Ruth, please, we can get through this. We can find a way. She stopped in the doorway of the bedroom. Do you know the difference between you and Cristina Damian?
She built something real. You only ever knew how to live a lie. He paused, and I was foolish enough to believe those lies. This is final. Ru looked at him one last time, and in her eyes there was something akin to contempt, as final as our divorce yesterday.
Only this time, I’m the one leaving with dignity. The door closed with a soft, but final, click. Damian was left alone in the apartment, surrounded by the remnants of a life that had turned out to be a mirage.
The candles burned out, the glasses were empty, the rose petals withered on the floor. His phone vibrated. A message from Elena. Damian, we’re starting the new management system on Monday.
Don’t be late. Your future depends on your punctuality. He went to the window and looked at the city that stretched out below him. From up there, Barcelona still looked beautiful and full of possibilities, but he was no longer part of those possibilities.
Now he was just a 36-year-old man, divorced, abandoned, and indebted to the only person who had been honest with him from the start. Somewhere in that same city, Cristina was preparing her son’s room with the quiet confidence of someone who had bet on the truth and won completely.
Pedralves apartment three weeks later. The loneliness tasted like cold coffee and smelled like yesterday’s pizza. Damian woke up on the sofa for the 15th consecutive morning with a stiff neck and the certainty that another day of humiliation awaited him.
The apartment that had once been his elegant bachelor retreat now resembled a mausoleum of his failed ambitions. Bills piled up on the table, testaments to a life he could no longer afford.
€100 for rent, €300 for community fees, €200 for electricity and gas, not counting food, transport, or phone. Her new salary of €1500 evaporated before it even reached her hands, like water in the desert.
His cell phone rang. It was Miguel Santos, his former lawyer, but now the voice on the other end sounded distant, professionally polite. “Damián, I have news about the apartment on Diagonal. The owner has decided not to renew the contract.”
Apparently, he found out it was being used for non-commercial purposes. How did he find out? He received an anonymous call with very detailed information about the activities taking place there. Someone even sent him photographs.
Damian didn’t need to ask who had made that call. Cristina was meticulously closing all the doors, severing all ties with her past life. Is there anything else? Yes. The suppliers for the Sarria construction project have started asking me about payments.
Apparently, there are invoices pending approval that need your go-ahead. Or rather, Cristina’s go-ahead. Damian closed his eyes. Even his former professional contacts had begun to treat him as an intermediary, not as the decision-maker he believed himself to be.
Miguel, can I ask you a personal question? Sure. Did you know I wasn’t the owner of the company? An awkward silence filled the phone line. Damian, in the business world, there are signs.
The fact that all the bank contracts were in Cristina’s name, that the mortgages on the commercial premises were hers, that even the liability insurance was in her name.
These are details you notice when you’ve been doing this for years. And why didn’t you ever tell me anything? Because I assumed it was a tax strategy or that you simply preferred to keep it that way for personal reasons.
It’s not uncommon in young marriages where one spouse has a better credit history. Damian hung up without saying goodbye. Everyone knew, except him. He’d been living in a bubble of self-deception for years, believing himself to be the protagonist of a story where he was merely a supporting actor.
Hurtado Renovation Office. 2 PM. The office on Montaner Street smelled of fresh paint and new beginnings. Cristina had decided to remodel the space, transforming it from the masculine cave that Damián had created into a more professional and welcoming environment.
The walls were now ivory with sage-green accents, and terracotta potted plants brought the space to life. Damian arrived from the meeting with the architects of the Gracia project, carrying a folder with the revised plans under his arm.
She found Cristina sitting behind the main desk, reviewing invoices while her nine-month pregnant belly rested on the table. “The plans are approved,” she said, placing the folder in front of her, “but they’ve requested two structural modifications that will increase the budget by about €8,000.” Cristina looked up.
Her face had lost the pallor of the first months of pregnancy and now radiated a calm but determined energy. Are these necessary modifications or suggestions? Necessary. Problems with the original plumbing that didn’t appear on the old plans.
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