Today, around 11:00 AM, Clara returned home after a 4-month business trip.

A door opened behind her.

“¿Clara?”

The voice.

I knew her too well.

He turned around.

Her husband was there, coming out of his son’s room, his hair disheveled, his face still marked by sleep.

It took him less than a second to understand what he was seeing.

Clara, with the broom held high.

The bedroom door was open.

Silence.

“Clara, wait!”

He lunged towards her.

Too fast.

He grabbed her arm just as she started to put the broom down.

“Let me go!” Clara shouted, now her voice breaking and heavy with emotion.