A generous man. A glamorous couple. A fresh beginning.
By evening, the room felt smaller than usual, crowded by things unsaid.
She took Fernando’s card and turned it over between her fingers until the raised lettering warmed beneath her thumb.
There was no promise on it, only his name, a private number, and a simple embossed crest that suggested a world run quietly behind closed doors.
She almost laughed at herself before dialing. Almost. Then the call connected on the second ring, and a low voice answered without surprise.
“Valeria.”
The way he said her name unsettled her, as if he had expected this call not because of confidence, but because waiting had taught him patience.
“I’m sorry,” she said immediately. “I shouldn’t be calling. I just… I wanted to ask about the doctor.”
“You don’t need a reason to call,” he replied. “But yes, I can arrange an appointment. Are you having pain again?”
She glanced at the ultrasound, at the peeling paint, at her own reflection in the dark window. “No. Just worry.”
There was a brief pause, not empty, but careful.
“Worry deserves attention too,” he said. “Can you come tomorrow morning? I’ll have the car sent, unless that makes you uncomfortable.”
The offer was too smooth, too generous, and precisely because of that, her chest tightened.
