The next meeting happens in the same living room where the first one did.
That is your choice.
You want them back under this roof. Not because you enjoy drama. Because there is something morally perfect about truth returning to the exact chair where lies once sat down so comfortably. They arrive in pieces this time, not as one triumphant unit. Rosa and Ernesto first. Diego and Lucía next. Marco alone. The mistress last, pale and visibly frayed, no longer glowing with destiny.
She knows.
Everyone knows.
The room feels entirely different now. No one sits like an owner. No one looks relaxed. Even Rosa’s spine seems to have lost some of its old righteous iron.
You remain standing.
Adriana sits at the dining table behind you with her files closed and her expression almost insultingly serene.
Diego begins.
“Camila, before anything else, I want to say this situation became more complicated than anyone expected.”
That is how he chooses to open. Complicated. As if the issue were weather.
You do not let him build momentum.
“No,” you say. “The situation became more truthful than you expected.”
His face hardens.
Lucía interjects quickly. “Everyone made assumptions.”
You turn to her. “You made speeches.”
That shuts her up.
Rosa folds her hands tightly. “We came to resolve things with dignity.”
You almost pity her. She is trying so hard to gather scraps of authority from a floor already swept clean.
“With dignity?” you ask. “Like when you told me I should step aside because the pregnant mistress had rights?”
Her mouth thins.
“That was before we knew…”
You step closer.
“No. That was before you cared whether the facts protected you.”
