Ramira smiled.
A real smile.
Not forced.
Not fragile.
Just… real.
“It’s beautiful,” she said.
Salomé studied her for a moment.
“Are you still sad?” she asked.
Ramira thought about the question carefully.
Because the truth mattered now.
More than ever.
“Sometimes,” she admitted. “But not the same way as before.”
Salomé nodded, as if she understood something deeper than the words themselves.
“Me too,” she said.
That night, after Salomé had gone to sleep, Ramira stood by the window.
Looking out at a world that had once moved on without her.
A world that now, slowly, was making space for her again.
She thought about the years she had lost.
The pain.
The silence.
The injustice.
And then she thought about something else.
The moment everything changed.
Not in a courtroom.
Not in an office.
Not in a system.
But in a small, cold room…
When a child decided she was no longer afraid to tell the truth.
Ramira placed her hand against the glass.
And for the first time in years, she did not feel trapped behind it.
Because the truth had found its way through.
Through fear.
