The first light of morning crept through the light blinds, painting the room in pale yellow, with images of daffodils reflecting from the curtains. Sunshine sat at the edge of the bed, he hands folded tightly in her lap, her eyes fixed on nothing.
She had not slept. Not a minute, the night had been a battlefield of thoughts--each one sharper than the last, refusing to let her rest. Vicente was the cause of her troubles.
The hitch in her plans had marched through her mind like a troop of soldiers, relentless, leaving her exhausted but wide awake.
She had tried to distract herself with work in the space, but it had not worked.
Now, her face the story her lips could not.
Her eyes were rimmed with red; the skin beneath then bruised with shadows. Her brows were furrowed, not in anger but the permanent crease of worry that had settled there overnight.
Her mouth was tight, corners pulled down as though gravity itself had grown heavier.
