Matio Rodriguez
I signed the contract like I was sealing a door I no longer cared to open again.
The Paris deal had been years in the making.
But none of it felt right.
None of it felt important.
Because somewhere between late-night meetings and early-morning silence, my mother’s voice had started echoing in my head
again.
“She seemed unsettled.”
And suddenly, all I could see was Sara.
Standing in that bakery. Holding those flowers. Thinking they were from me.
And the part that hurt the most?
She wanted them to be.
She wanted to believe I was still reaching for her.
And I hadn’t been.
Until now.
The plane touched down earlier than scheduled.
No press. No driver. No Rodriguez-level fanfare.
Just me and a black coat, walking through Akika’s quiet streets before dawn.
The s
