“And… why did she leave then?” Rebeca asks.
Julia scans the living room once more before fixing her gaze on her again.
“Because she thought you’d put your work before your love.” The words come out calmly, but the truth is their effect is devastating. “She thought you wouldn’t forgive her. And I…” Julia lets out a short sigh, “I suppose I encouraged her to leave, too. I told her it was for the best. That you’d never choose her over the rest.”
Rebeca feels the ground shifting beneath her feet. The image of Martina leaving her apartment back then comes back to her mind with painful clarity.
“You encouraged her?” Rebeca repeats, feeling her whole body tremble. “You…?”
“Yes,” Julia admits without looking away. “I was lost, too. I didn’t know how to help you. And I… I was always in love with her.” The confession comes without any drama. “Or maybewith the version of Martina who loved you and was my friend. Because our marriage certainly hasn’t been what I expected.”
Rebeca stares at her. Pain, surprise, and disbelief mingle in her expression until they form a knot that tightens around her throat.
“I can’t believe it,” she murmurs. “You were… my best friend. I trusted you more than anyone. How could you…?”
Julia holds her gaze for a few seconds. She doesn’t seem offended, much less remorseful. She just looks tired, deeply tired.
“Because love sometimes takes a selfish form. Sometimes it hurts. And sometimes… you choose the path you think will save you.” Julia shrugs slightly. “And now, I suppose fate has given you a second chance. So take it. Don’t let it slip away again because of pride or because you’re afraid.”
The words hang in the air between them. Rebeca wants to say something else, but the truth is, she can’t anymore. Julia walks toward the door, opens it, and before stepping out, pauses for a second in the doorway, her hand still on the doorknob.
“Take care of her,” she says, a smile on her lips. “Really. She deserves it. And so do you.”
Then she disappears into the hallway, closes the door, and Rebeca is left alone in the apartment.
The silence seems to envelop her in a painful embrace. Rebeca stands motionless for several seconds, staring at the closed door as if hoping Julia would come back and tell her it was all a joke. But she doesn’t. All that remains is the echo of her words: “It wasn’t Martina’s fault.” “I encouraged her to leave.” “I was always in love with her.”
Rebeca brings a hand to her chest, as if that might calm her racing heartbeat. Everything she had built up in her mind over the years collapses like a house of cards. The resentment and pain she had attributed to Martina, the distance that separated them… everything crumbles in the face of the truth Julia has just dropped on her with that devastating calm.
“What do I do now?” she asks herself silently.
The answer comes on its own, clear and urgent: she has to talk to Martina. She has to tell her everything. She has to look her in the eyes and tell her that she never stopped loving her, that fear and pride had blinded her, that she’s willing to start over if she still wants to.
But first she needs to breathe. And, above all, she needs the ground to stop shifting beneath her feet.
She stares blankly at the wall across from her, as the morning light turns a little more golden. Her heart is still beating strongly, but now it does so differently. Because Martina’s name echoes in her head again, in a way that makes her think they really will have that chance.
Chapter 25
When Martina pushes open the apartment door and steps inside, the darkness of the interior envelops her in silence. She hasn’t turned on the landing light as she came up, and for a few seconds she stands motionless in the doorway, her hand still resting on the doorknob, as if she needs to confirm that she has truly arrived home.
The hallway is dimly lit. Only a strip of yellowish light from the streetlamp seeps through the living room window and casts an irregular line on the floor. Martina closes the door and brings a hand to her temple. The headache she’s been carrying for hours grips her tightly. Every heartbeat seems to expand behind her eyes, pulsing with an unpleasant intensity that clouds her vision. She takes a deep breath. For a moment, she leans against the door, letting the wood support her back. The silence of the house feels strange to her, almost hostile. There is no trace of the party that filled these very rooms just a short while ago. Only a void remains that seems to swallow even the air.
She takes off her jacket and drapes it over the back of a chair, though she isn’t even aware of doing so. Her movements are automatic, as if her body continues to function while her mind remains trapped in a distant place, reliving Julia’s words over and over. Everything is so clean and tidy that it seems as if the apartment had suddenly been emptied and hadn’t been lived in for years.
Martina stands there for a few seconds, looking around, feeling the weight of the night settle on her chest. The headache intensifies. She closes her eyes and runs her fingers across her forehead, pressing hard as if she could push the memories out. Suddenly she wonders when it all started to go wrong. When did they begin betraying each other? When did they start living a life together that neither of them truly felt?
For a long time, she believed that the wear and tear of her marriage had been gradual, a kind of slow erosion caused by the passing of the years and their responsibilities. But now, with the house silent and the echo of the truth still reverberating in her head, the feeling is different. More bitter and clear. Perhaps they both knew for a long time that it wasn’t love. Perhaps they had merely prolonged a friendship that had turned into a commitment out of fear of being alone, out of the comfort of the familiar, out of the laziness of admitting that they had become two strangers sharing a bed and bills.
Martina lets out a long, trembling sigh.
“I guess I’ll never know,” she says softly.
The sentence hangs in the room, fragile and lonely. She walks toward the bedroom. As she opens the door, the darkness inside greets her with the same stillness as the rest of the house. But something catches her eye. On the dresser is a small piece of paper. Martina frowns slightly. The note is folded carefully.
For a second, she hesitates. Then she opens it and begins to read.
“Martina:
