Cora holds her gaze for a moment before adding:
“If you say Rebeca seemed upset… maybe she hasn’t forgotten what happened—that’s true.”
Martina looks down at the photographs resting on the table. The anonymous faces, the weathered hands, the worn nets… Before her, she sees other people’s stories that have always been easier for her to capture than her own.
“That’s clear,” she replies a little later.
Cora picks up another photograph and places it next to the previous one.
“Anyway, let’s get back to this,” Cora suggests. “If we want to finalize the selection for next week’s feature, we have to decide which images make the cut and which ones don’t.”
Martina nods.
She leans over the table and begins reviewing the proofs. The images start to make sense as she and Cora place the photographs side by side.
“I think this one has more narrative power,” she says, pointing to an image of an elderly man holding a worn net in his hands. “But the light in this other one is much more interesting.”
Martina examines both carefully.
“The first one tells us more about the story,” Martina replies, flashing a small smile. “That man’s gaze says so much.”
Cora nods.
“That’s what I was thinking.”
For several minutes, they work side by side at the table, moving photographs around, comparing frames, and jotting down notes on a selection sheet. Martina opens the digital file on the computer to enlarge one of the images.
“If we crop the left margin slightly,” she says, pointing at the screen, “the composition will look much cleaner.”
Cora leans over her shoulder to get a better look. Her breath brushes against Martina’s ear for a second.
“Yes, that works better,” she murmurs. “Much better.”
The work atmosphere envelops them once again with a certain naturalness. For a while, Martina manages to focus on the images, on the technical details, on the visual decisions that are part of her craft. The murmur of the newsroom wraps around them like familiar background noise.
But Cora isn’t the type to easily forget conversations left hanging. And when she finally steps away from the computer, takes a sip of coffee, and looks at her intently.
“There’s something I’ve always wanted to ask you.”
Martina looks up.
“That sounds dangerous.”
Cora smiles slightly.
“Why didn’t you ever tell her what really happened?”
The question lands on the table with deceptive gentleness.
Martina stays still for a second. Her gaze remains fixed on the computer screen, though she’s no longer looking at the images.
“I don’t think it would have done any good,” she replies, shrugging.
Cora tilts her head slightly.
“Why?”
“When everything was leaked… she was deeply hurt. It destroyed years of her career. The accusation fell directly on her work. And my photograph was there, linked to the leak.”
