Julián nodded slowly, as if that answer made sense to him.
“We can still fix this,” he said after a moment, his voice returning to that familiar calm.
“It’s not too late.”
Valeria felt something shift again, not inside her this time, but in how she saw him.
Fix this.
The words echoed quietly.
As if what had happened was a mistake to be corrected, a disruption to be smoothed over.
Not a decision.
Not a boundary.
A problem.
She stood up slowly, brushing her hands against the fabric of her dress.
“What would we be fixing?” she asked.
Julián frowned slightly, just enough to show confusion.
“The ceremony,” he said.
“The situation.”
Valeria held his gaze.
“And after that?” she asked.
He hesitated.
Only for a second.
But it was enough.
“Things would go back to normal,” he said.
There it was.
Normal.
The word settled between them, heavier than anything else he could have said.
Valeria thought about the night before.
The blow.
The silence.
The phrase she had heard her entire life.
Look what you made me do.
And then she thought about Julián’s voice on the phone, calm, steady, asking her to wait, to avoid making a scene.
Normal.
She exhaled slowly.
“I don’t want that,” she said.
Julián blinked, the calm in his expression cracking slightly for the first time.
“Valeria—”
“I know you think you’re helping,” she continued, her voice still steady, but firmer now.
“I know you believe that keeping things peaceful is the best way to move forward.”
She took a small step closer.
“But peace isn’t the same as silence.”
Julián didn’t respond.
He looked at her as if trying to find the right words, the right argument, something that could bring the situation back into a shape he understood.
“There are things that shouldn’t be smoothed over,” Valeria said quietly.
“And I can’t spend the rest of my life pretending they don’t matter.”
The space between them felt different now.
Not tense.
Just clear.
Julián nodded slowly, though it wasn’t agreement.
It was recognition.
“I didn’t realize,” he said after a moment.
Valeria believed him.
That was part of the problem.
“You didn’t want to,” she replied gently.
The words weren’t an accusation.
They didn’t need to be.
Julián looked down briefly, then back at her.
“So this is it?” he asked.
Valeria felt the weight of the question, not because she didn’t know the answer, but because saying it would make it real in a different way.
She thought about the aisle.
The moment she stopped.
The step she took sideways.
“Yes,” she said.
Julián nodded once more.
This time, there was no attempt to argue, no effort to persuade.
Just acceptance.
Not complete.
But enough.
He turned slightly, glancing back toward the garden, where the remnants of the ceremony still waited.
“I hope you find what you’re looking for,” he said.
Valeria didn’t answer.
Not because she didn’t have something to say, but because she wasn’t sure yet what she was looking for.
Julián left.
His footsteps faded the same way the music had earlier, gradually, until they were no longer part of the moment.
Valeria stood there for a while longer, the quiet settling around her again.
Rebeca touched her arm lightly.
“Come on,” she said.
“Let’s go somewhere else.”
Valeria nodded.
This time, the movement felt different.
Not automatic.
Chosen.
They walked away from the venue together, the white of her dress catching the late afternoon light, no longer part of a ceremony, but not meaningless either.
As they reached the corner, Valeria glanced down at her reflection in a darkened window.
