CHAPTER 14: LINES DRAWN
307 Words
Valeria received the notice on a Tuesday afternoon.
It came in a thick envelope, heavier than necessary, as if the paper itself carried intent. She didn’t open it right away. She set it on the kitchen counter and stared at it while the kettle boiled dry on the stove.
When she finally read it, she did so standing up.
Formal language.
Dates.
Terms that reduced her life to percentages and timelines.
Mediation scheduled.
Temporary arrangements.
No certainty.
Across the city, Lucía received a similar envelope.
She sat on the edge of the couch, Mateo playing on the floor with his cars, and read every line twice. Her lawyer’s voice echoed in her head, calm and detached.
They’re not backing down.
Lucía swallowed hard.
“Neither am I,” she whispered to the empty room.
That evening, Valeria stood in front of the mirror, adjusting her coat before leaving the house. Her reflection looked composed, deliberate—armor carefully chosen.
“You look like someone ready for war,” Tomás said gently when she arrived.
“I am,” Valeria replied. “Just not the kind that destroys me.”
He smiled, understanding more than she had explained.
Their kiss that night carried urgency—not desperation, but affirmation. As if both needed proof that something solid still existed beneath the uncertainty.
Later, lying beside him, Valeria stared at the ceiling and wondered how many lines she was willing to draw—and which ones she refused to cross.
Across the city, Lucía lay awake replaying conversations that would never happen. Explanations Andrés would never give. Apologies that would never come.
She wasn’t angry at Valeria.
She was angry at how easily men could disappear and leave women to negotiate the wreckage.
Two women.
Two kitchens.
One ghost between them.
And the first lines had finally been drawn.
- Writer
