"You're the reason," Lucía said again, her eyes locked on Elena, the words laced with disbelief more than anger. "You're the one he wouldn't talk about."
Elena held her ground, even though her heart thudded against her ribs like a warning bell. She didn't speak. Not yet.
Marco turned, finally meeting Elena's gaze. There was apology in his eyes. But also… fear.
"Lucía, this isn't—"
"I don't need a speech," Lucía cut him off, lifting her hand. "I came to say goodbye."
The silence that followed was too heavy for any of them to carry alone.
Lucía turned her attention back to Marco. Her voice softened. "I wasn't expecting you to be alone forever. I just… I hoped you'd need time to forget me."
Marco's jaw clenched. "I needed time to remember who I was without you."
That answer landed like a slap, though it was spoken with gentleness.
Lucía stepped back. "Then I won't stay where I'm not wanted."
But as she turned, Elena did something neither of them expected. She stepped forward.
"Wait."
Marco blinked. Lucía turned around, startled.
Elena took a breath. "You loved him once. That doesn't just disappear. I get that. But you left him, didn't you?"
Lucía's eyes shimmered. "I did."
"Then why now?"
Lucía looked away, wiping beneath her eyes. "Because… I thought maybe I made a mistake."
The air shifted.
Elena exhaled slowly. She could feel Marco's gaze on her, but she wasn't doing this for him. Not entirely. This was about facing something inside herself—something deeper than jealousy.
"We all make mistakes," Elena said gently. "But coming back doesn't mean you can take back everything you left behind."
Lucía nodded, lips trembling, then turned and walked toward the street without another word.
The door clicked shut behind her, and the world felt… quieter.
Marco didn't speak. He walked to the window, watched Lucía's figure disappear around the bend, and stayed there for a long moment.
Elena wrapped the robe tighter around her. "You still love her, don't you?"
Marco turned. "I loved the idea of her. The life we thought we wanted. But it wasn't real."
Elena searched his face, looking for truth—and found it, raw and unguarded.
"I don't want perfect anymore," he said. "I want something messy. Real. Something that feels like this."
He stepped forward, gently tracing her jaw with his knuckles. "You scare the hell out of me, Elena. Because with you, I feel everything."
Her throat tightened, breath shallow.
"You don't have to say it," he whispered. "Not yet. But just... don't go."
She leaned in, forehead resting against his.
"I wasn't planning to."