Patricia arrives days later in heels that click like judgment across the marble.
She crouches to hug Sofía with rehearsed sweetness, and Sofía’s confusion stings you like a slap.
Patricia looks Marina up and down the way powerful people inspect what they think they can replace.
“Dismiss the nanny,” she says, as if Marina is a coat you can hang up.
You surprise even yourself when you answer, “She’s not ‘just’ the nanny.”
Patricia laughs, cruel and pretty, calling Marina “a student,” like ambition is a stain.
Marina walks away with her head high, but you see the insult land, because you’ve lived inside that kind of contempt.
Behind closed doors Patricia and you shred what’s left of your history with words that have no love left in them.
And when Patricia attacks Marina again, you hear your own voice turn ice-calm: “Marina has more integrity in one finger than you’ve shown in years.”