Mia fell asleep waiting for Ariel's return, nestled among the cotton sheets he had given her on their last anniversary. The faint moonlight filtered through the gauze curtains, casting dancing shadows on her serene face.
She slept so deeply that night that her eyes did not open until the first rays of the morning sun caressed her face, and the singing of birds announced that a new day had begun.
With laziness and some disorientation, she stretched as she did every day, letting her muscles awaken after so many hours of immobility. However, when she extended her leg, a sharp, stabbing pain shot through her muscle, causing a heartbreaking scream to escape from her throat.
The pain was so intense that for a moment she seemed to see small stars dancing before her eyes.
Her scream, powerful and alarming, pierced the walls of the two-story house, descended the polished wooden stairs, and reached the ground floor, where Ariel had just entered through the front door, with the weight of a sleepless night on his shoulders and his tie loosened around his neck.
At that scream that chilled his blood, Ariel ran up the stairs two at a time, his heart pounding wildly in his chest.
His Italian shoes resonated against the steps as his mind filled with the worst possible scenarios.
Fear seized him as he thought that someone might have entered the house, or that Mia might have been seriously injured. His hands trembled as he reached for the doorknob of the room.
Upon rushing into the room, the scene he found completely disconcerted him: Mia was laughing, a crystalline and contagious laughter that filled the room. After that stretch and the sudden pain, what had overcome her was an uncontrollable laughter at the cramp she had gotten, as if her body had decided to turn pain into joy.
Ariel, still with his pulse racing, did not find in his heart the strength to reprimand her for the scare she had given him, especially when he noticed the purplish bruise that spread across her leg like a dark watercolor on her fair skin.
With cautious steps, he approached and settled next to the bed, his eyes fixed on the mark that stained his wife's porcelain skin.
"Does it still hurt?" he asked in a soft voice, as he watched Mia, who was still smiling, wearing that beautiful smile that had stolen his heart from the first day. It was the same smile as Zoe, only in Mia it shone with a special light, as if it had been improved.
"A little," she replied, as she braced herself with her elbows and leaned back on the headboard of the bed, adorned with feather pillows.
Her eyes scrutinized Ariel's face, noticing the dark circles under his eyes and the obvious tiredness in his expression. The question danced in her mind before she dared to formulate it: "Were you working?" she inquired, aware that perhaps she no longer had the right to question his nightly absences, not after talking to him about divorce that now weighed between them like an invisible wall.
Ariel, trying to protect Mia's pure and trusting heart, nodded in silence, burdened by the weight of that little lie that added to the many he had recently begun to accumulate.
"I'll have your breakfast brought up," he changed the subject as he stood up, smoothing the wrinkles on his suit that betrayed the night away from home.
"It's not necessary, I can walk," she protested, minimizing her pain with a brave smile. While the blow bothered her, it was not something that completely incapacitated her. It was just a blow to her thigh, strong yes, but nothing she could not handle with dignity. After all, life had taught her to be resilient, and this was not by far the first strong blow she had had to endure.
"It is, stay in bed, I'll make your breakfast myself," Ariel insisted with a determination that did not admit replies, remembering those happy days when the kitchen was their shared territory and preparing breakfast for her was his favorite ritual of love.
Ariel descended the stairs to the kitchen, determined to prepare a special breakfast as he had done so many other times in his years of marriage.
The routine of pampering her had become second nature to him: elaborate breakfasts, service to the bed, even the pleasure of feeding her bite by bite while sharing laughter and plans for the day.
However, Mia, always independent and with that spirit that characterized her, did not follow the instructions to stay in bed. As soon as she heard Ariel's footsteps moving away, she got up carefully, limping slightly to the bathroom. She took a revitalizing shower, letting the hot water relieve her tense muscles, and brushed her teeth meticulously, anticipating the moment when Ariel would return with her breakfast and, especially, with her beloved milk pastry, wanting to be fresh and presentable.
When Ariel returned to the room carrying the breakfast tray, he found a transformed Mia: freshly showered, with her damp hair elegantly wrapped in a white towel, sitting on the bed with her legs covered by the silk sheets. The contrast between the situation and the formality of their pending divorce papers created an almost palpable tension in the air.
The seductive aroma of freshly brewed coffee and golden toast flooded the room, creating a homely atmosphere that contradicted the reality of their marital situation. Ariel delicately placed the bedside table on Mia's legs, who immediately began to look with anxious eyes for her traditional milk pastry.
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