exists in homes where routine and the absence of words have replaced everyday conversations. Ana had spent the entire afternoon in her study, her mind divided

wn on her-a sense that the pieces of her life were fa

who had left it there. It was carefully folded, as if someone had taken the time to ensure it remained hidden, unseen. Ana frowned, a chill running down her spine as she stared a

unfolded the paper, her eyes darted across the words, her body trying to outpace her mind, afr

ed that night, you would

to chaos. That night. What night was the letter referring to? Was it the same night that had marked a before and

rson know? What was hidden in the shadows of her marriage-something so dark that, if revealed, it cou

about? What had happened t

hat always hung in the air whenever the two of them were in the same room-that invisible current that seemed to connect them in an inexplicable

ng was unfamiliar-it wasn't Sebastián's, nor Gabriel's, nor anyone else's that she could recognize. But there was something about its contents that unsettled her o

he question out loud, feeling trapped between the love she still felt

had struck a deep chord-but it had also offered her a clue, a sign that something was p

o had always been her rock, but wh

had resurfaced in her lif

together the puzzle. If the letter spoke of a "night," it had to be a crucial one, something that had bee

na grabbed the letter with steady hands, quickly slipping it between the pages of a notebook on her desk. Her mind was

iately found hers. He looked exhausted, but not

he asked, unaware of the

ses, all the unspoken questions she wasn't yet ready to voice. But so

th a tense, nearly imperceptible smile-o

e, but he hesitated. The uncertainty between them lingere

mething deep inside her warned that whatever had happened that night would c

that no matter how hard she tried to hide it, the mystery was in t