He sat on the couch where she used to be.
On the floor there was a dusty box with cables.
He opened it.
They were just old cables.
Garbage.
Because of that garbage he had lost everything.
Meanwhile, Lucía was returning from work in Mexico City.
Tired, but calm.
He took off his jacket, turned on the water and turned on the music.
No screams. No orders. Just any song about freedom.
He approached the window.
The rain continued to fall on the city, reflected in the glass.
But he didn’t look gray anymore.
It was just rain.
And she could walk under it wherever she wanted.
The cell phone shone: an unread message from Ramiro.
“You’re going to regret it.”
He deleted it without opening it.
Wrote in notes:
“Not regret. Never.”w
He saved it.
Smiled.
He turned on a small lamp.
And he began to paint his new life: a Mexico City wet from the rain, the asphalt shiny, and a woman with a suitcase walking into the unknown.
Alive.
And free.
