I wake up way too early, body aching from the awkward position I fell asleep in on the couch—my torso twisted with Greta pinning down one of my legs. Half of my brain still in dreamland, I fumble around for my phone. Nearly six am. Daniel should be home by now.

  I shift, and Greta jumps off with an offended expression, stalking over to her favorite spot by the balcony window.

  I pad softly to the bedroom and slowly push the door open, trying not to wake him up. But the room is empty. Untouched.

  I stand in the doorway, staring at the stillness. Looking at the wreckage of my relationship represented by a made bed.

  Phone in hand I just type.

  Me: You’re not coming home?

  Me: Still waiting for that talk.

  I can hear Lucia in my mind ‘good guys are the worst’. And as I make my coffee, I picture him with Martin and his lover, having fun. I also wonder how he avoided questions about rent all this time. I hear everyone laughing at his ravioli joke at the table. It’s like I removed my blindfold, now I can see his silence, and humor just as ways to deflect. Not a social mechanism —my charming man. Maybe more of a coping tool.

  I check my phone instinctively every time my mind it’s not focused on something specific. Brush my teeth. Check my phone. Turn on the tv. Check my phone. I have this constant feeling that something’s undone.

  It would be better if at least I can get some work done.

  I heat water and sit on the couch with my mate, and one goal: not look at my phone. I start to catch up on studio emails—budget inquiries, scheduling requests. Typing like a manic, calculating costs, even unsubscribing us from spam and ads. Around ten our inbox is empty, and I smile at the realization that it’s been two hours without thinking about him.

  And then, just like that—I check my phone. Just in case.

  Two messages.

  Ana: Ey gorgeous ?

  Ana: Are you up for brunch?

  Okay. Not the text I was expecting. But this might be just what I need.

  Me:Are you psychic or what?

  Ana: HahahWere you thinking about brunch or about me?

  Me: I was thinking I needed some air.

  Ana: There's this cozy cafe near my house,

  Ana: We can sit outside.

  Ana: There is air.

  Me: Hahaha. Works for me.

  Me: Send the time and address, and I’ll show up feral.

  Ana:We can meet at 12.30?

  Me:Perfect. See you.

  After working a bit more I get ready to go out.

  The weather app promises sixty-eight degrees—practically balmy for mid-March. I can already feel the false spring through the windows, that deceptive warmth that makes you forget winter isn't really over yet.

  I stand in front of my closet, holding up a pair of old jeans I’ve worn into shorts. Maybe with this pink shirt. On second thought—no.

  Then I spot it. The white lace corset top I’ve been saving for a . Delicate eyelet trim, tiny ribbon ties. This might be it. I pull it on, and suddenly the outfit makes sense—effortless, at least in theory.

  I layer on my usual stack of gold jewelry—thin necklace chain, vintage signet ring, and a delicate bracelet stack that softly chimes every time I move. Simple, clean makeup, sun-kissed blush, and I’m out the door.

  The morning is bright, just a couple of lazy clouds floating by, and the sun feels warm in my skin. There’s something in the air that makes me smile.

  The taxi goes fast, I space out most of the way until I notice that we’re already in Brooklyn Heights. It feels like stepping into a postcard of old New York. You could imagine writers and artists living in converted apartments, where people still read physical newspapers on their stoops.

  The taxi slowly stops in front of a brownstone with a wide stoop rising from the sidewalk like an invitation. At the top, an arched wooden door and plants spilling out in an intentional way. I text Ana that I’m downstairs.

  Ana:Going

  I’m shielded from the sun by a line of tall trees. There’s a breeze moving the branches lazily. Dappled sunlight filters through, creating moving patterns of light and shadow that dance across the pavement.

  A couple is walking by, with their golden retriever stalling behind on his leash. The dog gets close to sniff my hand, it looks old and kind. I ask if I can pet it, and they energetically say “Yes! He loves it” They tell me his name is Baron, and that he’s a very good boy.

  I grab his face, “I bet you are. I bet you are the goodest boy”

  And I hear Ana’s voice. "Already making friends, I see." She says smiling and waves to the couple. “Baron is famous around here.”

  “Oh, he’s the cutest”

  I say thanks to the couple and we start to walk. On the way, we talk about how oddly nice the weather is, and how much I envy her neighborhood.

  She smiles sadly and says “Yeah. Martin got a really good deal for the apartment.” She tucks her hair behind her ears. “But I don’t know if I can stay here on my own.”

  “That’s really tragic.”

  “I can afford it but cutting off many activities I used to do. And taking some extra private classes” She sights, “And maybe it’s better to just move somewhere cheaper.”

  The coffee shop is in a corner. Facade Tiffany blue color, with a huge Santa Rita tree wrapping around the front of the shop. Pink and orange flowers are growing shyly across the frondose tree leaves.

  “I would also be sad if I have to move far from this café” I say, grabbing her arm to cross the street.

  We sat at a circular wooden table outside, and right away there’s a waitress extending a menu to us.

  I go straight to the pancakes section. We decide on a mix of savory and sweet—quiche with roasted vegetables, lemon ricotta pancakes, avocado toast with dill and a poached egg. Large coffees.

  Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

  We hand the menus back, and for a moment neither of us says anything. Ana leans back in her chair, eyes closed, letting the sun land on her face like it’s medicinal.

  I wait a beat. Then, “So—tell me everything.”

  She straightens her back, “Nothing happened. I went with my sister—he was already gone.” Starts digging into her purse. “But he left this.” And pulls out a few letter-sized pages, dense with writing on both sides.

  “Damn,” I say. “Looks like a fun read.”

  She chuckles, “Long story short—” running her thumb down the lines. “It’s just apologies. Over and over. How sorry he is. How he never meant to hurt me.”

  She exhales through her nose. “It was hard to read. But at the end he says he’s leaving everything. The TV, the couch, the bed. He doesn’t want half.”

  “Well,” I say, “at least he played his last cards right.” This sentence would land better in Spanish, because cards and letter are the same word.

  Ana nods. “I know he’s a good person. That’s what makes it so confusing. How do you reconcile the guy who waters your plants and brings you coffee in bed, with the one who’s been lying to your face for six months?”

  “Sometimes people just like to pretend there aren’t emotional consequences to the shit they do.”

  She raises her eyebrows. “I’m sure he’s learning something about consequences now. I mean—he has to buy all his furniture again.”

  I laugh. “Those are more like financial consequences. But I guess it works the same way.”

  The waitress appears, setting down our coffees and two glasses of orange juice.

  “And you?” I ask. “How are coping with everything?”

  She pours milk into her coffee and stirs. The color shifts to chestnut.

  “Some moments I’m fine,” she says. “Some moments I feel stupid for not seeing it.”

  “I don’t have to tell you this isn’t on you, right?”

  She smiles, shaking her head. “No. I know.” Then shrugs. “But I can’t help it.”

  “You feel scammed,” I say gently. “And sure, the clues were there. But you’re not a detective. You were a woman in love, trusting her boyfriend.”

  Her eyes gloss over. She nods.

  “So,” she says, lifting her cup, “I’m very into pretending everything is normal right now.” She takes a sip. “Maybe ask me again next week.”

  “Okay, fair enough.”

  The café door chimes again, and seconds later the waitress is at our table carefully placing plates down. Everything looks amazing — overwhelming in that way where you don’t know where to start.

  Ana picks up her fork. “So…have you talked to Daniel yet?”

  I feel a low pressure in my stomach. I check my phone before I even realize I’m doing it. Nothing.

  I shake my head, pressing my lips together. “He hasn’t been home yet.” With fork and knife in hand, I reach for the pancakes, avoiding her eyes.

  And I see it.

  A red thread, slipping between the plates, looping lazily across the table. It curves around the syrup jar, slides under her tea spoon, then rises — unmistakably — to Ana’s wrist.

  Straight to mine.

  So carefully wrapped around my arm, the intricate bow, so small and neatly tied.

  “Is that… normal?” she asks.

  I rush to meet her eyes. “What?”

  “That he just doesn’t come back to sleep?”

  I shake my head too fast. “No,” I say. “It’s not.” Nothing feels normal right now.

  When I glance down again, the thread is gone. Leaving behind just the ghost of crimson red.

  I blink once. Twice. Three times.

  “Hey,” Ana says softly. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. No—sorry.” I press my palm lightly to my stomach. “Thinking about it just… makes me a little anxious.” I force a smile. “I’d rather forget about it and eat.”

  She laughs. “So we’re both choosing to escape reality today. I like it.”

  I laugh too, cutting into the pancakes and sliding a piece onto my plate.

  A cyclist flashes past the corner of my vision. I follow the movement instinctively — and there it is again.

  A red thread trailing behind him, stretching impossibly long as he rides away. It curves around the corner, wraps once around a lamppost, then keeps going. Pulling without tension.

  I tear my gaze away, force it back to the table.

  “These are amazing,” Ana says, pointing to a croissant she pulled apart. “You’re missing out.”

  I cut a piece of my pancakes quickly, shove it into my mouth, and force myself to focus on the flavors. The first thing I notice is the lemon — fresh, tangy. Then the ricotta cheese, making it creamy, softening the acidity. And the maple syrup, giving it the moisture it needs.

  When I notice I’m doing the longest “Mmhhhh.” Eyes closed and all. It kind of reminds me of la tarta de ricotta that grandma used to make. The flavor grounded me.

  When I open my eyes Ana’s nodding, “Right?”

  “These are incredible.”

  I look around, calmer now.

  There’s nothing there.

  Of course there’s nothing there.

  I start trying a bit of everything. I feel suddenly starving, and everything tastes so good I can’t stop.

  Ana checks her phone, smiling. Then she looks up at me, tilting her head slightly, biting her lip, and batting her eyelashes. “Speaking of escaping reality…”

  I blush. “Are you trying to seduce me right now?”

  She throws her head back laughing. “No! I’m trying to invite you out tonight.”

  I toy with the idea. “Where?”

  “There’s this place I’ve been wanting to go. The House of Yes. Have you heard of it?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “They do theme parties, right?”

  Her face lights up. “Yes! And I just saw tonight’s theme and I love it.”

  “What is it?”

  She glances at her phone. “Garden of Earthly Delights. Flora and fauna. Nature meets nightlife.”

  As a person that works with concepts all the time—It actually sounds good. “But I don’t have clothes with me,” I groan. “And I’m too lazy to go home and change.” I melt into the chair.

  “You don’t have to,” she says quickly. “You can stay with me. I have stuff you can borrow.”

  I look at her like she’s trying to sell me something I don’t really need.

  “Come on,” she adds, cutely whining. “I haven’t had a night out in so long.”

  I sigh, smiling despite myself. “Okay. Let’s go.”

  “Yay!” Her small claps reminded me of Jess.

  I finish the last bite of pancakes. “Should we call Jessie?”

  “Yes! The more the merrier."

  I text her.

  Me:Girls night? Me + Ana + you?

  Jess:I’m still broke ??

  Me:I’m paying

  Jess:Don’t play with me

  Jess: I really have zero money to spend

  Me:I’m dead serious

  Me: Don’t make me beg

  JessOKAY YES! I’m in.

  I smile. “She’s coming.”

  While I text the specifics, another notification pops-up on the screen.

  Daniel.

  I don’t even open it. I don’t have to. It’s just one line I can read from the preview slide.

  Daniel: What difference does it make when we talk?

  My chest tightens, sharp and fast. For a second I consider typing something back, but I delete the notification instead. Escaping reality suddenly sounds like the only reasonable plan.

  Ana bounces slightly in her seat. “Okay, we should buy the tickets right now.” She’s already pulling up the site.

  I nod and stab lazily at the last roasted vegetables on my plate. “I’m cheaping in for Jess tonight. She’s having a rough month”

  Ana frowns slightly, “What happened? Is The Studio not giving enough income?”

  I pause a second. “Actually, it’s our best month yet.” I say, suddenly realizing the contradiction. “We got this amazing project—well, things will get better thanks to it, she’ll get back on her feet.”

  "Spit it" She says, full of curiosity.

  "Well, we landed a Vain photoshoot" I say like it’s not a big deal.

  "Shut up!" Ana's eyes went wide.

  Suddenly I’m blushed, smiling, and nodding. “Yep.”

  “With someone famous? For a campaign?” Craving more information like thirst craves water.

  “It’s with Anna Joyce”

  “No. Way. I love her! That’s incredible Emm.” Her genuine excitement reminds me how amazing this opportunity is. "That's like, career-defining huge!"

  "Right?—” I nod. “I’m really hoping that will help us to take off."

  "You guys deserve it. I've been following you, and your visuals are amazing. So creative, original, such an authentic style.”

  “Stop,” I say, but I’m smiling. “You’re going to make me emotional in public.”

  "No, but really. You guys have something very special."

  “Thank you. I think that too.”

  We finish our food and head back to Ana's place. Fifth floor, last door to the left.

  Her apartment is exactly what I expect—warm, curated, lived-in. High ceilings, tall windows spilling afternoon light, vintage furniture that looks collected over time rather than bought all at once. Small pots and jars with plants everywhere.

  "Come on," Ana says, leading me toward her bedroom. "Let me show you what we're working with."

  The space feels airy and uncluttered. A low platform bed covered in a light green blanket, and a vintage Persian rug in deep green and red anchoring the room. There’s also a full-length mirror leaned against one wall, reflecting the light back into the space.

  The whole house looks like a Pinterest board named ‘dream home’.

  “Drop your stuff there” She vaguely points towards a wooden desk full of books and notes, and a cushion chair with some clothes slung over the back.

  I set my bag down. By the window, a long vine spills toward the floor. I brush my fingers over one heart-shaped leaf.

  At the left, French doors open onto a small balcony—two chairs, more plants soaking in the sun. It’s the kind of bedroom that feels more like a sanctuary, than just a place to sleep.

  She plugs in a speaker and a familiar song starts playing — slow, dreamy, romantic in that low-key way that makes you sway without realizing. Then she opens a vintage tin and pulls out a small joint.

  “For the creative process,” she says solemnly.

  “I love The Marías.”

  “I know,” she smiles. “You played them at Daniel’s birthday, I think? I asked you the name and never looked back.”

  “That’s kind of crazy.”

  “What?” She starts it and passes it to me, leaving a trail of smoke.

  “How we didn’t get close before.”

  She shrugs lightly. “Yeah. But also… kind of makes sense. I was avoiding friendships like this. I thought they were too time-consuming.”

  “I know what you mean.” I sigh. “I also do that. Make my relationship the whole plot.”

  "Well—not anymore." She opens the doors of her wardrobe to exhibit her treasures.

  My eyes are wide open at this display of fabrics and florals. She starts pulling out pieces, laying them across her bed like we were styling a shoot.