Chapter 10 - The Garden of Roses
The evening sun was setting over Coyoacán, casting a warm, orange-pink glow across the terrace.
Valeria sat on the stone wall of her garden, a glass of red wine in her hand. Beside her, Mateo was playing a soft acoustic melody on his guitar, the music drifting up into the branches of the jacaranda tree.
There were no white candles, no expensive linen tables, and no fake, poisonous smiles.
There was only the quiet, honest beauty of a life rebuilt from the ground up, stronger and more beautiful than the one that had been broken.
Valeria looked down at her hands. The skin was smooth, the gold ring she had worn for Rodrigo long gone, replaced by a simple, elegant silver band her grandmother had left her.
"What are you thinking about, Vale?" Mateo asked, pausing his guitar.
May you like
Valeria took a slow sip of her wine, looking at the fresh rose bushes she had planted near the terrace—not ivory roses, but deep, vibrant red ones that bloomed proudly in the sun.
"I’m thinking," Valeria said, her voice filled with a deep, permanent peace, "that some weddings are meant to be crashed. Especially when the bride is the one who finally learns how to run."
