..and when he let her go, it was as if she had been filled and didn't realize it until he pulled away and the absence rushed back in.

Every night she bore witness to what she could never have. It wasn't living. It was torture.

Her heart was gasping, empty. Whatever resistance had been in her, she gave it up. Her hands knew what they wanted: They wanted Akiva, the spark and heat of him. Even in the warmth of the Moroccan spring, she was cold, as if the only thing with a chance of warming her was him.

What she had shared with Akiva could not be touched by shame. Madrigal lifted her voice to say, "We dreamed together of the world remade.