That night sleep would not come. Exactly at three o’clock I was awakened by the sound of water running in the bathroom. I frowned and thought, “Why is Daniel washing at this hour?”

However, the sound was not steady and calm; it was interrupted by strange sobs and heavy sighs, as if someone was trying to hold back pain.

I slowly got out of bed and approached the door. It was slightly open, and a yellow light streamed through the narrow crack.

I held my breath and cautiously looked inside. What I saw nearly made me lose consciousness.

Daniel was not alone. Olivia was sitting on the floor, soaked and trembling, her tears mixing with the water running across the tiles.

In front of her, on his knees, Daniel was desperately washing his hands, repeating over and over:

— “I swear… I didn’t mean to… I didn’t want to hurt you…”

The water carried dark traces down the drain that resembled blood.

I screamed:

— “Daniel! What have you done?”

He raised his pale face to me and whispered:

— “Mom… it was an accident… I lost control…”

I ran to Olivia. A deep wound gaped on her arm, but she was still breathing. With trembling fingers, I called an ambulance, feeling the minutes stretch into eternity.

Daniel was crying, confessing that he no longer recognized himself, that pressure and anger had destroyed him from within.

Olivia survived.

That same night he was arrested.

And the silence in the apartment became a heavy reminder of what had happened.