Valeria accepted the cup, suddenly aware of how long it had been since anyone had noticed small things about her.
The appointment lasted an hour. The babies were healthy. She needed more rest, less stress, more regular monitoring than public clinics had been able to guarantee.
When the doctor left, Valeria stayed seated, staring at the grainy image on the screen.
Three moving shadows. Three stubborn proofs that life kept asking something of her.
Fernando remained by the window, giving her distance, which somehow felt more intimate than comfort would have.
“You don’t have to thank me,” he said when she finally stood.
“I wasn’t going to.”
A hint of a smile touched his mouth, gone almost immediately. “Good.”
In the elevator, their reflections stood side by side in polished steel. Hers looked tired, guarded. His looked composed in a way that suggested private wreckage, not peace.
She wondered, briefly and without permission, what sort of grief teaches a person to be gentle without asking questions first.
Instead of taking her home, he asked if she could tolerate breakfast.
“There’s a place nearby,” he said. “Quiet. No photographers.”
That last detail made her look up. He noticed.
“I’m not followed often,” he added. “But I prefer caution when it concerns people around me.”
