After reading Tatiana’s reply, Celina locked her phone screen and pressed it against her leg, taking a deep breath. She was ready. Or at least, that’s what she wanted to believe.

She rose from the chair lightly and walked to the sink, finishing the rest of her guava juice in one long sip. Unlike the bitter coffee most people clung to in the mornings, she preferred something softer. That sweet juice had become almost a ritual—a way of holding on to the girl she once was.

She brushed her teeth again, checked her reflection in the mirror, tightened the messy bun, retouched her eyeliner, and smoothed the rose-colored lipstick across her lips.

Back in the bedroom, she reached for her caramel leather handbag—the one she used on quieter days. Inside were the essentials: wallet, documents, tissues, nausea medicine, and a backup lipstick. She scanned the room once more, as if to see whether anything there could still hold her back. Nothing did.

In the kitchen, she picked up her phone and insti