She hesitated.
Her eyes drifted to the door—that place she once called home, now nothing more than a prison.
“I have nothing,” she whispered.
Diego clenched his jaw.
“You have yourself.”
A pause.
“And that’s enough.”
He didn’t knock.
Didn’t shout.
Didn’t beg.
Camila simply turned away…
And walked into the rain beside him.
Inside the house, Álvaro watched.
Arms crossed.
Annoyed—but confident.
“She’ll regret this,” he muttered. “She has nowhere to go.”
Behind him, his mother laughed dryly.
“Leave her. She’ll be back tomorrow—begging.”
But that night…
She didn’t come back.
The next morning, Álvaro woke up late.
No Camila.
No breakfast.
No coffee.
No quiet presence that had kept his life running without him noticing.
He frowned.
