Then Elias replied.
Space? On our wedding night? Are you serious?
Another bubble appeared.
Is this because of Brenda? I knew you were jealous.
My cheeks burned.
Jealous.
The word was so predictable it almost made me laugh.
Rebecca placed the phone face down. “No response.”
“I want to tell him I heard everything.”
“I know.”
“He thinks I’m stupid.”
Rebecca’s expression softened. “Let him.”
Those two words stayed with me long after she left.
Let him.
Let him think I was crying somewhere, humiliated and confused.
Let him think I was still the woman under the bed, trapped in silence.
Let him think he had more time.
By dawn, I had not slept at all.
I sat in my childhood bedroom, still in the hoodie, watching the sky lighten over the garden. The room had been redecorated years ago, but my mother’s touch remained everywhere: the pale blue curtains she had chosen, the reading chair near the window, the small porcelain dish on the dresser where she used to leave earrings she thought I might like.
My phone buzzed seventeen times before seven.
Elias called six times. Cynthia called twice. Brenda did not call at all.
That silence felt like its own message.
At 7:14, Elias sent a long text.
Ella, I don’t know what kind of dramatic stunt you’re pulling, but my entire family is worried. We just got married. You can’t vanish whenever you get upset. I love you, but this behavior is not normal. Call me.
I stared at the words until they blurred.
This behavior is not normal.
There it was. The first brick.
By breakfast, Rebecca had returned with her assistant, and my father had changed into a suit. No one mentioned that he had likely slept less than I had.
We sat around the kitchen island while Marta, who had worked for my family since I was fourteen, quietly placed tea in front of me. She did not ask why I was home. She simply squeezed my shoulder and said, “Eat something, niña.”
