I heard the warmth in her voice.
And I broke.
"Can you come get me?"
There was a pause.
"Where are you?"
I gave her the address.
"I'm coming."
She didn't demand an explanation.
She didn't tell me to calm down.
She simply came.
Twenty-five minutes later, her small blue car stopped beside the curb.
Lucía climbed out wearing an oversized sweater and mismatched shoes.
She took one look at my face.
"Oh, Clara."
I tried to smile.
It didn't work.
She crossed the pavement and wrapped her arms around me.
The moment her cheek touched my hair, my strength disappeared.
I cried against her shoulder while rain tapped softly against the restaurant windows.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
She pulled back.
"For what?"
"For not listening to you."
Her eyes filled.
"Don't apologize for coming home."
That night, I slept in Lucía's spare bedroom.
Or tried to.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the wine leaving Javier's glass.
