Esmeralda arrived home late in the evening, her body aching from a long day at the boutique. The quiet hum of the city outside was a stark contrast to the tension she had felt throughout the day.
She set her keys on the small table near the door and shrugged off her coat, hanging it neatly. Her mind replayed the encounter with Santiago, his sharp gaze, and the weight of his accusations lingering like a shadow over her thoughts.
Walking into the kitchen, she flipped on the light, the soft glow illuminating the cozy space. She filled the kettle and set it on the stove, the familiar routine grounding her as she reached for her phone. Her fingers moved instinctively, dialing a number she knew by heart.
The line rang once before a familiar voice answered, calm and steady. “Esme?”
“Yes, it’
