“What do you want now?” he asked.
The question hung in the air longer than I expected.
Not because I didn’t have an answer, but because I understood the weight of giving one.
Outside, through the glass walls, the city continued as if nothing had changed—cars moving, people walking, lights turning on one by one as evening approached.
Inside, everything had already changed.
“I want to stop pretending,” I said.
It sounded simple.
But it wasn’t.
He nodded slowly, absorbing it, not resisting it, which somehow made it harder, not easier.
Because agreement, in moments like this, removes the last place where conflict can hide.
We left the building together, but not as a couple.
Not as strangers, either.
Just two people walking side by side, aware of the distance that would no longer disappear on its own.
The days that followed didn’t explode into chaos.
There were no dramatic confrontations, no public scandals beyond what had already happened.
Instead, everything unfolded in small, deliberate steps.
Camila resigned within a week.
Officially, it was for “personal reasons.”
Unofficially, no one needed to ask.
The board didn’t remove Emiliano, but his position changed.
Less visibility.
More oversight.