The silence that followed was worse.
Because it wasn’t empty.
It was… inhabited.
—
Then I heard it.
A soft sound.
A chair moving.
From the back of the house.
—
My feet moved forward on their own.
Slow.
Unsafe.
Each step felt heavier than the last.
The hallway seemed endless.
Until I arrived at the dining room.
And there…
I saw her.
—
A woman sitting with her back to us.
Gray hair gathered in a bun.
Slim.
Quiet.
As if he had been waiting for me.
—
« Doña Lupita… » I whispered.
The woman did not move immediately.
He only tilted his head slightly.
And then he spoke.
—
—You took a long time to come.
—
My heart stopped.
That voice.
I recognized her.
It was her.
—
—But… —my voice trembled— you… you died…
The woman let out a small laugh.
It wasn’t cheerful.
She was… tired.
—
—That’s what they told you.
—
He turned slowly.
And when I saw his face…
I understood everything.
—
She was not a sick woman.
She was not a forgotten woman.
She was a woman… in hiding.
—
Her eyes were light.
Lucid.
Too lucid for someone who had supposedly died a month ago.
—
« Sit down, » he said calmly. « It’s time someone told you the truth. »
—
My legs barely responded.
But I sat down.
In front of her.
—
—Diego told you this house was being remodeled… right?
I nodded.
—For eight years.
She sighed.
—Yes… eight years.
Pause.
—Eight years in which he erased me from your life.
—
I felt a chill in my chest.
-Because?
—
Doña Lupita stared at me.
—Because I know who your husband really is.
—
Silence.
Heavy.
—
« Diego didn’t want you and me to talk, » he continued. « Because I was never afraid of him. »
—I never believed his stories.
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