“And these two must be the bravest travelers in Spain.”
Ana smiled shyly.
Alex studied him cautiously.
Mateo looked back at Catalina.
“They look exhausted.”
“So am I,” she admitted honestly.
Mateo opened the SUV door.
“Good,” he said quietly. “That means you finally stopped carrying everybody else.”
The drive to his house passed in peaceful silence.
Olive trees blurred past the windows.
Morning sunlight spilled across the countryside.
Ana eventually fell asleep again with her cheek pressed against the seatbelt while Alex watched the landscape carefully like he was trying to decide whether safety was real yet.
Catalina understood that feeling.
Because peace feels suspicious after years spent surviving emotional war zones.
Back in New York, the Rivera family was collapsing beautifully.
By noon, Diego had already called Catalina fourteen times.
She ignored every single one.
Not out of revenge.
Out of clarity.
There’s a difference.
Her phone buzzed again while Mateo unloaded suitcases.
This time it was a message from Sophia.
Please answer. Everything is a disaster.
Catalina stared at the screen for several seconds before locking the phone again.
Interesting.
When Catalina cried herself to sleep for months after discovering Diego’s affair, nobody called it a disaster.
When Ana overheard Allison referring to her as “extra baggage,” nobody panicked.
When Alex asked whether Diego still wanted another family more than them, nobody rushed to fix things.
But now?
Now that the fantasy collapsed publicly?
Suddenly everyone wanted emotional urgency.
Mateo noticed her expression.
“You don’t have to respond.”
Catalina nodded slowly.
“I know.”
And that was the strange thing about freedom.
At first, it feels selfish.
Because broken women are often trained to believe boundaries are cruelty.
Mateo’s house sat outside a small coastal town where the ocean could be heard at night through open windows.
The children fell in love immediately.
Ana spent an hour chasing butterflies through the garden.
Alex discovered an old telescope in the attic and became obsessed with watching fishing boats through it.
And Catalina…
Catalina slept.
Not lightly.
Not anxiously.
She slept the way people sleep once survival finally stops demanding constant vigilance.
Three days later, Diego arrived in Spain.
Of course he did.
Men like Diego Rivera do not accept losing control gracefully.
Especially not publicly.
Mateo answered the door first.
Diego stood outside looking nothing like the polished man from magazine features and luxury charity events.
His clothes were wrinkled.
His eyes hollow.
Like exposure had aged him rapidly.
“I need to speak to my wife.”
Mateo folded his arms calmly.
“Ex-wife.”
Diego ignored him.
“Please.”
Catalina appeared behind her brother before he could answer.
The second Diego saw her, emotion cracked visibly across his face.
Not love.
Not exactly.
The shock of finally realizing someone can truly leave.
“You disappeared,” he whispered.
Catalina almost laughed at the irony.
“No,” she replied softly. “I escaped.”
The word hit him hard.
Behind her, Ana and Alex sat quietly on the staircase listening.
Catalina noticed immediately.
Children always listen when families fracture.
Always.
Diego stepped forward desperately.
“You have no idea what happened.”
“I know enough.”
