bright bungalow close to the hospital with a small garden behind it.
She no longer hated Alejandro.
Hatred required energy she preferred spending on patients, friends, and peace.
One morning, before leaving for an early trauma rotation, Mariana paused in the hallway.
A framed photograph sat on the console table.
Lucía, smiling brightly beneath the summer sun.
“I’m heading into work now, sweetie,” Mariana whispered softly, touching the edge of the frame.
She picked up her stethoscope, opened the front door, and stepped into the crisp morning air.
No one
