The morning sun had barely crept over the horizon, casting a pale light across the frost-covered cabin. The winter air bit gently at their faces, making the bare branches sway as though shivering. The lake nearby lay almost still, a faint mist rising from its surface as if the water itself were breathing.

Wrapped in a heavy coat, her hands buried deep in her pockets, Celina walked slowly down the path to the shore. Thor followed in silence, keeping a respectful distance, letting the moment hold its quiet.

When she stopped near the lake, her breath came out in a white cloud. She stared at the water. Without turning, she began to speak—her voice low and uneven, as if she were walking through an old room inside herself.

“The day I met you, Thor… before that hotel… I was at home, alone, standing in front of the mirror. And I asked myself: Am I still beautiful? Am I getting old? Has he already found someone better?” Her voice wavered but she went on. “César already had someone else. Maybe