When bedtime comes, you feel your pulse thudding in your throat.
Lucía appears at your bedroom door, as always, holding her folded blanket and pillow. Esteban is brushing his teeth in the bathroom. You sit on the edge of the bed pretending to untangle a necklace. She looks at you once, and that single glance carries a question.
Still tonight?
You nod.
She steps inside and places her pillow in the middle.
By the time the house goes quiet, every
nerve in you is listening.
At 1:13 a.m., the sound comes again.
Click.
This time, you are waiting for it.
A thin strip of light appears first along the bottom of the door, then slowly rises, deliberate and narrow, crawling up the opposite wall. Lucía doesn’t have to warn you—you freeze immediately. Esteban lies beyond her, turned away from both of you. His breathing sounds steady, but now that you’re fully alert, it feels too steady. Rehearsed.
The light pauses near the headboard.
Then comes the soft knock.
Tac.
Lucía shifts upward slightly, placing her head directly into its path. After two beats, the light vanishes.
A floorboard in the hallway lets out a faint, complaining creak. Then comes withdrawal—slow, controlled, intentional.
You wait.
