Valeria

I reached out, rubbing the empty space where Dante had been. The sheets were smooth, tucked in neatly as if he had never been there at all. His wheelchair was gone from beside the window, and the room smelled faintly of him but felt empty. He had left—no note, no warning, no goodbye.

For a while, I just sat there, staring at the spot he’d occupied last night. Everything that had happened between us replayed in my head, each moment sharp and vivid. It didn’t feel real, almost ...