You looked up.
There was no flirtation in his voice.
No revenge fantasy.
Just a question from one betrayed person to another.
“I don’t know yet,” you admitted. “But I don’t want to scream in my kitchen while he calls me crazy.”
Julián nodded.
“Then don’t give him a private stage.”
That was the first smart thing anyone had said to you in days.
You met again two days later.
Then again after that.
Each meeting started with evidence and ended with silence. Not awkward silence, but the silence of two people sitting beside the same fire, watching everything burn without pretending the smoke was romantic.
You learned that Julián was an architect.
You learned he made Renata coffee every morning even when she stopped drinking it.
You learned he had been trying to have a baby with her for almost a year, while she told him stress was making it hard.
That one made you look away.
Because while Julián was building a nursery in his mind, Renata was sending your husband hotel room photos.
He showed you a message Renata had sent Esteban.
“Julián is too good. It’s boring. You feel dangerous.”
