At first she was stiff.
He had received so many claims that even affection seemed suspicious.
But then he leaned his forehead on his chest and also cried.
The food cooled on the table.
The flan started to water.
The soda lost gas.
None of that mattered.
For several minutes, only 2 of them existed, hugging in the kitchen of a rented house that no longer looked like jail, but farewell.
“I’m an idiot,” Martin said in tears. I accused you of horrible things.
“Yes,” Maribel replied, without sweetening him.
He looked at her, surprised.
She took a deep breath.
“Yes you were unfair. It did hurt. If many nights I thought I'd stop trying. I'm not stone, Martin.
He ducked his head.
That was the strongest blow.
Not writing it.
Not the ground.
Not the plane.
It was understanding that Maribel was not a novel saint who endured without feeling.
She was a tired woman who had chosen to stay, even when her own husband made her feel alone.
“I don’t want you to apologize just today,” she said. I want you to change.
Martin nodded quickly.
I will change.
Don’t say it for crying. Say it with facts.
He took the card from the bench at the table and put it in his hand.
Then she did something she didn't expect.
He pulled out his cell phone, opened the bank's app and showed him the screen.
“From tomorrow, we’ve seen him together. The bills, the payments, everything. I don't want you to charge this alone anymore. And if there's no chela, there's no. If there's for block, go for block.
Maribel looked at him for a long time.
Like I want to believe him, but be afraid.
“What about your friends?”
Martin wiped his face.
“They laugh. Let them say what they want. None of them are building a house for me.
For the first time all night, Maribel really smiled.
They sat down for dinner.
The chicken was already warm, but Martin knew as a banquet.
I looked at the plane between bite and bite.
“Was it the kitchen here?” he asked.
