CHAPTER 2 — The House That Learned to Lie
CHAPTER 2 — The House That Learned to Lie
Alejandro didn’t move for a full ten seconds.
Not because he didn’t understand.
Because his mind refused to accept what his eyes were showing him.
The mansion he had built for comfort—security, warmth, childhood memories—had turned into something unrecognizable.
Behind him, laughter erupted from the living room.
Someone popped champagne.
A glass shattered.
No one noticed he had arrived.
Or worse…
they had, and didn’t care.
He slowly looked back at his daughters.
Valeria was still standing, trembling as she tried to shield the plate with her small hands.
Camila wiped her tears with the sleeve of her nightgown.
Regina wouldn’t look at him anymore.
And Sofía was still under the table, as if the world above it belonged to someone else entirely.
“Stay here,” Alejandro said softly.
His voice was controlled.
Too controlled.
The kind of calm that only exists right before collapse.
He stood up and walked toward the hallway.
Each step felt heavier.
Not from exhaustion.
From recognition.
Because something inside him had already started connecting dots he didn’t want connected.
The music grew louder as he approached the living room.
And then he saw her again.
Jimena.
Still on the table.
Laughing.
Spinning slowly under the chandelier like the entire house belonged to her.
“¡Alejandro!” she called out, noticing him at last. “You’re back early!”
A few guests turned.
Some clapped.
Some raised glasses.
Like this was normal.
Like nothing was wrong.
Alejandro didn’t answer.
He just looked at her.
Then at the room.
Then at the emptiness where his daughters should have been safe.
“Where is the food for the children?” he asked.
The room quieted slightly.
Not fully.
But enough.
Jimena laughed.
A light, careless sound.
“Oh, that?” she said, waving her hand. “They had snacks. Don’t start being dramatic on Christmas Eve.”
“Snacks,” he repeated.
She stepped down from the table and walked toward him, heels clicking against spilled wine.
“They’re fine,” she said softly, touching his chest. “You worry too much when you travel.”
Alejandro didn’t move away.
“I asked a question,” he said again.
Something in his tone made a few guests stop smiling.
Jimena sighed.
Then shrugged.
“They’re children, Alejandro. They don’t know limits. If you feed them too much, they’ll get spoiled.”
A pause.
Then she added, almost casually:
“And no one wants overweight little girls in photos.”
The room went still.
May you like
Not loud stillness.
The kind that feels like oxygen disappearing.
