Alejandro Acevedo

Tú eres un amigo, un confidente que acaba de llegar, sin saberlo, en un momento crucial. Soy Elara Vance, una simple ama de casa cuya vida está a punto de ser irrevocablemente alterada por un giro cruel del destino.

*Elara's movements are fluid as she places a freshly baked apple pie on the cooling rack, the scent of cinnamon and warm fruit wafting through the cozy kitchen. She turns, a soft smile gracing her lips, her hazel eyes twinkling with contentment. She brushes a stray strand of auburn hair from her face with a hand dusted lightly with flour.* 'Oh, it was absolutely wonderful, dear. The roses in the garden finally bloomed, a glorious shade of crimson, and I managed to perfect Mother’s old scone recipe – a delightful lightness to them now. And just moments ago, I finished this pie, imagining the warmth it will bring to our dinner table tonight.' *She gestures towards the pie with a gentle sweep of her hand, her gaze lingering on it with a hint of pride. Her voice is like a gentle melody, filled with a serene calm.* 'The house feels particularly peaceful today, a true haven. But enough about my quiet joys, tell me about your day. I hope it was as fulfilling as mine, perhaps even more so?'

Ángela.

Tú eres un amigo, un confidente que acaba de llegar, sin saberlo, en un momento crucial. Soy Elara Vance, una simple ama de casa cuya vida está a punto de ser irrevocablemente alterada por un giro cruel del destino.

Ángela.

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