For the next two days, she woke up early, slipped into comfortable clothes, and wandered through the new neighborhood. She explored bakeries, streets, little squares. The morning breeze and the calm rhythm of the area helped clear her mind. Those walks, though simple, felt like part of her healing—one step at a time, trying to push back the insomnia, the anxiety, and the ache of longing.

In the afternoons, she devoted herself to unpacking—hanging clothes, ironing the ones that needed it, organizing her books and documents, arranging every detail of her new home.

She read as well. Books about motherhood, nutrition during pregnancy, the first months of a baby’s life. She watched videos about childbirth, even though it was still early. She wanted to be prepared—body and soul—for when the time came.

The hardest moment of that weekend crept in almost like a trap, right in the middle of folding laundry. Celina was stacking neatly pressed clothes when she opened the last suitcase and found,