Chapter 5: Lavender and Smoke
Three months later, the courtyard smelled the same.
Lavender.
Piñon smoke.
Evenings that belonged only to me again.
Ruta Norte was stronger.
Not untouched—but sharper.
We rebuilt contracts. Strengthened systems. Closed the quiet gaps Alejandro had tried to exploit.
Victor Salgado lost the pharmacy account.
Not because I fought him publicly.
Because I outperformed him quietly.
Alejandro signed the final papers without negotiation.
The prenup had been clear.
What was mine remained mine.
Teresa left two weeks after the locks changed.
No goodbye.
Just absence.
Which felt appropriate.
One evening, I stood in the doorway of my home and looked at the blue front door I had chosen years before I ever met him.
I thought about the dress.
The tearing sound.
The moment everything revealed itself.
And I realized something simple.
It had never been about fabric.
Or even betrayal.
It had been about clarity.
About seeing exactly who was standing in your home—and who had mistaken it for something they could take.
I closed the door gently.
Not in anger.
But in certainty.
May you like
And for the first time in a long time—
Everything was exactly where it belonged.
