Only person I ever loved… I hate her more than anything now

One Month Later

A Sunday Evening

The DiAngelo house was bathed in a golden glow, softened by the vintage bulb hanging above the solid wood table. The clock on the wall emitted a faint metallic click, announcing that it was around 7:00 PM. At this hour, as usual, Kaiser was already seated at the table. Upright, silent, his gaze distant. He wore a gray turtleneck, its thick fabric carefully hiding the still-fresh cuts on his arms. Only his palm—not even fully concealed by a bandage—betrayed the violence he had endured that night.

The room was peaceful. The only sound came from the quiet clinking of cutlery against porcelain. The scent of a golden gratin, placed at the center of the table, still lingered in the air. Hernandez sighed softly. Kaiser never broke the silence. He had come to accept it, but sometimes, the kid's complete lack of spontaneity threw him off.