I don’t even realizeI’m moving until I’m already outside. The night air knifes down my throat, entirely too sharp to swallow. My hands are trembling, arms wrapped around myself like that can hold me together. Behind me, muffled laughter spills out as the doors to the ballroom swing shut, the sound of clinking glasses still reaching me, cruel in its normalcy.
My heels click against the stone path as I walk fast, faster, not caring where I end up, just as long as it’s away. Away from her hand on his arm.
Away from the way his parents lit up like they’d been waiting for her.
I press a fist against my chest, trying to ease the ache. It does nothing.
The mountains loom dark around me, jagged teeth cutting into the night sky. The lake mirrors the resort’s golden glow, so beautiful it feels cruel. I follow the gravel path upward until it bends into a small clearing. A wooden bench waits there, angled perfectly toward the calm water.
When I sink down, the silence presses in, so thick I can hear my own heartbeat. From here, the lake stretches wide, framed byridges that feel impossibly familiar. It’s not Tres Fuegos, but for a moment, I can almost trick myself into thinking it is—the same bite in the air, the same rough cut of the mountains against the sky. Home, except not.
The resemblance guts me.
I kick off my shoes, one after the other, and curl my legs under me on the bench. My chest aches, and before I can stop myself, the words slip out.
“No,por favor.”
The crunch of steps on gravel behind me makes me freeze. For a stupid, reckless second, I think it might be him.
But then I hear her voice.
“Manu.”
Camila.
She slips into the clearing, softer than usual, her perfume curling faintly in the air. She doesn’t sit right away, just stands there a beat, then lowers herself onto the far end of the bench. She’s kicked her shoes off too, her dress bunched at the knees so the hem doesn’t drag.
“You didn’t have to follow me,” I whisper, folding my arms tight across my chest.
“I know.” She shrugs, leaning back against the bench slats. “But I didn’t feel like staying there.”
The lake glimmers below us, catching every light from the resort. The quiet presses too loud, and suddenly I’m unraveling.
“I don’t belong here.”
Saying those words out loud makes everything heavier, like I’ve given them a shape I can’t take back. Camila tilts her head, not surprised. She doesn’t argue, doesn’t rush to sayof course you do. She waits.
“I mean…” My voice shakes, my fingers digging into my arms. “I’ve never belonged. Not here, not in New York. I thoughtleaving Tres Fuegos would make me more—bigger, better. But all it’s made me is homesick.”
The tears come fast, stinging hot. I swipe at them with the back of my hand, frustrated, but they keep falling.
“Every single day, I wake up and I wonder if I made a mistake,” I choke out. “In New York, I’m always the outsider. I don’t get the rhythm and the references, the… everything. People are polite, but it’s like I’m always five seconds behind.”
I laugh bitterly, a sound that doesn’t belong to me. “And it’s worse with these people. At least in New York, I can separate from them. They’ve known each other forever. It’s like I’m always the plus one that’s invited after the first round of RSVPs comes in. Like an afterthought.”
Camila leans forward, elbows braced on her knees, watching me with steady eyes. “You’re not anafterthought, Manu.”
“I am.” My voice cracks. “You saw it. The second she walked in—it was like I disappeared. Like I’d never existed at all. And the worst part? I let myself believe. For one second, I thought maybe… maybe this thing with him could mean something.” My breath hitches. “But I was just the placeholder until Athena came back.”
The image flashes again—Athena’s hand sliding so easily onto his arm, his mother’s delighted smile, the table erupting like they’d been waiting for her all along. My chest caves just thinking about it. I press my hands over my face, trying to keep the sob inside, but it breaks through anyway, rough and ugly.
Camila doesn’t move at first. Then, slow and deliberate, she slides closer, her arm slipping around my shoulders. I collapse into her, forehead pressed to her collarbone, tears soaking into her dress. Her hand strokes circles on my back, grounding, unhurried.
“Manu,” she murmurs. “Vos estás lastimada. That’s all. You’re allowed to hurt. You’re allowed to miss home, even if youlove your new life. You’re allowed to be both. Just because you made this choice for yourself doesn’t mean it hurts less.”
My chest twists. I left Argentina with my chin high, telling myself I was brave, that chasing my career in New York meant I was finally becoming the person I always wanted to be. But tonight, watching them fold her back into his life like nothing had ever happened, I’ve never felt smaller.
“I’m tired.” My voice is muffled against her shoulder. “I’m so tired of not fitting anywhere. Too… invisible. I don’t know where I’m supposed to go.”
