Chapter 31 – What You Won't Break On the 14th floor of the Castell Tower, the energy was different. The laboratory vibrated like a pulsating artery, anticipating the arrival of someone important. The corridors, normally numb with routine, today had that quiet glow that precedes miracles. Sofía Rojas would return. And although her absence had been brief, for many it had been enough to confirm what they already knew: she was irreplaceable. In his office, Adrián Castell reviewed the renovation plans. The sleeves of his light blue shirt were rolled up to his elbows, his brow furrowed, concentration coursing through his fingers like electricity. More natural light. Reinforced soundproofing. New technology. A corner just for her. Everything designed for her return. So she would know—without saying it out loud—that he needed her there. That he still believed in them, even though he no longer had the right to say that word in the plural. His cell phone vibrated. A messa

Chapter 33 – It's Not Him That Hurts Point of view: Sofía Rojas The door slammed shut. It wasn't just the end of a visit; it was the symbolic closure of something much deeper, as if that woman had left a poisonous echo that still lingered in the air. The sound of her heels receding down the hallway slowly faded, and then silence enveloped everything. A dense, sticky silence, as if the oxygen had been stolen from the air. And in the midst of that suffocating stillness, Sofía felt something break inside her. It wasn't relief. It was emptiness. A hole in her chest that began to fill with tears, even though she didn't seek them out. She didn't think about crying, she didn't want to. But the tears came on their own, treacherous and silent, falling in hot streams down her cheeks. They were heavy, painful tears, as if each one carried the weight of weeks of accumulated sorrow. She let herself fall onto the edge of the bed, still wearing the gray cotton pajamas she wore when the world

Chapter 35 – I Choose Science, Not Pain Point of view: Sofía Rojas On the morning of her confrontation with Valeria, Sofía didn't want to leave her house. The notification vibrated softly on the nightstand.A message. Just one line. Just one name.Adrián Castell: "Sofi, we need to talk."Sofía read it once. Then she read it again.And for the first time in a long time, she didn't feel the urge to reply. Her hand didn't shake. Her eyes didn't burn. Her heart didn't ache.She just left her phone on the table, screen lit, message in blue, unanswered. Seen. No reply. No explanation.She got up slowly. She went into the bathroom and closed the door.She took off the soft pajamas she had worn that day. The steam from the hot shower fogged up the mirror... and with it, the memories of everything that hurt. She didn't look in the mirror.She didn't want to see the woman who was crying.She wanted to see the one who was fighting back.She washed her face vigorously. She brushed her h

Chapter 37 – The Results Point of view: Omniscient narrator focusing on Sofia and Adrian It had been a long, difficult night. Sofia had tried to go to bed early. She had left her cell phone in the living room. She had put on a loose-fitting T-shirt, tied her hair back in a braid, and covered her legs with a light blanket to try to sleep. But sleep did not come. Not after what had happened that day. Her words still echoed in her head as if they had been engraved on her bones. "Your baby could be born blind... isn't that sad?" Even she wasn't sure yet, and yet that woman spoke as if she knew more than she did. The explanation burned like alcohol on an open wound: Adrian had told her. How far did his disloyalty go? Had he shared that medical information with Valeria? The same Valeria who, for years, had been a shadow between them? The one who was always on her cell phone? The one who never completely left? Sofía squeezed her eyes shut, swallowing the lump rising in her thr

Chapter 39 – The House Where Light Begins Point of View: Sofía Rojas The sun had not yet risen when Sofía closed her suitcase with steady hands. She had not cried while packing. Not because it didn’t hurt, but because she knew that sometimes strength comes from the exhaustion of suffering. The night before, after the ultrasound — after the injection that marked the beginning of the treatment — Lily hadn’t left her side. She stayed in quiet company, made her chamomile tea, and made it clear, without dramatics or unnecessary words, that she wasn’t alone. And later, when the apartment lights were off and only the blue glow of her phone illuminated the room, the call that would shape the next day came. “Stay with us,” Isabel said. “Fabián is getting weaker, and I need help — but more than anything… I want you to be cared for. You shouldn’t be alone, daughter. Not now.” Sofía didn’t argue. It wasn’t surrender. It was a truce — with life, with her body, and with her own dignity. Ther