Ximena's POV
The house felt like a tomb the next morning.
Not the peaceful kind of quiet you get after a good night's sleep. This was the suffocating silence that follows an explosion, when everyone's still picking up the pieces and pretending they're not bleeding.
I stared at my bedroom ceiling, my skull throbbing from hours of tossing and turning. Every time I'd tried to sleep, the whole nightmare played on repeat behind my eyelids. Mom's face crumpling in shock. Anton's voice breaking when he screamed at her. The way the kitchen had felt like it was closing in on all of us.
Sunday morning stretched ahead like a punishment.
Downstairs, I could hear the soft clink of dishes and cabinet doors. Mom was in the kitchen, creating her usual soundtrack of fake normalcy. She always did this when things got too heavy to discuss. Fill the silence with busy sounds so no one had to acknowledge the elephant crushing everyone in the room.
