When I arrived, the house I remembered had transformed: freshly painted walls, a tidy garden, a sleek car parked outside. Confused, I rang the bell. A child answered, then a voice I knew better than my own thoughts. Marina. Alive. Healthy. Staring at me in shock.
Doña Clara appeared behind her, calm but older. A man I didn’t recognize joined them. Piece by piece, the truth emerged: Marina had never died. She had left, choosing a new life while my monthly transfers quietly sustained it. I didn’t argue. I listened. I canceled the payment and walked away, the years of weight and grief finally lifting. The closure wasn’t gentle—but the truth freed me.
Sometimes, reality arrives when you least expect it—and it changes everything.
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