For a second after Elisa's final words, the room didn't breathe.
Then Marcus did.
A single, sharp inhale—like a man surfacing from drowning—
followed by the violent sound of something snapping inside him.
The lamp shattered first.
His fist went through it without hesitation, glass raining across the carpet like spilled stars. Elisa flinched, but Marcus didn't even feel the shards slicing his knuckles. His entire body was shaking—not from pain, but from betrayal so deep it felt carved into bone.
His chest heaved once.
Then he tore the drawer from the nightstand and slammed it against the wall so hard the wood split like a brittle ribcage. The framed photographs on the dresser clattered to the floor, faces of a family pretending to be whole.
"Marcus—figlio—" Elisa rushed forward, her hands trembling as she tried to grab his arm.
