The next day I printed a picture of my mom and me in the yard. I was fifteen years old. She was wearing a flower apron. We were both laughing with our faces full of flour.
I put that picture on the shelf.
The mark of the old painting disappeared over time.
Like some wounds.
Not because they are erased.
Because you stop touching them every day.
Sometimes I pass by the AICM for work and I hear canceled flights announced. People get angry, complain, run to counters. I always stay for a second looking at the screens.
A canceled flight saved me.
He returned me home early.
He showed me Ivan without a mask.
He showed me Renata in my dressing gown.
He showed me a fake folder on my dining room.
And he showed me something more important:
that I was not an intruder in my own life.
One morning, months later, a real estate agent knocked on my door. She came recommended by a neighbor and brought appraisal brochures.
“Mrs. Castañeda, have you thought about selling?” This area is rising a lot.
I let her go into the hall.
He looked at the roofs, the courtyard, the location.
—It has great potential.
I smiled.
“Yes.
She was moved.
—Then we could talk about a proposal.
Negué calmly.
“It has great potential for me to be happy here.
The woman laughed, a little embarrassed, and left.
I closed the door.
I put on my mom’s white coat.
I made coffee.
I opened the windows.
The house smelled of lavender, sweet bread and freshly cleaned wood.
No a perfume ajeno.
No open wine.
No to a lie.
I sat in the living room with the new cup in my hands. Outside, the city roared as always: trucks, vendors, horns, dogs, life. Inside, at last, there was silence.
Not empty.
My silence.
I looked at the fake folder stored on the high shelf.
Then the photo of my mother.
“Don’t worry about anything,” I whispered, repeating the phrase Ivan had said to me that morning.
But this time it didn’t sound like a threat.
It sounded like a promise.
Because that house, that dressing gown and that life were mine.
And there was no longer a man with enough lock to make me believe otherwise.
