They met at the small café on Maple Street, the one near Rosa’s apartment. Victor had not been there in years.
It smelled of coffee grounds and cinnamon. The wooden tables were scratched and uneven. Morning light filtered through thin curtains, turning the dust in the air into something almost luminous.
Lina sat near the window.
She wore a simple gray coat, hair pulled back, no makeup. She looked younger here than she did in boardrooms. Less armored.
“You’re leaving,” he said without preamble as he sat down.
She studied him.
“I haven’t decided.”
“You don’t call me at six in the morning to say you’re staying.”
Α faint smile flickered across her face.
“I wanted to tell you in person.”
He nodded once.
“Good.”
They sat in silence as a waitress set down two cups of coffee. Victor noticed Lina’s hands around the mug—steady, but tight.
“I owe you everything,” she said quietly.
“No,” he replied immediately. “You don’t.”
“You paid for Mama’s treatment. You paid for school. You—”
“I invested,” he interrupted, more sharply than intended. “You returned the investment tenfold.”
“That’s not the same.”
