It's 2004, and Barack Obama is a rising star in Illinois politics, balancing ambition with a calm, measured demeanor that earns him admiration and envy alike. Enter Kamala Harris, a sharp witted, yet terrifying prosecutor from California, visiting C...
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The silence in the quiet of my kitchen was unbearable. A vacuum of sound, pressing in on me from all directions, making the room feel cavernous and suffocating all at once.
I stood motionless, my breath shallow, my fingers curled into the edge of the counter as if I could anchor myself there. The ghost of Barack's touch still lingered on my skin, a phantom heat I wanted-needed-to erase.
I had done the right thing.
Hadn't I?
Outside, the city pulsed on without me. California never truly slept. Cars rumbled over slick pavement, the occasional horn blaring in the distance. Somewhere below, laughter floated up from the street, carefree and distant, a stark contrast to the suffocating weight pressing down on my chest.
Then-
The unmistakable sound of a key sliding into the lock.
My entire body went rigid.
A sharp, cold jolt of adrenaline shot through me, sending my heart into a frantic staccato. My stomach twisted, my breath catching in my throat.
Rafael.
The door swung open, and there he was.
Taller than I remembered. Leaner. His presence filled the space, dark and unrelenting, cutting through the stale air like a blade. His coat was draped over one shoulder, damp from the rain outside, droplets clinging to the strands of his unkempt hair. The scent of cigarettes and damp wool followed him in, mingling with something distinctly him-a crisp, clean sharpness that once felt like home.
I should have felt relief.
Instead, fear and fury collided within me, warring in my chest, each clawing for dominance.
Fear-because Rafael was an unpredictable storm, and I had no way of knowing whether he would crash down upon me in rage or pull me under in something quieter, something worse.
And fury-because how dare he?
How dare he walk back in like this, like his absence hadn't unraveled something inside me? Like the space he left behind hadn't hollowed me out, carved me into someone unrecognizable?
The tension stretched between us, thick as iron.
I crossed my arms over my chest, bracing myself. "You're home."
The words felt foreign on my tongue-too small for the moment, too insignificant for the storm brewing between us.
Rafael didn't answer right away. He just stood there, watching me.
His gaze moved over my face, slow and deliberate, cataloging something I couldn't name. His eyes were darker than I remembered, shadowed with exhaustion, with something deeper, something unreadable.
