A Safe Place
That evening, Rodrigo drove her through wrought-iron gates, past jacaranda trees and manicured gardens.
The guesthouse was warm and welcoming, larger than any home she had ever lived in.
“This is too much,” she murmured.
“It’s temporary,” he replied, though something in his voice hinted otherwise.
Inside, the cupboards were stocked, the bedroom cozy, clothes neatly hung in the closet. Some were maternity dresses.
Luciana realized with a start—Marina must have once stayed here.
Tears filled her eyes as she whispered to her unborn child:
“Maybe our luck is finally changing.”
