Something cracked inside Elisa’s chest—but she nodded.
Because she already understood.
This was goodbye.
Later that day, Elisa received an unexpected visit.
Doña Pilar.
Alejandro’s grandmother.
The elderly woman watched Lucía quietly from across the room, sorrow clouding her eyes.
“Alejandro is running,” she said softly.
“From his grief. From his guilt.”
Elisa swallowed.
“He’s tearing apart everything you built with that child,” Doña Pilar continued.
“You have what he lost long ago—the courage to feel. And that frightens him.”
Elisa looked at Lucía, who was tracing slow circles on the floor with her finger.
“I can’t stay,” she whispered.
Doña Pilar squeezed her hand.
“I know.”
That night, Elisa packed.
Each folded sweater felt like a betrayal.
When Lucía saw the suitcase, panic flooded her face.
Her breathing sped up.
Her hands trembled.
Then, for the first time in four years, Lucía spoke.
“You… lied.”
One word.
Clear.
Fragile.
Devastating.
Elisa dropped to her knees, tears spilling freely.
She had promised she wouldn’t leave.
And now she was.
As the estate prepared for a glittering Christmas party, Elisa carried Lucía to the park one last time.
The cold stung their skin.