After he leaves, you lock the door and turn back to the warm, messy kitchen.
Mateo is sneaking extra frosting from the cake.
You pretend not to see.
Outside, Manhattan glows in the distance, full of people chasing money, image, power, love, escape, second chances.
You pick up the old photo from the table again.
The one from the divorce meeting.
You look at yourself in it.
Cream blouse.
Navy coat.
Tired eyes.
Newborn son.
A woman still bleeding from birth, sitting across from betrayal, refusing to shake.
For years, people thought that was the morning Rodrigo lost control.
They were wrong.
That was the morning you took yours back.
