Chapter 5: Revelation

My hands were shaking. I leaned on the counter and tried to calm my breathing. I tried again - in vain - to conjure up memories of making love with Marcos. Adrián had achieved his goal: Marcos no longer even seemed like my husband to me. The only images in my head were of him in the arms of another man. The hope I had felt before had vanished: at this point, it seemed undeniable that I had lost him forever.

The changes and losses of the last few hours weighed like a burden on my shoulders and heart. I was mentally exhausted. I didn't want anything else but to curl up and fade into unconsciousness with the hope of waking up and discovering that everything had been a very vivid nightmare. Unfortunately, everything seemed too real, and I had Adrián's threats hanging over me.

I let myself be carried away by that "state of flow" that I had experienced earlier in the afternoon. The latent skills that this body seemed to contain guided me through the movements to finish the meal, serve with elegance, and carry the plates to the dining room.

The boys and their guests came down to the dining room immediately. I felt half relief, mixed with disappointment, when I saw that no one expected much interaction with me while they ate. Apart from accepting some compliments on the food and answering a couple of questions about the recipe, they treated me basically like another piece of furniture in the room.

It was strange to interact with Marcos. In addition to the strange feeling of missing someone who was literally within arm's reach, my newly reduced height made me feel more unrecognizable than any other change in my appearance. I felt like he towered over me now, even sitting down. I kept looking for some sign of that previous recognition in the kitchen, but there was nothing.

Adrián seemed to have returned to normal, without a trace of the horror of green eyes that I had faced earlier. He laughed and had a good time, and even seemed kind and affectionate with me. When I leaned next to him to clear the table before coffee and dessert, he lightly touched my arm and told me with warmth how much he had enjoyed the meal. There was no malice on his face, but I admit that I needed every last fiber of my willpower not to pull away immediately when his hand touched the sleeve of my jacket.

I was serving coffee when Tabatha addressed me:

"Hey, where are you from in Colombia?"

I froze with the coffee pot in my hand.

"Excuse me?"

"What part of the country are you from. My husband was in Bogotá for work last year and he loved it. Are you from there or somewhere else?"

I looked at Marcos, seeking help, some sign that this was a joke. But he returned a polite and distant gaze, the same one you would give to any domestic employee.

"David is from Medellín," Adrián intervened naturally, taking a sip of his drink. "He's been here for about fifteen years, right, Davi...