Carmen’s breath felt heavy in her chest as she slowly stood up from the bed, her heart pounding against her ribs.
Matteo hadn’t moved.
Hadn’t spoken.
He just stood there in the doorway, his small figure bathed in shadows, his brown eyes locked onto hers.
Something about the way he was staring at her—so still, so eerily calm—sent a chill crawling down her spine.
She took a slow step forward, then knelt down in front of him, her voice soft.
“Baby, what are you doing here?” she whispered. “You’re supposed to be asleep.”
Matteo didn’t answer. He just smiled. A small, slow, unnerving smile.
Carmen’s fingers tightened slightly, but she forced herself to stay calm.
She reached out, gently stroking his soft curls, trying to ground herself—trying to ground him.
“What did she do to you?” she whispered, her voice breaking.
Matteo’s smile didn’t fade. But instead of answering, he simply took a step back. Then another. And another. Carmen’s throat tightened.
“Matteo—” she started, but he turned away from her, walking down the hall.
Carmen immediately followed him, her bare feet padding softly against the cold floor. He didn’t run. Didn’t hesitate.
Just walked straight into his room, climbed into bed, and shut his eyes. Like he hadn’t just been standing in the dark, staring at her. Like none of it had happened.
Carmen stood frozen at the doorway, her body rigid with unease.
Her hands trembled at her sides.
“Something’s wrong,” she whispered to herself.
But what?
Carmen barely slept.
When she finally made her way downstairs, Matteo was already sitting at the breakfast table, eating like nothing had happened.
“Good morning, Mama!” he chirped, flashing her a bright, innocent smile.
The same smile he had always given her.
Carmen’s stomach twisted. She forced a small smile. “Morning, baby.” Matteo ate his eggs happily, humming to himself.
Marco sat at the head of the table, reading something on his phone, completely at ease.
Like everything was normal. But it wasn’t.
And Carmen couldn’t take it anymore.
After forcing herself to finish breakfast, she marched straight to Marco’s office, pushing the door open without knocking.
Marco barely looked up.
“Carmen,” he greeted, his voice neutral. Carmen shut the door behind her, crossing her arms.
“We didn’t win.”
Marco sighed, rubbing his temples.
“Carmen—”
“Last night, Matteo came into my room,” she interrupted, her voice unsteady.
That got Marco’s attention. He set his phone down, leaning back in his chair.
“Alright,” he said slowly. “And?”
Carmen’s hands curled into fists.
“And he just stood there.* Watching me.** Not saying a word. And when I asked him what was wrong, he just… he just smiled, Marco. Like—like he wasn’t even really there.”*
Marco’s brows furrowed slightly, but he didn’t look alarmed.
“Carmen, he’s been through a lot.”
“I know that,” she snapped. “But this was different. It wasn’t just him being scared, it was—”
She let out a frustrated breath, dragging her hands through her hair.
“You weren’t there. You didn’t see it.”
Marco sighed again, picking up his phone.
“He probably just couldn’t sleep and wanted to see you.”
Carmen felt rage boil inside her.
“Did you even hear a word I just said?”
“I did,” Marco said, clearly tired. “But I think you’re overanalyzing it. He’s adjusting. We need to give him time.”
Carmen’s chest ached. She wanted to believe Marco was right. She wanted to believe Matteo just had a bad night.
But in her gut?
She knew something was wrong. She stared at Marco for a long moment, then shook her head.
“You really think we won, don’t you?”
Marco held her gaze.
“Yeah,” he said simply. “I do.”
Carmen swallowed the lump in her throat, then turned on her heel and stormed out. Marco let out a sharp exhale, running a hand down his face.
“F**k,” he muttered to himself.
He hated arguing with her.
But what was he supposed to do? Matteo was finally home. Wasn’t that enough?
Then—
The office door swung open again. Marco looked up, annoyed.
“Carmen, I already told you—”
But it wasn’t Carmen. It was Luca. And the look on his face made Marco sit up straight.
Luca shut the door behind him, his expression dark, his eyes sharper than Marco had ever seen them.
He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t waste time. He grabbed Marco by the arm, pulling him forward.
“That’s not the same kid, Marco.”
Marco’s stomach dropped. His pulse spiked.
“What the hell are you talking about?” he demanded.
Luca’s grip tightened. “Matteo.”
He let the name hang in the air, thick with something cold.
“He’s not the same.”