The house felt different when she returned.
It was the same walls.
The same furniture.
But stripped of illusion.
She walked slowly through each room, not searching—just seeing.
Every detail held a memory.
Some good.
Some… carefully rewritten over time.
She stopped in the living room.
The place where Alejandro used to sit, speaking in calm, convincing tones about decisions, finances, “what was best.”
She could hear it still.
But now—
She understood it.
Control disguised as care.
Manipulation dressed as protection.
Lucía walked to the window and opened it.
Fresh air rushed in.
Unfiltered.
Uncontrolled.
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