We met in a quiet café in Roma Norte.
She arrived without makeup, wearing jeans and a white blouse, looking younger than in the photos and much less certain.
For a moment, she stood beside the table, gripping her handbag.
“Thank you for coming,” she said.
I gestured to the chair.
She sat.
Neither of us spoke at first.
Finally, she said, “I didn’t know.”
I stirred my coffee.
“That seems to be the theme.”
She flinched.
“I deserve that.”
“No,” I said. “You deserve the truth. Whether you can carry it is another matter.”
Her eyes filled.
“He told me you were separated. He said you refused to sign papers because you wanted to punish him.”
I nodded.
“He said I was obsessed with money?”
“Yes.”
“That I controlled him?”
“Yes.”
“That I was cold?”
She looked down.
“Yes.”
I almost smiled.
“He has a limited vocabulary.”
Valentina let out a broken laugh, then covered her mouth.
“I thought I won,” she whispered.
That sentence did not make me angry.
It made me tired.
“What did you think you won?”
She looked at me then, truly looked.
“The life. The house. The man everyone admired. The love story.”
“And now?”
Her face crumpled.
“Now I think I was cast in a role.”
For the first time, I felt something almost like pity.
Almost.
She removed the diamond bracelet from her wrist and placed it on the table.
“I don’t want this.”
I looked at it.
“I don’t either.”
“What should I do with it?”
