Mateo raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
Before I could answer, Nathan walked into the room, grabbed a mug from the counter, and poured himself some coffee. “You sure?”
I shot him a look. “Why is that everyone’s favorite question tonight?”
Nathan shrugged. “Because you look stressed.” He took a sip of his coffee, then nodded toward my phone. “How many times are you gonna check your messages?”
I sighed, gripping the mug in front of me. “She’s been busy with the bakery. That’s all.”
Nathan studied me for a second, then leaned against the counter. “And she’s letting you in on it, right?”
The words hit me square in the chest. Because the answer was…no. Not as much as she had been before. Lately, Mariana had been pulling back, little by little. Cancelling plans to stay late at the bakery. Replying later and later to texts. Answering with shorter messages. I hadn’t even noticed how much it was bothering me until now—until I sat here, letting more of my messages to her go unanswered.
Mateo must’ve seen something shift in my face because he sighed. “Look, man, I’m not saying there’s a problem. I just know you. I know how you are with the people that you love.”
Andres nodded. “You are always all in. And that’s great. But…is she doing the same?”
I didn’t have an answer for that.
Nathan’s voice was quieter this time. “Just be careful. That’s all I’m saying.”
I just picked up my phone, staring at Mariana’s last message. Something had shifted, but what the hell happened?
The night was cool, the faint scent of smoke lingering in the air from an earlier controlled burn. I let the door swing shut behind me and leaned against the railing, my fingers tapping against my phone screen.
I pulled up Mariana’s message again. Still simple. Still normal. But the more I stared at it, the more I realized…She didn’t say goodnight. She didn’t say “see you tomorrow”. She didn’t say anything that made it feel like she was thinking about me at all.
I knew all too well what it felt like when Mariana started pulling away. I’ve been here before. Shit. I ran a hand through my hair, gripping the back of my neck as a gnawing unease settled into my stomach. Had I done something wrong? I don’t think I had. But then why wouldn’t she just talk to me? Was this just Mariana being Mariana?
I knew she had a tendency to close herself off when she was stressed, but I thought we were past that. I thought she knew she could lean on me. Because I love her. And loving her means wanting to be in the trenches with her, helping her through the bad days, through the flare-ups, through the nights when her past came creeping in.
It means knowing when something is wrong—even when she won’t say it. It means feeling the shift before she even realizes she’s pulling away. She doesn’t have to do it alone; she doesn’t have to keep fighting it by herself. But, does she know that?
Does she know that when she walks into a room, my world tilts back into place? Does she know that when she leaves, something in me goes quiet—like I’m waiting for her to return before I can breathe right again? Does she know that I feel herbefore I see her? That there is no version of my life where she isn’t in it? That there never has been?
If she saw herself the way I see her, she’d never doubt a damn thing again. If she knew what it was like to love her, to be loved by her, she wouldn’t pull away. She wouldn’t question. She wouldn’t make me sit here, staring at my phone, wondering if she’s already slipping through my fingers again.
I exhaled sharply, looking down at my phone, at the last message sitting there, and before I could think too hard about it, I typed out a new one.
Sebastian
Okay, hermosa, I hope you got home okay.
I stared at the message for a long moment before pressing send. I wasn’t going to push. I wasn’t going to overthink. Maybe I was just imagining things; maybe everything was fine. Deep down, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted. And for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why.
CHAPTER 26
Mariana
The room was dark, the only sound was the slow hum of the ceiling fan above me. I lay there, unmoving, eyes open but unfocused, staring at the faint outline of the dress against the far wall.
My body felt like it belonged to someone else—heavy, aching, uncooperative. The first sliver of sunlight crept through the blinds, cutting across the sheets. It was morning. I should get up. I should be at the bakery. I should call Sebastian. I know I’m not going to do any of those things. I can’t.
A dull, throbbing ache sat deep in my joints, radiating outward like an unwelcome guest settling in. My lupus flares always start like this—slow, creeping, until suddenly, even the simplest of movements felt like war against my own body.
I squeezed my eyes shut, tears pricking at the corners, willing it to go away, but my body didn’t care about my willpower. My hands, curled loosely against the sheets, felt stiff and swollen. My knees pulsed, protesting before I even attempted to shift them. A sharp, frustrated breath escaped me.
“Please, not today,” I gritted out, my voice rough, almost desperate. I don’t have time for this today. I hate this.
