I read the message twice. So they had followed through on their threat. They had come to look for me. I imagined the scene—Amanda furiously knocking on the door, Robert pacing impatiently, both expecting me to show up, to apologize, to return to my place.
I replied to Lina.
“Thanks for the heads‑up. I’m not in town. I won’t be back until after New Year’s. If they come back, please don’t give them any information about me.”
Lina responded quickly.
“Understood. Take care.”
I put the phone aside and went back to my book, but I couldn’t concentrate. I knew this wasn’t over. I knew I would eventually have to face them face‑to‑face.
That night, while we were having dinner, I told Paula what had happened.
“And what are you going to do when you get back?” she asked.
“I don’t know yet, but I know I’m not going back to who I was before.”
“And what if they don’t accept that?”
“Then they don’t accept it. I can’t control how they react. I can only control how I react.”
Paula nodded.
“You’re going to be okay, Celia. You’re stronger than you think.”
On December 29th, we decided to do something different. Paula had heard about a small art gallery in the neighboring town. We took the car and went to explore.
The gallery was small but filled with beautiful works—paintings of local landscapes, wood sculptures, black‑and‑white photographs, all created by artists from the region.
There was one painting in particular that caught my eye. It was of an older woman sitting on a wooden chair, looking out at the sea. Her posture was peaceful, almost meditative. There was something about that image that resonated deeply with me.
“It’s beautiful,” I said to the gallery owner.
