Alejandro turned, and saw me — standing, in a silk blouse and tailored trousers, not the frail figure he had left in a hospital bed — and he let out a condescending laugh, because he could not yet read the room, because he had never in his life had to.

“Did you seriously follow me to my office, Camila,” he said, “to beg me to come back?”

I did not say one word.

I had learned the value of that.

“Look at you.” He took a step toward me, smirking, playing to his colleagues.

“It’s over.