As the Madrid sky burned orange at dusk, Lucía Navarro finally hit Send on the last email of the year’s biggest client project.
The final design was delivered. The stress that had been sitting between her shoulder blades all day loosened—just slightly.
It was 8 p.m.
She’d been at her desk since 8 a.m., surviving on a short office nap and a rushed bite of food. The once-crowded floor was emptying fast; only a few coworkers remained, hunched over their screens, chasing their own deadlines.
Lucía picked up her phone.
No reply from Daniel.
That morning she’d texted him—sweet, supportive, the way she always did.
“Be safe on your business trip to Barcelona, darling. Eat well. I’ll be waiting to hear from you.”
Two gray ticks.
Unread.
Lucía exhaled and forced a calm story into her head: He’s busy. Meetings. Clients. Barcelona.
It had been three days since he left. The house felt too quiet without him. Five years married, and she still tried to make everything easy for him—because that’s what love looked like to her: effort.
Before she packed up, she opened Instagram. Just mindless scrolling. An old friend’s update. An ad. Recipe videos.
Then—
She stopped so suddenly her thumb froze mid-swipe.