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

Clara stopped struggling.

The broom descended slowly.

Her husband carefully released her arm, as if he feared that any sudden movement would reignite everything.

“Come on…” he said, his voice lower now. “Let’s go to the living room. Everyone.”

Clara did not respond.

But he walked.

She sat down in the armchair, rigid, without looking at anyone.

Mateo and the girl sat together, almost touching, as if the space between them could protect them from something.

Clara’s husband stood for a few seconds, then sat down too, but on the edge, restless.

The air was heavy.