“No,” I answered after a pause that felt longer than it should have been. “We’re not coming back.”
He nodded once, slowly, as if accepting something he didn’t fully understand but didn’t have the energy to question further.
Outside, the city continued moving, indifferent, people crossing streets, traffic lights changing, everything continuing as if nothing had shifted at all.
I looked back down at my phone, rereading the message, each word settling deeper, not as a shock but as confirmation of something unspoken.
Another message appeared almost immediately after, shorter this time, more direct, as if there was no need for explanation anymore.
“They are still at the clinic. There’s confusion. Mauricio hasn’t said anything yet.”
I exhaled slowly, my fingers tightening around the phone without realizing it, as a faint image formed in my mind despite myself.
Mauricio standing there, surrounded by his family, their certainty beginning to fracture in small, almost invisible cracks.
Ximena’s smile fading, her confidence faltering, her words from earlier echoing back in a space that suddenly felt less solid.
I imagined the silence that must have followed the doctor’s words, heavier than any argument, harder to dismiss or twist into something convenient.
And for a brief moment, I felt something close to pity, but it slipped away almost as quickly as it appeared, leaving only distance again.
The driver slowed the car as we approached a traffic light, the red glow reflecting faintly across the dashboard and onto my hands.
Everything seemed to move more slowly now, as if time itself had stretched, giving me too much space to think and not enough to escape it.
My phone vibrated once more, and this time I didn’t hesitate before opening the message.
“They’re asking if you knew. Mauricio is insisting there must be a mistake.”
A small, almost bitter breath escaped me, not quite a laugh, not quite anything else, just a reaction that didn’t fully form.
Of course he would say that, I thought, clinging to the version of reality that had always been more comfortable for him.
For years, he had chosen what to believe based on what benefited him, not what was true, and nothing had forced him to change that before.
I leaned my head back slightly, closing my eyes for a second, letting the rhythm of the car fill the space where my thoughts had been racing.
There it was, the moment I had been moving toward without fully admitting it, the quiet edge of something irreversible.
If I stayed silent, everything would collapse on its own, the truth unraveling without my involvement, without me needing to step back into that world.
If I spoke, if I confirmed what I knew, it would end any illusion immediately, but it would also pull me back into something I had just left.
I opened my eyes again, staring at the ceiling of the car, feeling the weight of both options settle in my chest with equal heaviness.
Neither felt right, neither felt clean, and yet doing nothing was also a choice that carried its own consequences.
Sofía shifted again, murmuring something in her sleep, and I adjusted her gently, focusing on the small, simple act of holding her.
Emiliano leaned slightly toward the window, tracing something invisible on the glass with his finger, his mind somewhere far from this moment.
They didn’t know the details, not yet, but they would feel whatever came next, in ways I couldn’t fully control or protect them from.
I thought about Madrid, about the life waiting there, the distance that could give us space to rebuild something quieter, something more stable.
And then I thought about the clinic, about the confusion unfolding, about the version of the story that would be told if I said nothing.
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