Chapter 14
LORETTA
The first thing I became aware of was the smell.
Sterile. Antiseptic.
Beneath it, something faintly metallic lingered in the air, mingling with the rhythmic beeping of machines.
I didn’t move at first.
My body felt heavy, like I was sinking into the hospital bed rather than lying on top of it.
Every limb carried the dull weight of anesthesia.
My tongue was dry, my throat tight, and there was a strange distance between my thoughts and my ability to act on them.
I had agreed to it—the eye surgery.
And now I was here.
In the recovery space. The procedure already done.
That realization settled cautiously, like something fragile I was afraid to touch too quickly in case it shattered.
My eyes remained tightly shut, my lashes pressed firmly together, as if holding back whatever waited on the other side.
My fingers twitched slightly against the bedsheet, gripping the fabric.
It was crisp and real.
A week ago, I hadn’t even believed I would be here.
I had resisted for so long.
But then... that night.
The night I broke.
The memory of Rafael’s arms around me surfaced—firm, steady. He hadn’t spoken much, but he hadn’t let go either.
For the first time in a long time, I hadn’t felt alone in the dark.
Something in me had shifted after that.
The darkness stopped feeling like protection.
It started feeling like a cage.
And I couldn’t breathe in it anymore.
I wanted more.
I wanted to see Tess’s face when she laughed instead of imagining it from the sound of her voice.
I wanted to know what the sky looked like now, whether it still felt as endless as I remembered.
And... if I allowed myself to be honest—
I wanted to see him.
Rafael.
The man who existed for me only in fragments—his voice, deep and controlled.
The faint, clean scent that lingered whenever he was close.
The rare, deliberate touches that always felt more intentional than accidental.
I wanted to put a face to the man who had somehow found his way past every wall I had built.
“Miss Loretta, congratulations.”
The voice pulled me back into the present.
Ramiro.
I recognized him instantly.
There was always something reassuring about the way he spoke, like he chose his words carefully.
But it wasn’t the voice I had expected.
A flicker of confusion passed through me.
Rafael and I had come to the hospital together. I remembered him there—his presence quiet, controlled, unmistakable even when he said nothing.
So where was he now?
“Can I... open my eyes?” I asked, my voice coming out rough, barely above a whisper.
Ramiro let out a soft breath, almost like a relieved chuckle. “Of course you can. The doctor assured us everything went perfectly. The procedure was successful.”
Successful.
The word echoed in my chest, heavy and unreal.
My heart began to pound, fast and uneven, climbing up into my throat until it felt hard to swallow around it.
I hesitated, fear tightening its grip again.
What if it wasn’t?
What if I opened them and saw nothing?
I pushed myself upright first, moving slowly.
The bed shifted beneath me, sheets rustling loudly in the quiet room.
A slow breath filled my lungs. Then another.
My hands curled slightly into the fabric at my sides as I gathered what little courage I had left.
Then, carefully—
I opened my eyes.
At first, there was nothing but light.
Soft and diffused—gentle enough not to hurt
I flinched instinctively, blinking rapidly as my vision struggled to adjust.
Shapes blurred in and out, colors bleeding into each other like wet paint.
But then—
It began to settle.
Edges sharpened. Forms took shape.
And suddenly—
I could see.
The realization hit me like a quiet explosion.
The room unfolded around me in pieces.
Pale blue walls. A large window veiled by thin blinds, letting in filtered daylight that spilled softly across the floor.
The glow of machines—green and blue lights blinking in steady rhythms.
An IV stand beside me, the clear bag hanging nearly empty.
Everything looked... clean.
Almost too perfect in its order.
And yet, to me, it was overwhelming.
My gaze moved slowly, drinking everything in with an almost desperate hunger, afraid it might disappear if I didn’t take it all in quickly enough.
Then—
I saw him.
Ramiro.
And I froze.
For a moment, my mind refused to connect what I was seeing with what I had imagined for so long.
He was... different.
Taller than I expected. Broad-shouldered, standing with a kind of quiet confidence that filled the space around him without effort.
His suit was black—perfectly tailored, fitting him like it had been made specifically for him.
His hair was dark, neatly styled, not a strand out of place.
But it was his face that caught me off guard.
Younger than I had pictured.
His features were defined, his expression open and sincere.
And his smile—wide, genuine—reached all the way to his eyes.
Eyes that were watching me now with unmistakable relief.
“You can see,” he said softly, like he didn’t want to overwhelm me.
I blinked again, my vision still adjusting, but steady.
“I...” My voice faltered, emotion tightening my chest. “I can.”
The words felt fragile leaving my lips, like they didn’t fully belong to me yet.
But they were real.
This was real.
A strange, overwhelming mix of emotions surged through me—relief, disbelief, something dangerously close to joy.
“I’m glad you can see again,” he said.
Ramiro lifted one hand, giving a small, almost playful wave in front of me—subtle, but deliberate. Testing me.
Testing it.
My gaze followed the movement instinctively, tracking the arc of his fingers through the air.
The motion was simple, but the fact that I could see it—clearly, effortlessly—sent a strange, almost disorienting thrill through me.
“I can,” I murmured, more to myself than to him.
I nodded, still trying to anchor myself in this new reality, then slowly swung my legs over the side of the bed.
My feet touched the floor, cool and solid beneath me.
Grounding.
I turned fully toward him.
Everything felt... sharper now. Not just visually, but mentally. Like the world had edges again.
“Thank you, Ramiro,” I said, meaning it. My voice steadied slightly. “Where is Rafael?”
The shift in him was immediate.
It was so subtle I might have missed it if I couldn’t see now—but it was there.
His smile dimmed, the warmth in his expression cooling into something more controlled.
“He went to Zara’s grave,” Ramiro said after a brief pause. “To talk.”
My brows drew together. “To talk?”
He inclined his head slightly, as if weighing how much to say. “He does that when the nightmares hit him... harder than usual. When they don’t let him sleep.”
I stared at him, trying to make sense of it. “So let me get this straight—he sits in front of her grave and talks to... what? Empty air?”
“If you want to put it that way,” Ramiro replied evenly. “Yes.”
There was no mockery in his tone. No judgment. Just quiet acceptance.
“But he doesn’t see it as empty,” he continued. “He believes that even though her body is buried, she can still hear him.”
I let out a short breath, something between disbelief and unease. My fingers curled slightly at my sides.
“That sounds...” I hesitated, searching for the right word. “Unhealthy.”
“It might be,” Ramiro said without defensiveness. “But it’s the only thing that gives him any kind of relief.”
I studied his face, watching the way his jaw tightened just slightly, the way his gaze shifted—not avoiding mine, but not fully holding it either.
“We tried everything after Zara died,” he added, his voice quieter now, but firm. “Therapists. Psychologists. Grief counselors. Even a renowned psychiatrist who specializes in trauma. Nothing worked.”
There was weight behind the words—like something still unresolved, still bleeding under time.
“It’s hard to understand why her death affected Rafael that deeply,” he continued. “From what I saw during their marriage, there was no love between them. At least not in the way people assume.”
He hesitated, choosing his words carefully.
“But there was something else. Something unspoken. A kind of bond... or agreement. I never fully understood it. Whatever it was, it kept him tied to her through everything—the first years of their marriage, and especially after she became ill. He never left her side.”
His gaze lowered slightly, as though replaying things he wished he could make sense of.
“After she died, the silence in the house was deafening. He’d sit in her room for hours, staring at the empty bed, replaying every moment like it was his fault.”
A pause.
“I tried to investigate,” he continued quietly, “especially when I saw the pain you’ve been going through in this marriage... knowing Rafael’s heart still seems anchored to Zara. But no one was willing to talk.”
His voice tightened slightly as he went on.
“I even flew to New York and spoke with Zara’s elder sister, but she refused—shut the door in my face the moment I mentioned Zara’s marriage to Rafael.”
His voice lowered further, more intent now.
“She knows something. I’m certain of it. I’m still investigating. There’s more to their union than any of us realized. Whatever secret they protected, it’s the key to understanding why her death still haunts him like a ghost he can’t outrun.”
A secret?
Silence stretched between us.
I swallowed, the earlier lightness I had felt beginning to dim under the weight of his words.
A dull ache settled deep inside me, familiar in a way I didn’t like.
Because I understood loss.
Maybe not like his—but enough.
“Can you take me to him?” I asked quietly.
Ramiro shook his head. “No.”
The firmness of it caught me off guard.
“He wouldn’t like that,” he added, his tone softening just slightly, but not enough to invite argument. “Rafael doesn’t allow anyone to see him like that. Not when he’s... vulnerable.”
“Vulnerable?” I repeated, something sharper creeping into my voice. “Talking to a grave isn’t vulnerability, Ramiro. It’s—”