I took a taxi with a broken heart; I loved that job.
When the taxi stopped in front of my apartment, I got out with the cardboard box in my hands, a weight that felt more emotional than physical.
There was something humiliating about walking down the street with my belongings in a box, as if I were carrying the summary of my failure.
I climbed the stairs to my apartment, feeling my tired eyes, though I couldn’t tell if it was from exhaustion or the tears I hadn’t shed.
As soon as I pushed the door open, the smell of freshly brewed coffee and the sound of the TV greeted me.
Paulina was on the couch, legs crossed, holding a bowl of cereal.
“What are you doing here so early?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “And… still in last night’s dress?”
I didn’t answer immediately. I closed the do
