Tomorrow, the divorce papers would be served to whatever cheap motel Diego was hiding in. Tomorrow, the bank would freeze his secondary accounts. Tomorrow, the world would know exactly what kind of man he was.
But tonight, for the first time in fifteen days, I finally fell asleep. And I didn’t dream of the ocean. I didn’t hear her laugh. I heard only the beautiful, magnificent sound of a house that finally belonged to me again.
Far away, in a sterile hospital room, Camila waited for a phone call that would never come. And in a dark parking lot, Diego sat in his car, staring at a medical report that told him his future was a series of clinics and needles. He had gone to the beach to find a fantasy, but he had come home to a reality he could never escape.
He finally knew what kind of disease she had.
It was the same one he had: a soul that rotted from the inside out until there was nothing left to save.
