“I look worse now,” I replied, pointing to my broth-soaked hair.

A pause.

Her eyes hardened.

And then he did it.

He took the bowl of soup that was next to him.

And he poured it over me.

Straight.

Without a doubt.

The hot liquid hit me like a slap.

And the table… erupted in laughter.

I returned to the present.

There I was.

Soaked.

Recorded.

Humiliated.

But no longer silent.

I lowered my hand slowly.

I looked at Camila.

And I smiled.

Not a big smile.

Not friendly.

A small one.

Peaceful.

That it didn’t fit the scene.

She frowned.

-What’s the matter?

I tilted my head slightly.

“Nothing,” I said softly. “I was just thinking…”

I took a napkin. I calmly wiped my face.

Then I looked up, fixed on her.

—…I hope you enjoyed your birthday.

A pause.

—Because tomorrow… you may have nothing left to celebrate.

The laughter at the table gradually faded away.

Diego looked at me.

—What does that mean?

I didn’t answer.

I just turned around and walked towards the kitchen, leaving the growing murmur behind.

But inside me, something was already in motion.

Something that had been brewing for years.

And this time…

I didn’t plan to stop him.

The kitchen door slammed shut behind me, and for the first time in five years, it didn’t make me shrug. Outside, voices began to rise, first in murmurs, then in awkward questions—the kind of noise that appears when someone says something that doesn’t fit the script.

I placed my hands on the edge of the sink. The water was still dripping. I turned on the tap and let it run, as if the sound could wash away what had just happened.

But not.

The smell was still there.
The heat clung to my skin.
And the laughter… still echoing.

I closed my eyes for a second.

Five years.

Five years of swallowing everything.

And yet… when I looked up at the opaque reflection in the glass, I didn’t see the woman who had come to this house. She was gone. The one who was there… wasn’t afraid anymore.
I heard footsteps.

Diego.

—Lucía—he said, entering—. What was that?

I didn’t turn around.

“Which part?” I replied. “The soup… or the five years?”

He remained silent.

“It wasn’t that big of a deal,” she murmured. “Camila exaggerated, yes, but so did you.”

I turned.

—What about me?

He didn’t know how to answer immediately.

—You’re creating a problem where there isn’t one.

I let out a low laugh.

—Of course. Because being humiliated in front of everyone… isn’t a problem.

—They didn’t humiliate you—

I looked at him.

Straight.

And it stopped.

Because in my eyes there was no longer that thing he knew.

The one that gave way.

“You know what the worst part is?” I said, calmer than I felt. “That you didn’t even notice.”

Diego frowned.

—Lucía, you’re exaggerating—

“No,” I interrupted. “I’m waking up.”