Familiar.
Her cooking.
The kitchen light was on.
Voices.
Daniela.
Héctor.
And—
Marina.
My heart stopped.
I stepped inside.
“Good,” Marina said, turning toward me with a smile. “You’re home.”
I froze.
Emiliano’s hand tightened in mine.
“You… didn’t leave,” I said.
“No,” she replied simply.
My mind stumbled.
“What?”
“The flight,” she said. “I didn’t take it.”
“Why?”
She looked at me.
And for the first time—
Her expression wasn’t perfect.
It cracked.
Just slightly.
“Because,” she said quietly, “it was never about the conference.”
Everything in the room shifted.
