On the screen appears the image of a fisherman leaning on a railing at the harbor. The photograph is powerful; she knows that. However, Martina has been staring at the same image for several minutes without seeing what it actually conveys.
Her mind is elsewhere.
At her dining room table, illuminated by the warm light of the lamp. In the wine glass between Rebeca’s fingers. In the way her eyes lingered on hers for long seconds, more times than she could count. She remembers the tilt of Rebeca’s head as she listened, the way her smile appeared with an ease Martina has never forgotten, including the way she tucked her hair behindher ear in a gesture that, for years, had been so intimately familiar that Martina could almost anticipate it.
Time is supposed to change people. Six years are supposed to be enough to blur memories. But that’s not how it is. At least not in her case. Every one of Rebeca’s gestures during dinner has been etched into her memory with a painful clarity she cannot erase.
Martina sighs wearily and leans back in her chair.
“I’m going to go crazy,” she mutters, bringing her hands to her face.
The sound of her own voice in that studio surrounded by silence makes her feel slightly ridiculous. She closes her laptop and stands up. The tension in her shoulders reminds her that she’s been sitting for too long.
As she walks toward the kitchen to pour herself a glass of water, another memory surfaces with unexpected clarity. Julia’s voice, just a few minutes after Rebeca left, having said goodbye with a “see you soon.”
“She was always important to both of us. I’m glad that at least we can get along.”
Martina opens the fridge and lets the cold water fill the glass as that phrase echoes through her mind again. She stands there for a few seconds, watching the clear liquid hit the glass.
“As if that were all there was to it…” she says to herself.
Because it’s not just that. And it seems it never was. The relationship she had with Rebeca wasn’t a brief fling or a fleeting affair that time could easily fade away. From the very beginning, there was a special chemistry between them. A connection that emerged with an almost disconcerting naturalness. After Juliaintroduced them, their first conversation went on for hours, jumping from photography to literature, from travel to little everyday obsessions. And three months later, they were already living together.
Now, as she recalls it, Martina almost smiles. Perhaps they were impulsive. But they were also happy. The thought is accompanied by such intense nostalgia that it forces her to close her eyes for a moment.
When she opens them again, the silence in the house feels overwhelming. She needs to get out.
She puts on a light jacket, grabs her keys, and leaves the apartment. Julia was going to be late, so she doesn’t have to explain herself to anyone.
The fresh morning air greets her as soon as she steps out the door. The neighborhood is filled with the hustle and bustle of last-minute Saturday shopping. Some people stroll with grocery bags, others walk small dogs tugging at their leashes. The streets near the sea have a special charm that always catches her eye whenever she passes by.
Martina walks aimlessly, letting the distant sound of the Cantabrian Sea accompany her. The salty smell mingles with the aroma of coffee wafting from a café on the corner. As she passes in front of the café’s window, something catches her attention, and her gaze settles on the woman holding a cup while she laughs.
Rebeca is sitting at a table by the window. The scene is so unexpected that Martina freezes for a second. Rebeca has her laptop open in front of her and is leaning slightly forward as she talks to a woman sitting across the table. The other woman—with loose, copper-colored hair—gestures as she pointsto something on the screen. Both of them laugh, and Martina forces herself to swallow as she sees how beautiful Rebeca’s laugh is, so bright, and so… “perfect.”
She feels the urge to go in. The desire comes so naturally that she almost takes a step toward the door. But she stops as soon as she moves an inch and stands watching the scene from the sidewalk.
Rebeca seems relaxed, focused on the conversation. At one point, she rests her elbow on the table and leans in to get a better look at the laptop.
“It’s probably just a coworker,” Martina thinks. The idea makes sense. And yet, a pang of jealousy and unease settles in her stomach. Martina frowns slightly.
Why should she feel jealous? The question is so obvious it almost takes her breath away. Rebeca hasn’t been part of her life for six years. “And I’m married, so stop being silly.”
With that thought still echoing in her head, Martina forces herself to step away from the window. She continues walking aimlessly for several minutes, trying to let the movement of her steps sort out the chaos that has settled in her mind. She turns a corner. Then another. And another. And when she finally looks up, she realizes she’s standing in front of a door she knows very well. The building where Cora lives.
She doesn’t remember exactly when she decided to go there, but the idea suddenly seems logical to her.
She goes inside as a neighbor is leaving, glancing at her phone to read Julia’s latest message: “I think I’ll have to go to Madrid tomorrow,” and after climbing to the third floor, she rings the doorbell without a second thought.
“What a fun Sunday I have ahead of me…” she says, putting her phone away.
The door opens a few seconds later. Cora appears in the doorway with her hair carelessly loose and wearing a loose-fitting T-shirt.
“What are you doing here at this hour?” she asks with an amused smile. “Have you missed me that much?”
Martina opens her mouth to answer, but she doesn’t have time.
“AUNT MARTINA!”
