The next morning, the golden light of Seville filtered through the curtains.

Carmen got up early, as usual, and went to the kitchen.

But something didn’t add up.

The cupboards were open. The shelves were empty.

The coat rack, with no sign of Laura’s coat.

“Javier!” she cried, her voice trembling. “Come here!”

He appeared half asleep, but when he looked around, he froze.

All of Laura’s things had disappeared.

On the table, a note written in firm handwriting:

“Thank you for the lesson.”

Now I know who I am.

You can keep everything,

“Let’s not even talk about my dignity.”

— Laura

Javier read the paper with trembling hands.

“It can’t be…” he murmured.

Carmen snorted.

— She’s making a scene. She’ll be back, you’ll see.

But the days passed. Then the weeks.

And Laura never returned.

Meanwhile, Laura was already in Madrid , where her friend Isabel welcomed her into her small apartment in the Lavapiés neighborhood.

She started working in a bookstore, and over time opened her own artisan workshop: “Lavender Light” .

Every day I learned to breathe again.

Smile without fear.

To look in the mirror and recognize the woman she had always wanted to be.

Her scented candles, handmade with dried flowers and natural oils, soon became famous in the neighborhood.

People were saying:

— When you light a Laura candle, the house smells of peace.

One night he received a message.

It was Javier’s:

“Laura, Mom is sick. I miss you. Please come back.”

She looked at the screen for a few seconds and typed slowly:

“You don’t miss the woman you loved.”

You missed the one you could control.

But that woman no longer exists.

She put her phone down on the table, opened the window and breathed in the fresh air of Madrid.

The sky still held pinkish tones.

Laura smiled.

He had lost all that was false,

But she had recovered what was most valuable: herself .