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Entry tags:
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CHARACTERS: Adrían Aldana Navarro and Alba Gutiérrez Flores, mentions of Eva Aldana Gutiérrez and Philip de Vries
WHAT: Adrían goes home to tie up some loose ends.
WHEN: 2/9/2026
WHERE: Adrían's and Eva's former home
WARNINGS: Sads I guess?
WHAT: Adrían goes home to tie up some loose ends.
WHEN: 2/9/2026
WHERE: Adrían's and Eva's former home
WARNINGS: Sads I guess?
Crossing the threshold feels like stepping back into a time, putting on a skin that is too tight and ill fitting. The house hasn’t changed in the twenty four years that he has been gone — the same photos line the walls, their wedding portrait in a place of pride on the mantle. Worn throw pillows embroidered with flowers sit patiently against the couch cushions, and his back remembers the scratch of the fabric against his skin. The coffee table has a vase of flowers, fresh, bright and vibrant, unlike the faded colors of the walls and curtains and people that crowd into the sitting room.
Alba is fussing over Eva, and though he knows she loves their daughter as fiercely as he does, he cannot help but feel disgust curl in his stomach. Her feelings are a product, shiny and perfect and joyful in an uncanny valley way. They were once real, but now have the same faux quality as words read off a script.
He focuses on the portrait of them on the mantle: young, in love. He looks so much younger in the photograph, more relaxed, his arm wrapped so easily around the woman next to him. It had been such a momentous day, the day that they tied their lives together, for better or for worse. Alba had been meant to be his forever, his everything. Mi todo, he had called her in their vows, promising his fidelity and support before their families and God, wholly intent upon keeping that promise no matter what the world threw at them. The rings they slid on each other’s fingers were a physical symbol of that vow.
But now his ring finger stood empty, the simple gold band stored in a box, waiting for Eva to take it if she wanted. Alba’s still sat on her finger, light making the single solitaire glitter. Her face had lit up when he had presented it to her, a full year of saving his meager earnings to get her something that was worthy of her. Proudly, she’d showed it off to anyone who would listen. It had made him so happy to bring such an expression to her face, but now he looks at her, wedding bands unchanged, and feels nothing but frustration.
Pity.
Resentment.
Adrían steps away from the mantle, eyes seeking Philip, his familiar face anchoring him as memories crash over his head, trying to drag him under. He notices Eva glance at him, concern slipping through her mask, and he shakes his head slightly. Alba notices the exchange and turns to him, smile still perfectly in place.
“Adrían.”
“Alba.”
Eva excuses herself, Philip following, leaving the two of them alone. Without realizing, he has positioned himself in his usual spot, Alba mirroring him, the two of them a tableau of failure.
“You look good.” And, damn it, she does, but beauty had never been something his wife lacked. Her grace was effortless, natural. Even nearly two and half decades later, she is still achingly beautiful, a more refined version of the woman in the photo behind him.
But her laugh is hollow, voice reaching desperately for the chiming sound it used to make. They could never replicate it with the implants: the inflection of emotion. There were some things that couldn’t be replicated, and he is glad for that right now, watching this woman playact at the being his Alba. “You have not paid me a compliment in so long, I’m afraid I will faint,” she remarks, the playfulness ringing false.
There is no use in pretending. Anger burns through his chest, impotent with no outlet. She cannot give him the fight he wants. She has not been able to give him anything for longer than their marriage lasted. And now, more than anything, he wants this to be over, to find Philip and fall into his arms, remind himself of what is real.
“I’m here for the research I left with you and to see if you signed the paperwork.”
Not even a flicker of emotion crosses her face at the words, that hated smile still in place. The first time he had seen it had been in this exact spot, after months of fighting about her submitting herself for an implant. He can almost superimpose their younger selves over them; nothing about the scene has changed except for their ages. It still lacks depth, authenticity.
“Of course. Let me get them for you.” She excuses herself and leaves the room, and the silence feels suffocating.
The liquor cabinet is exactly where it had been the last time he had been here, and he crosses to it, removes a bottle of whiskey and a glass, pours himself two fingers, and tosses it back. It burns the back of his throat, the sting exactly what he wanted. He is on his second glass when Alba returns, a file folder in one hand and a flash drive in the other.
She hands them to him and he silently pockets the drive and reviews the papers, ignoring the stab of failure as he reads the words Petition for the dissolution of marriage at the top. Her signature sits in faded ink besides his.
“Are you staying long?” Even her curiosity feels dimmed.
“A few days.”
A flicker of something darkens her eyes before disappearing, returning them to the dull brown that he had gotten used to. “You can stay for one night.” Her voice is firm in a way he hasn’t heard since she told him she was going to the implant. “I’ll prepare the guest room for you and Señor de Vries. Cielito has her own room.”
“Alba—”
Her hand raises, the gold of her wedding band catching the light. “You know it is dangerous for you here, mi vida. I’ll prepare the rooms and start working on dinner. How does paella sound? That was always your favorite.”
But she doesn’t wait for an answer, breezing out of the room, leaving him alone in the room he used to know with the end of their marriage clutched in his hands.
Alba is fussing over Eva, and though he knows she loves their daughter as fiercely as he does, he cannot help but feel disgust curl in his stomach. Her feelings are a product, shiny and perfect and joyful in an uncanny valley way. They were once real, but now have the same faux quality as words read off a script.
He focuses on the portrait of them on the mantle: young, in love. He looks so much younger in the photograph, more relaxed, his arm wrapped so easily around the woman next to him. It had been such a momentous day, the day that they tied their lives together, for better or for worse. Alba had been meant to be his forever, his everything. Mi todo, he had called her in their vows, promising his fidelity and support before their families and God, wholly intent upon keeping that promise no matter what the world threw at them. The rings they slid on each other’s fingers were a physical symbol of that vow.
But now his ring finger stood empty, the simple gold band stored in a box, waiting for Eva to take it if she wanted. Alba’s still sat on her finger, light making the single solitaire glitter. Her face had lit up when he had presented it to her, a full year of saving his meager earnings to get her something that was worthy of her. Proudly, she’d showed it off to anyone who would listen. It had made him so happy to bring such an expression to her face, but now he looks at her, wedding bands unchanged, and feels nothing but frustration.
Pity.
Resentment.
Adrían steps away from the mantle, eyes seeking Philip, his familiar face anchoring him as memories crash over his head, trying to drag him under. He notices Eva glance at him, concern slipping through her mask, and he shakes his head slightly. Alba notices the exchange and turns to him, smile still perfectly in place.
“Adrían.”
“Alba.”
Eva excuses herself, Philip following, leaving the two of them alone. Without realizing, he has positioned himself in his usual spot, Alba mirroring him, the two of them a tableau of failure.
“You look good.” And, damn it, she does, but beauty had never been something his wife lacked. Her grace was effortless, natural. Even nearly two and half decades later, she is still achingly beautiful, a more refined version of the woman in the photo behind him.
But her laugh is hollow, voice reaching desperately for the chiming sound it used to make. They could never replicate it with the implants: the inflection of emotion. There were some things that couldn’t be replicated, and he is glad for that right now, watching this woman playact at the being his Alba. “You have not paid me a compliment in so long, I’m afraid I will faint,” she remarks, the playfulness ringing false.
There is no use in pretending. Anger burns through his chest, impotent with no outlet. She cannot give him the fight he wants. She has not been able to give him anything for longer than their marriage lasted. And now, more than anything, he wants this to be over, to find Philip and fall into his arms, remind himself of what is real.
“I’m here for the research I left with you and to see if you signed the paperwork.”
Not even a flicker of emotion crosses her face at the words, that hated smile still in place. The first time he had seen it had been in this exact spot, after months of fighting about her submitting herself for an implant. He can almost superimpose their younger selves over them; nothing about the scene has changed except for their ages. It still lacks depth, authenticity.
“Of course. Let me get them for you.” She excuses herself and leaves the room, and the silence feels suffocating.
The liquor cabinet is exactly where it had been the last time he had been here, and he crosses to it, removes a bottle of whiskey and a glass, pours himself two fingers, and tosses it back. It burns the back of his throat, the sting exactly what he wanted. He is on his second glass when Alba returns, a file folder in one hand and a flash drive in the other.
She hands them to him and he silently pockets the drive and reviews the papers, ignoring the stab of failure as he reads the words Petition for the dissolution of marriage at the top. Her signature sits in faded ink besides his.
“Are you staying long?” Even her curiosity feels dimmed.
“A few days.”
A flicker of something darkens her eyes before disappearing, returning them to the dull brown that he had gotten used to. “You can stay for one night.” Her voice is firm in a way he hasn’t heard since she told him she was going to the implant. “I’ll prepare the guest room for you and Señor de Vries. Cielito has her own room.”
“Alba—”
Her hand raises, the gold of her wedding band catching the light. “You know it is dangerous for you here, mi vida. I’ll prepare the rooms and start working on dinner. How does paella sound? That was always your favorite.”
But she doesn’t wait for an answer, breezing out of the room, leaving him alone in the room he used to know with the end of their marriage clutched in his hands.
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