2 - New beginning

LUNA

I switch on the light in my new apartment and step inside, still hardly believing what I’ve just done. The place is quiet, cozy, and clean, with everything in its place. The furniture isn’t much yet, but it was chosen carefully by me—modern, functional, and beautiful. A space that’s only mine, far from that mansion where everything always felt too big, too cold… and far too empty.

I drop the keys on the console, slip off my shoes, and walk through the living room with my heart racing but light. I fall onto the pale linen sofa and lie there, staring at the ceiling with a strange mix of relief and disbelief, twirling a brown curl between my fingers.

“I can’t believe I did it,” I whisper, as if saying it out loud makes it more real.

I didn’t have to wait for anyone to open this door. I didn’t wait for the sound of footsteps behind me. I didn’t need to hide my pain or measure my words. This space wasn’t inherited, nor imposed. I chose it. Just as I chose to start over.

I close my eyes for a few seconds, soaking in the comfortable silence surrounding me. For the first time in months, maybe years, I feel like I belong to myself.

But inevitably, my mind starts spinning.

How am I going to tell my parents? The question hits hard, leaving a knot in my stomach. They knew the marriage was one of convenience, yes. But they believed it was a good deal. That it would bring me security, visibility, stability. They didn’t know—or pretended not to know—that Ace hadn’t looked me in the eyes for months, that he never touched me even while sleeping in the same bed, that he treated me like part of the furniture.

And my friends? That will be hard to explain. To listen to the questions, the belated advice, the judgments disguised as concern. But at the same time… who cares. Those who truly love me will understand.

Anyone who knows me knows I’m not impulsive. That I only left because there was no other way to endure it anymore.

I shake my head, brushing away the storm of thoughts. I don’t want to spend my first night alone drowning in doubts.

Food or luggage?

I glance at the carry-on bag beside me and remember the other two still in the car. I rushed upstairs, just wanting to get inside. I haven’t decided what goes in each room yet—the closet is empty, the drawers too. But before I force myself to move a muscle, I grab my phone and open the delivery app.

Sushi? A salad? Maybe pasta with cheese sauce… or a burger with fries…

Before I decide, the screen lights up. My phone buzzes with short vibrations, and a familiar name appears.

ACE MONTESINO.

My body freezes. His name feels distant now. As if it belonged to another life. Another world.

I stare at the screen, not touching it. The call rings for a few seconds, then goes to voicemail. He doesn’t leave a message.

Nor should he. He’s not one for second attempts or words. Never was. At our dinners, silence always spoke louder than anything else. Ace wasn’t cruel. But he was absent. And in the end, he hurt me more with what he didn’t do than with what he did.

The phone buzzes again, another call. I ignore it. I don’t want to hear his voice. Not now. Maybe never. But the fact is, I’ll still have to see him until the divorce papers are finalized.

I get up and walk to the window. The city lights spread out like artificial constellations. It’s all so different from the mansion—no suffocating routine that forced me to wear masks all the time.

A weight slips off my shoulders.

Here, I’m not “Mrs. Montesino.” I’m just Luna. Luna Bexter. A woman who chose not to live halfway. Who chose to leave before losing herself completely. I don’t yet know what I want to do from here on out, but it will be a pleasure to find out.

I set my phone aside, grab the keys, and go back down to the car to fetch the rest of my luggage. When I return with the bags in hand, the phone shows two missed calls and, surprisingly, a voicemail notification—which I also don’t listen to.

I put my clothes away in the new closet, still fragrant with the smell of fresh wood. Each hanger I place inside feels like a step toward independence. Clothes that are mine, bought by me, folded my way. No longer separated by social events or by what’s worthy of a Montesino. Just what I like, what fits me, what represents me. The other pieces are now in the hands of someone who will wear them with joy.

Later, I finally order food. Pasta with white sauce and truffled mushrooms. Something that comforts me.

I sit out on the balcony with my plate in my lap and a glass of white wine. The sky is clear. The city feels alive, but not threatening. I feel like I finally belong in the space I’m in.

And even if his name still lingers in my phone, even if his voice still echoes somewhere in the quiet corners of my mind, I know I made the right choice—or at least, the right choice for myself.

Tonight, I’m taking care of me.

And tomorrow… tomorrow I might even listen to what he has to say.

But only if I want to.