Sofía blinked.
“That’s… a lot,” she whispered.
Martín didn’t flinch.
“I want to,” he said. “Only if you want me to.”
For a second, Sofía felt fear.
Then she felt something else—something she hadn’t felt in years:
Safe.
“I want you to,” she said.
He lifted her carefully, like she was valuable, not fragile.
And Sofía closed her eyes for one second—just one—and let herself believe in the impossible:
That love could be steady.
That she could be held without shame.
The Villain Didn’t Arrive Screaming
Patricia—Martín’s mother-in-law—arrived dressed in elegance and grief.
She didn’t shout.
