And that existence carried a weight he could not simply dismiss or replace.
His fingers loosened around the bouquet, and a few petals slipped free, falling silently to the polished floor beneath his feet.
The sound was almost inaudible, yet it seemed to mark something—a subtle shift, a point from which things could no longer return to what they had been.
Javier inhaled again, slower this time, as if trying to steady himself against a reality that refused to align with his expectations.
Somewhere far from the city, Lucía was likely resting, waiting, holding onto a future built on hope rather than certainty.
He hadn’t thought about that future when he sent her away.
He hadn’t considered the possibility that his own choices would circle back, demanding something from him in return.
Now, standing between glass and silence, he felt the edges of that demand pressing closer, asking a question he could no longer ignore.
What mattered more—the truth he feared, or the illusion he had chosen to believe?
The answer didn’t come immediately.
But for the first time, Javier understood that whatever he chose next would not simply define this moment.
It would define everything that followed.
Javier stood in the hallway longer than he intended, staring at the faint reflection of himself in the glass, barely recognizing the man looking back.
The bouquet had lost its shape, petals uneven, stems bent slightly, like something once carefully arranged but no longer held together with purpose.
He finally turned away from the neonatal unit, each step toward Valeria’s room slower than the last, as if hesitation had settled into his body.
When he entered, Valeria looked up from the bed, her face pale but composed, eyes searching his expression before he even spoke a word.
“You saw him?” she asked softly, her voice carrying a cautious hope that immediately made Javier’s chest tighten with something unfamiliar.
