I don't believe

Hazel’s eyes darted to a glass window on the side of the room. Through it, she could see the room where Francisco, and she were intimated, the memory of that night flooding back with sickening clarity. She pressed her lips together, trying to keep herself from breaking down. Her voice trembled as she called out, “Rafael…”

A low groan escaped Rafael's lips as he lifted his head slowly, the movement pained and sluggish. His face was a mess of bruises, one eye swollen shut and darkened. But it was his hands that drew Hazel’s attention — one of his fingers had been cruelly severed, leaving a gruesome reminder of Francisco’s brutality. Hazel's breath caught in her throat, and she felt her stomach twist as their eyes met. The storm inside her raged, tearing her apart with guilt, fear, and a deep, aching sorrow. She hadn’t imagined it would ever come to this, not to Rafael, not like this. She quickly lowered her gaze, unable to bear the sight of him, unable to stop the tears that were wellin