Miguel watched them and felt the old grief arrive without controlling the room.
Later that evening, after Lucia went out to meet friends, Miguel and Sofia sat on the back patio under a heater. They were both older now: gray at Miguel's temples, faint lines around Sofia's eyes, bodies less interested in pretending time had not passed. The house behind them glowed warmly through the windows. No secret toothbrushes. No unexplained watches. No illusion that objects themselves made a marriage safe.
"Would you do it again?" Sofia asked. Miguel knew what she meant. Stay.
He considered the question honestly. "Knowing everything?" he said. "Yes. But I wouldn't wait so long to change my job. And I wouldn't confuse paying for a family with being in it."
Sofia nodded. "I wouldn't wait until I hated my own life before admitting I was unhappy." Miguel looked at her. "And Daniel?"