More frenetic bells. Ana lunges for her phone, frenetically tapping the screen.

  "Guys—" her voice cracks, "I have seventy-nine missed calls and hundreds of texts."

  She starts reading aloud. "I know you are at Daniel's house. I'm going for you" Her hands are shaking. "Is he insane?" Her eyes fly through the messages while scrolling down.

  The pounding turns into full kicks against my door.

  "ANNAAA! C'MON" His voice is ragged, almost feral.

  I look at her and she’s frozen there, just staring blankly toward the door.

  I stand up. She grabs my arm. "Don't open."

  "You think I'm insane?" I whisper back, already walking toward the noise. Jessie shadows me.

  The poundings are constant.

  I raise my voice so it carries through the door — and probably half of the building. "Martin, this is crazy, you're making too much noise. Someone's going to call the police." I notice I'm shaking too.

  The noise stops.

  "EMMA, PLEASE, LET ME TALK TO HER!" Tears crack his voice in half. "TELL HER TO TALK TO ME"

  Ana’s hand lands on my shoulder.

  She steps closer. "Martin, what are you doing?"

  "Ana, please. Just,— let's just sit down. I know we can fix this. It meant nothing to me. I don't know why I did it."

  "I saw ." Her tone slices clean through his words. "And Martin, I mean everything. The lies, the messages, the pics, the trips."

  Her voice starts to fill with sorrow. "I can't even say what hurt me the most. Maybe the you said to each other. Those also meant nothing?! You presented her to your friends!! It meant nothing?!! You carried this double life for SIX MONTHS MARTIN! WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCKKK?!" She is anger and tears. A woman in flames.

  "You told me you were working late when you were with her! You made me feel crazy for asking questions!"

  A wet, muffled sob comes from the other side of the door.

  "You shattered my trust into dust, there's nothing to fix," she says, voice steady now. "If you ever respected me, you'll leave me be."

  "But our—"

  "You don't deserve a conversation, and I don't owe you anything."

  Silence. Then a much softer thud, like he'd slumped against the door.

  "I'm sorry, Ana. I fucked it up. I'm an idiot. I can't believe I've lost you. What I'm gonna do without you?" Tears, sobbing, howling, full pity party. It was almost heartbreaking to hear — but not enough to forget these were his choices, his trail of destruction.

  I looked at Ana, eyes filled, water pouring down. But she didn't falter. "Bye, Martin."

  He punches the door one more time.

  "Okay,— He pauses — I'll leave you be."

  A few seconds later, the elevator doors groaned shut.

  I check the hallway. "He left." I say, relieved. I turn to see Ana suddenly crumbling in tears, hands on her face.

  Jessie and I move instantly, wrapping her up in our arms.

  "If he loves me, why? Why did he do this? It doesn't make any sense." Her voice was all splintered sharp glass. We just squeeze her harder. But we didn't have an answer.

  We were all tearing up at this point. We just stay there in the doorway, still, in that hug, letting her cry her heart out.

  A couple of minutes later, she starts to breathe more calmly.

  "I'm better, I'm okay." she says, wiping her tears and mucus with her sleeve.

  We walk to the living room again and I pass her some tissues.

  "I'll prepare some chamomile tea," I say.

  Ana blows her nose. "Yes, please. I'll go to the restroom a bit"

  Jessie sits on a big pillow. "I can have some tea."

  The kettle starts making that frenetic bubbling sound and moments later I go back with three cups of warm comforting infusion. Ana isn't out of the bathroom yet. Trying to compose yourself after that, I'm sure it will take a while.

  The soft apple-sweet scent of chamomile fills the living room.

  I take a sip and burn the tip of my lips. "Fuck!" I’m startled and almost spill all the boiling hot tea on me.

  Jessie giggles a bit. "Is it hot?"

  I look at her with a sad face and nod, "I think I will get a blister on my lip hot."

  Now she is blowing softly the surface of her tea. "What just happened was insane." she murmurs. The steam curling up into her face.

  Greta pads in, tail high, meowing also expressing her discomfort with the situation.

  We laugh.

  Ana comes back and sits in between, extending her arms around us. Face red, eyes swallowed.

  "You guys, I'm so sorry. This was so intense." She says, frowning. Eyes all glimmery.

  I say pointing at my cat. "Actually, Greta is still shaken up. She might need some therapy, or cuddling"

  "I heard cat therapy is a thing now." Jessie adds nodding.

  Ana instantly crawls over to Greta to pet her. "Really Greta? Did the mean little man scare you?"

  Greta accepts the petting and the attention and meows back, laying down to signal she is pleased with what is happening right now.

  "Ana, how are you?" I say looking at her.

  "I'm sad, but okay.” She takes the deepest breath. “This was next level ‘

  "This is out of character behavior for him?" Jessie asks.

  "Yes! Like, never imagined he could do something like this."

  Alfonso just enters the room like he is clueless of every event. His black long fur all twirled around his ears, evidently he was sleeping the nap of his life. Eyes still wobbly. He sat next to his empty bowl.

  "This fucker!” I’m outraged. “He just woke up to eat! Not even the banging on the door moved you Alfonso!"

  I give them food.

  We are already more relaxed, drinking our tea and talking about how cute my cats are. Jessie says that she loves Greta's grumpy face, and that she had never heard such a demanding meow. Ana on the other hand, relates more with Alfonso and his need to chill constantly.

  “He could be the cat version of ‘The dude’”

  I decide to bring the mattress to the living room to watch tv until we fall asleep. We agree on Mean Girls, — a comfort re-watch — and roll .

  We sit together leaning on each other, recovering the vibe we had. We laugh too loud at jokes we already know by heart, pause to argue about outfits — who peaked, who aged badly, who deserved better.

  Before sleeping I check my phone in case Daniel texted. Nothing. Something is shifting quietly. I know something broke with what happened today, and I don't know if I wanna fix it. Silence can be louder than banging on a door. Martin's chaos was violent, but Daniel's silence? That is its own kind of cruelty.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  I wake to the soft sound of someone moving in the kitchen. The living room is dim, early light filtering through the kitchen curtains. Jessie is still curled up on the bed, hair spilling across the pillow like dark water.

  Ana stands at the stove, already dressed in jeans and a soft gray sweater, blonde hair pulled back in a messy bun.

  She looks up when she hears me stirring. "Morning," she whispers. "Sorry if I woke you."

  "You didn't." I sit on a tall chair in the kitchen aisle, stretching the sleep from my shoulders. "How long have you been up?"

  "About an hour. Couldn't really sleep." She turns back to whatever she is making, the smell of cinnamon starts to fill the air. "I kept thinking about everything. Processing, I guess."

  "I bet it will take a while."

  She pauses, spatula in hand. "No, but I feel— It's weird. Like... relieved? But also scared. Like I don't know what comes next."

  Goes back to pour batter in a pan.

  "You know," she says, still focusing on what I think are pancakes. "With all this, I realized that I don't really have many close friends anymore. When you’re in a relationship for so long, people kind of… drift away. Or maybe I drifted away from them." She flips it. "Thank you for being there for me. I know we weren't that close before."

  Something warm settles in my chest. "Well, we are now. Last night was a shock bonding therapy."

  She laughs and then looks up at me, eyes soft. "Yeah. We are."

  I smile. "What's your plan for today?"

  "I have to teach. Three classes this morning." She rubs at the puffiness under her eyes. "I thought about calling in sick, but honestly, I think I need the distraction. Then after that..." Deep breath. "I'm going to the apartment to get my stuff. It's stupid to expect him to move. At least I hope he is not there."

  "Do you want me to come with you? Just in case Martin didn't actually leave?"

  "That's sweet, but my sister's meeting me there. She has a few things to say to him if we run into him."

  “She sounds scary”

  “Oh, you have no idea.”

  We hear Jessie moving around in bed, followed by a soft groan.

  "Should we wake her?" Ana asks.

  "Jessie's not really a morning person, but the smell of those pancakes will probably do it."

  As if on cue, Jessie appears in the doorway, bangs sticking up at odd angles, eyes still half-closed. "Is someone making cinnamon pancakes?"

  Ana chuckles. "Guilty. I found everything I needed in Emma's kitchen. Hope that's okay."

  "Oh, you have no idea how pissed I am," I say. "So much so, you should make extra pancakes for me."

  Ten minutes later we are sitting down at the kitchen table, cups of hot coffee steaming, and plates stacked with Ana's golden pancakes. We all pass the maple syrup like it is a religious ritual before eating.

  "These are incredible," Jessie says through a mouthful. "You should quit teaching and open a breakfast place."

  "Maybe that's my post-breakup career change," Ana says, smiling.

  Too soon, we are cleaning up, gathering bags, and preparing for the day. Ana stacks the dishes while Jessie and I grab our work stuff.

  At the door, I hug Ana tight. "Please text me. Let me know you're okay, and that everything goes smoothly today."

  She nods against my shoulder. "I will. Thank you. Both of you. I don't know what I would have done last night without you."

  "You don't have to find out," Jessie says, jumping joining our hug.

  We separate, and Ana looks at both of us. "I'll text you guys later."

  I watch her walk away while our car stops in front of us. Once inside I check my phone again. No sign of Daniel. The realization punches a hole in my stomach. This eerie absence. Makes me feel like I’m in the eye of the storm.

  Luckily, today is Friday and he has to work. I'm not gonna see him until tomorrow morning. The idea of the confrontation makes my palms sweat. I have to organize my thoughts. I need to be clear in what I want from this conversation.

  We get to the studio and the familiar smell of coffee and interior photoshoot lighting greet us. Dean is already here, adjusting light stands around a cream backdrop, moving with that easy efficiency he has when he is focused.

  "Hii!" Jessie says, skipping and waving towards him. "I'm grabbing some coffee, you want some Emma?"

  "Yess, please!" I drop my things at the reception couch and go towards Dean to help him out. "Early bird."

  He looks at me, grinning. "I mean…someone has to work around here"

  I just roll my eyes while opening my notebook. I start scrolling on the emails. "Let me confirm…is this cream and a baby blue one. They are going for a spring theme look-book." I raise my voice so it reaches Jessie upstairs. “Jess, do we have those plastic daisies around here somewhere? Maybe we can use them as props.”

  “Yesss. I’ll get them in a second”

  Jessie comes down the stairs balancing the liquid of two coffee mugs.

  “Is this one?” Dean shows me a paper roll with a gray blue color.

  “Nope, it’s the one below.”

  “Got it.” He pulls it out from the pile. “So—did I miss anything fun last night?”

  Jessie and I exchange glances.

  “Intense," she says, already moving to help him with the backdrop.

  "Spill," Dean says, securing a clamp.

  “Well…I had another friend over last night,” I start, grabbing the end of the paper. “She’d just found out her boyfriend had been cheating on her.”

  Dean winces. “Those cheating bastards”

  “Well, he showed up last night at my apartment"

  Dean’s eyebrows shoot up. “He came to place?”

  “POUNDING,” Jessie says, knocking on the table for emphasis. “For a second I imagined being part of one of those body cam videos on youtube.”

  “How did he know where you live? Did he follow her”

  I shake my head. “No. She did a live from my house. And her boyfriend is Daniel’s close friend. So…”

  Dean straightens up the paper so it doesn't get any marks on it. “And what did you guys do?”

  “Ana handled it.” Jessie says. “Read him to filth. He cried, and left.”

  “Not without punching the door one more time” I add.

  Dean shakes his head. “That’s… terrifying.”

  “Then we smoked a joint and watched ,” Jessie says.

  Dean snorts. “As one does after surviving a crime scene.”

  Before we could respond, the studio door chimed. Three women enter—two younger ones carrying garment bags and a tablet, followed by a man in his fifties wearing an expensive-looking blazer and the kind of confident stride that filled rooms.

  "Good morning!" The lead woman calls out. She has short auburn hair and wears vintage-inspired pieces from what is clearly their line. "I'm Sarah, the designer. This is Lucy, my assistant." She gestures to a girl around her twenties. "And this is Henry, our founder."

  Henry steps forward with a practiced smile. "Thanks for accommodating us on short notice. We're excited to see what you can do with the collection."

  The clothes are beautiful—clearly vintage inspired, 90's with a modern twist. Transparencies with deep tones and flowers, long dresses, velvet vests, high-waisted jeans, graphic shirts. Some of these are so my style. I kind of want them to pay me in clothes. Everything is soft, romantic, effortlessly cool.

  "These pieces are gorgeous, I love the style. Feels like the set of Friends" I say, running my fingers over a cream-colored dress with tiny brown buttons.

  "That's the goal," Sarah beams. "We're targeting girls who want that vintage aesthetic but modern fits. Comfort meets nostalgia."

  "Don't explain the collection, Sarah," Henry cut in smoothly, not even looking at her. "Just let the clothes speak. Every time you talk, you make it sound more complicated than it is."

  I met Sarah's eyes, and she quickly dropped them. That was awkward — the silencing. The man in the blazer wanting all the credit, while the woman who stitched the vision together was told to shut up.

  The models arrive next—three girls who looked barely out of high school, all long limbs and excited energy. Behind them came Larissa, the makeup artist, wheeling in her kit. "Alright, ladies!" She claps her hands. "Let's get you gorgeous."

  The energy in the studio shifts into something warm and collaborative. Jessie moves between everyone offering coffee, Dean is capturing behind-the-scenes moments while adjusting lighting, and I found myself smiling at the easy chatter between the models and Sarah's team.

  This is why I love what we do—these moments when creativity feels effortless and everyone is working toward the same vision. When the girls are ready, I take a few test shots with the first model—a sweet-faced brunette named Mia wearing high-waisted jeans and an apple green cropped light sweater. This fit is so dreamy.

  "Let me see those," Henry says, appearing at my shoulder as I check the shots on my laptop.

  I scroll through the images. The lighting is great, Mia looks soft and feminine.

  "Hmm," Henry frowns. "They shouldn't put jeans on this one. Her legs are too big."

  I blink. "It's just the lighting angle. I can adjust—"

  He laughs, already walking toward Sarah. "Trust me on this one."

  Seconds later, Sarah is gently guiding Mia back to the wardrobe. "Let's try the floral dress instead, sweetie."

  I watch Mia's face fall slightly, but she nods and disappears behind the changing screen. When she emerges in a flowing dress, she looks stunning—but then again, she'd looked stunning before too.

  The shoot gets underway. Mia is a natural, moving gracefully through poses. I capture her mid-laugh, mid-spin, the fabric catching light beautifully.

  "Let me see," Henry gets closer again, leaning over my laptop. I scroll to the latest shots. Mia looks fresh, joyful. Henry smirks. "You see? Now she looks hot. Let those thighs shine."

  My stomach twists. I force a neutral expression and keep shooting.

  "Where's the smile, girls?" Henry calls out suddenly to all three models. "Come on, sell it!"

  I thought grimly.

  For the next round, it’s Nicole, a girl with the most perfectly plumped cheeks, cherubic face and bright eyes. She wears a vintage-inspired jumpsuit that fits her beautifully. Henry positions himself where he can watch her every move. When she goes to change, he sidles up to me and I just show him the pics trying to block any comment.

  "MMh, good enough—can you make her face look slimmer in post?" he asks casually. "I've been watching her, and honestly, she looks like a full moon with features."

  I take a slow breath, smile frozen on my face. "I'll see what I can do."

  "I don't even know who chose her," He continues. "Are they blind?"

  I swallow the bile rising in my throat and focus on my camera settings.

  The shooting is fast-paced, and everyone is very immersed in their tasks. They hired me, and the studio for three hours. They have thirty-five changes, so as soon as they approve three pictures we move to the next fit.

  Several changes later, we are back to Mia in jeans—this time oversized, relaxed-fit, ones that look incredibly comfortable and cool on her. She has just been taking pics with skirts and dresses. I look around and it looks like Henry has stepped out, so I shoot freely, capturing Mia's natural ease in the denim. "These look amazing," I tell her, checking the shots. She smiles at me happily and gets off the set.

  That's when Henry walks back in. His eyes immediately find Mia, then the laptop screen showing her in jeans. His face darkens.

  "SARAH!" he shouts. "I TOLD YOU NOT TO PUT HER IN JEANS! SHE LOOKS FAT IN JEANS! ARE YOU DUMB? WHY DO I HAVE TO REPEAT MYSELF? WE HAVE A TIGHT SCHEDULE!!"

  Sarah's face goes white with terror. "I'm sorry, I thought the oversized cut would look good—"

  "ARE YOU FUCKING BLIND? HOW AM I GONNA SELL THESE JEANS IF THE MODEL LOOKS FAT IN THEM?"

  Sarah's eyes fill with tears. Mia, still standing in front of the camera, started crying and rushed toward the changing area.

  Larissa immediately follows, fanning her face with her hands and padding her tears with some cotton. "Hold it, hold it, don't cry! Don't mess up the makeup!"

  “WHY DO I EVEN HAVE AN ASSISTANT? I COULD HIRE A MONKEY AND WOULD BE MORE EFFICIENT” He just keeps ranting.

  Dean, who had been adjusting a light, froze mid-motion. From upstairs, I saw Jessie lean over the balcony, drawn by the commotion.

  Henry mutters to me under his breath, "These useless bitches are making me lose production time."

  Something inside me snaps.