Chapter 5 – What Coffee No Longer Hides

The constant echo of mechanical keys faded into the sober walls of Adrian Castell’s office, like a metallic rain that didn’t move forward—it retreated. It crashed in on itself, spiraling, trapped in the dense air, with no destination and no origin.

The screen of his laptop glowed in front of him. Financial reports. Balance sheets. Projections. Everything was there, neatly organized.

But he wasn’t reading.

His eyelids felt heavier than the information itself. His gaze pierced through the liquid glass of the screen, touching nothing.

His elbows rested on the desk. His right hand held a white cup—the kind used in important meetings. The other pressed against the bridge of his nose, as if he could squeeze a bit of clarity out of it.

The first sip felt like a warm slap to the face.

The coffee was bad.

Not because of the temperature.

Not because of the quality.

But because it had no soul.

Bitter. Strong. Dry.

A metallic taste scraped his tongue and clung to his gums like a reproach.

Adrian set the cup down and stared at it as if it had personally offended him.

And then he understood.

Sofía no longer made his coffee.

No one measured two exact spoonfuls of brown sugar anymore.

No one added that subtle splash of foamed milk that softened it without turning it into dessert.

The familiar aroma—the one that used to fill the office and bring order to chaos—was gone.

And without it, everything felt louder.

Even the silence.

“Mr. Castell…?” His assistant’s voice pulled him from the fog. “The agreements are ready. Should I leave them with you?”

Adrian didn’t answer right away. It took him a moment to remember he was still present—that he wasn’t part of the furniture or just another framed portrait on the wall.

“Leave them there. I’ll sign them later.”

She nodded and left without another word, closing the door with the same care one uses when leaving a room where someone has died.

Silence returned.

Not the silence of concentration—but the cold, hollow kind that used to be filled with the sound of a spoon stirring gently. With soft footsteps. With Sofía’s voice reading reports—or simply breathing nearby.

Now everything echoed.

Even him.

A tremor in his pocket.

His phone vibrated.

“Isabel Castell” flashed on the screen.

“Yes?” he answered, his voice more worn than professional.

“Adrian. Where’s Sofía?”

The question hit him hard. No greeting. No pause.

“I don’t know, Mom.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” Isabel’s voice rose sharply. “I’ve been calling her for days. Her phone is off. I went to the house—no one’s there. What did you do to her?”

“Mom, this isn’t your—”

“Of course it is!” she interrupted. “Sofía is part of this family. The only decent part! And you—you’re behaving like a fool.”

He closed his eyes.

“You pushed her toward Valeria, didn’t you? Did you really think she’d stay forever, waiting for you?”

“You’re unbelievable.”

The line went dead.

But the echo remained.

Hours later, Adrian walked through the corridors of the clinic funded by the Castell Group.

He wore a dark suit without a tie. The loosened collar hung like the shadow of what it once was.

He smiled automatically at those who greeted him.

They handed him charts. Spoke to him about numbers.

He nodded.

He wasn’t listening.

And then he saw her.

Sofía.

She walked down the hallway in her open white coat, as if the place belonged to her.

A light blue blouse matched her eyes. Soft gray pants. Her hair pulled back with tiny pearl barrettes.

But no necklace.

Not the one Isabel had given her the day of the engagement.

The one Sofía used to touch absentmindedly whenever she spoke about work.

“It’s like carrying the Castell name close to my heart,” she used to tell Isabel.

Today, no chain.

No pearl.

No symbol.

As if she had returned it.

As if none of it belonged to her anymore.

Adrian stood frozen, watching.

From behind a half-open door.

She was crouched in front of a boy with an eye patch and an uncertain smile.

Sofía held up a card filled with colorful drawings.

“And now? Can you see better with this lens?”

The boy nodded.

She smiled.

Not a polite smile.

A real one.

Warm. Alive.

Like soup on a winter night.

A smile he had never deserved.

“Very good, champ! Today you’re my star patient.”

Adrian swallowed.

What rose in his chest wasn’t guilt.

Nor anger at the realization that she was better off without him.

It was something worse.

The certainty that she no longer needed him.

She didn’t even notice he was there.

On another floor of the hospital, Valeria pressed the intercom button repeatedly, her voice sharp with urgency.

“Adrian! It hurts. I’m alone! Where are you?”

But he didn’t hear her.

He was still standing there, watching Sofía as if she existed in a parallel life.

A life that could have been.

His phone vibrated again in his pocket.

Valeria.

And without thinking, he rejected the call.

A sharp, automatic gesture.

Like dropping something he no longer wanted to carry.

Like a man finally beginning to understand the price of what he let go.