The Madrid sky burned copper and rose as the sun surrendered to the horizon, painting the city in the kind of beauty that felt almost cruel against the exhaustion settling into Sofía García’s bones. She hit Send on the final

email at precisely eight o’clock in the evening, and for a single, blissful moment, the knot of tension that had been living between her shoulder blades since dawn loosened its grip.

Twelve hours. She had been at her desk for twelve hours straight, surviving on a twenty-minute nap taken sideways on the office couch and half a sandwich she’d barely tasted. The design project — the largest client her

firm had taken on all year — was finally delivered. Done. Complete. The kind of milestone that deserved champagne and a long bath and a husband who came home smiling.

Instead, she had an empty apartment and two gray ticks on a message she’d sent that morning.

The floor was nearly deserted now. A few colleagues remained hunched over glowing screens, chasing their own deadlines, the soft percussion of keyboards filling the silence like distant rain. Sofía rolled her neck, heard it crack, and reached for her phone with the particular optimism of someone who already suspects they’ll be disappointed.