration. My phone again. Victor. I pushed it away again, leaving it face down on the table. It wasn't just fear, it was also frustration with myself. Why did he have this power over me? Why did my body keep responding with this heat, with guilt, with longing? I covered my face with my hands. Please, stop.

Minutes passed. Or maybe hours. Time was lost in the dimness of the room. I forced myself to get up, pacing back and forth between the sofa and the kitchen.

Every sound—a door closing in the distance, a cat meowing—startled me. I always returned to the same thought: someone was outside, waiting, watching.

I tried to laugh at myself. You're tired, Isabella, I told the empty room. It's just your nerves. Just stress. But the laugh was hollow and shaky. My hands were still shaking. I stood by the counter, staring at the floor. Control. I needed control.

With each passing second, the apartment felt heavier, and every shadow a potential danger. And although I knew, logically, that I was alone, I couldn't shake the feeling that someone was out there. Watching. Waiting.

I closed the curtains completely and secured the window. The apartment was sealed, seemingly safe... but my heart didn't believe it.

The tension hung in the darkness, and I knew that whatever was out there wasn't over. I sat back down on the sofa, hugging my knees. Physically exhausted, mentally alert, I whispered:

-I can't do this. I can't... not yet.

Silence filled the room. But anxiety, the

presence, the shadows that returned... they never left.

And somehow, I had a feeling they never would.