CHAPTER 26
Victoria strides toward Daniel”s building with a calm she did not possess yesterday when she parted from Micaela. The Toledo author had marched away, back ramrod straight, eyes fixed on the street corner ahead. She knew Micaela stood behind her, the temptation to turn around almost unbearable. But she couldn”t face it, not with the whirlwind of emotions churning inside her, demanding distance to sort themselves out.
The nearly four kilometers from the publisher”s office to Daniel”s place helped her settle her thoughts, reinforcing her belief that she had made the right choice. Micaela, with her forthright and bold nature, would have made her intentions clear if she wanted to continue what had started in that Vinuesa house. Wouldn”t she? Victoria exhales sharply and presses the doorbell, but no response comes. When she calls Daniel, he reminds her, just as he had the day before over the phone, that he would be at the library, working on a project with classmates.
”Sorry, honey,” she apologizes, shaking her head, and hangs up to let him focus on his studies.
Forgetting such a detail was a stark reminder of how distracted she”d been. Despite the ache of neglecting maternal duties, her thoughts these days were overwhelmingly occupied by Micaela.
Back in her Toledo home, Victoria spends a restless night. She misses the way the Italian writer would shift around each hour, eventually ending up with half her body draped over Victoria—an intimacy she had quickly grown accustomed to.
This morning, she finds herself making coffee just to fill the house with the scent Micaela loved, standing dazed in front of the bathroom, remembering how flustered Micaela would get seeing her cosmetics unorganized.
With a sigh of emotional exhaustion, Victoria stands once again at Daniel”s door. She hadn”t told him she was coming—it was too early when she left her house, practically fleeing the loneliness that gnawed at her without Micaela. She checks the time before ringing; it”s just past eleven on this Saturday morning. Daniel usually wakes around ten, and she hopes not to disturb his roommate. She presses the buzzer and jumps when a gruff, unfamiliar male voice immediately inquires who”s there.
”I”m Daniel’s mother, may I come up?”
”Sure, come on in.”
A click sounds, unlocking the door, and Victoria ascends to the third floor. On the landing, she finds one of the doors ajar. A slim, pale young man with thick glasses peers out at her. His demeanor is instantly reassuring.
”I”m Mario, pleased to meet you,” he says, offering a firm handshake before letting her inside.
”The pleasure”s mine.”
As Mario shuts the door, Victoria sweeps her gaze across the living room—a mother”s hawk-eyed scan for any sign of mischief. But all she finds is relative order, save for a table drowning in notes. There”s no scent of tobacco, no telltale signs of raucous student parties.
”Dani”s in the shower,” Mario explains, slinging his messenger bag over his shoulder. ”I was just heading out, meeting my parents for lunch. I have nearly a two-hour train ride ahead,” he adds with a smile. ”But feel free to wait here, make yourself at home.”
”Thank you, Mario. Enjoy your lunch.”
Mario returns her smile before departing, and as the door clicks shut, the apartment is filled only with the sound of water cascading in the bathroom. Victoria stands frozen for a moment, unsure of her next move. Yet, driven by that quintessential maternal curiosity—and knowing her son”s penchant for long showers—she decides to explore his domain.
She first peeks into the kitchen, tempted to wash the pile of dishes from last night”s dinner. But remembering the old plumbing quirk—that turning on the tap could send a blast of cold water to the shower—she refrains and continues her tour.
Reaching the hallway, she glances into the room on the left. The bed is meticulously made, and she instantly deduces it”s Mario”s. Her son Daniel, despite countless arguments, has barely mastered the art of straightening the sheets.
Peering into the next room, there”s no doubt—it”s Daniel”s. The bed is a chaotic mess, looking as if a pack of lions had slept in it.
”Oh boy,” she mutters to herself and steps inside unthinkingly.
Victoria had only intended a quick look around, but the sight of the bed offends her aesthetic sensibilities so deeply that she can”t resist making it. She finds solace in the visual peace as she fluffs the pillow and places it precisely in the center, her task completed.
A sudden silence falls over the apartment as the shower stops, pulling Victoria from her reverie. She turns to leave the room and wait in the living room, but something catches her eye—a corkboard beside Daniel”s desk. Her heart races as an uncomfortable heat crawls up her spine. Victoria steps closer, blinking rapidly as she examines the seven photographs pinned amidst magazine clippings and notes.
There, seemingly innocuous to any other eye but hers, are images of her son, Daniel, in tender poses with Javier, his editor, at various spots around the city and even in this very room.
The discovery sends a ripple of mixed emotions through Victoria, her mind racing with questions and the beginnings of understanding, all swirling amidst the unexpected romantic tension revealed on this quiet corkboard.
Victoria”s mind boils over, the images she stumbled upon cascading through her thoughts like wildfire. Overwhelmed and shaken to the core, she can”t stay another moment. Almost tripping over her own feet, she rushes out of the apartment, the urgency of her escape making the stairs blur beneath her.
Once on the street, Victoria inhales sharply, the cool air biting her lungs as her eyes dart frantically. She”s a storm of emotions, desperate not to make a rash decision. With trembling legs, she makes her way to her car, sliding inside and shutting the door with a thud. She closes her eyes, seeking calm in the chaos.
Her first impulse is to call her ex-husband Santi, but as her finger hovers over the call button, she pauses. The vivid image of strangling Javier, of dragging his body to a swamp, rock-tied and sinking, haunts her. And she knows Santi, with his fiery temper, would be far worse.
”Shit,” she hisses, teetering on the brink.
Lost, needing guidance yet trapped by circumstances, her mind should turn to Javier or Santi, but neither option is viable. One is the cause of her turmoil, the other a potential storm of violence. Instead, Micaela springs to mind, bringing an unexpected wave of calm. Victoria leans back, resting her head against the seat. She shouldn”t call—her relationship with Micaela, though cordial at Vinuesa”s, might revert to the arrogance she despises. Yet her fingers betray her, dialing Micaela before she can reconsider.
Each ring of the phone sends a jolt through Victoria, ending in a tingling that steals her breath. Just as she”s about to give up, Micaela”s voice cuts through the silence.
”Hello?” Micaela”s tone reveals her surprise at the call from the Toledo writer.
”Am I catching you at a bad time?” Victoria”s voice is strangled, barely a whisper.
She hears a woman”s voice in the background, indistinct and muffled.
”I”m just having vermouth with my parents,” Micaela replies, her voice cool. ”Why are you calling?”
Victoria knows she should hang up, but her distress clings to her like a second skin, craving Micaela”s presence.
”Something happened... I need to talk to someone,” she admits, her voice thick with emotion, ”and you”re the only one I can talk to.”
Micaela blinks, taken aback. She senses the break in Victoria”s usual composure and sets aside her irritation. Something in her shifts, a softening at the edges of her anger.
”Is it serious?” Micaela probes, trying to gauge the situation.
”No, I guess not. Sorry for interrupting, we”ll talk another time.”
Victoria curses herself for the call, especially now, knowing Micaela”s strained relationship with her parents.
”Where are you, Victoria?” Micaela asks, a note of concern threading through her words.
”Near my son”s apartment.”
”Here in Madrid?”
”Yes.”
”Okay. I”m sending you my address. Start heading over, I”ll be there in half an hour,” Micaela decides.
”But Micaela...”
”Go, Victoria.”