Because something in her voice has crossed a line and cannot uncross it.
By morning, the business damage begins.
Your finance manager Sofía calls at eight sharp.
“I assume the pool party went badly,” she says.
You almost laugh.
“Why?”
“Because Martin has sent seventeen emails, all increasingly emotional, and his operations director just asked if the termination is negotiable.”
“It isn’t.”
“I thought so.”
You hear papers moving on her end.
“Also, two of their designers sent their portfolios to our general careers email before seven this morning.”
That does make you laugh.
“Ambitious.”
“Or terrified,” Sofía says. “Breeze Media relied on us more than they admitted. Your retainer was their stable cash flow.”
You look at Clara, asleep in a chair with a folded apron as a pillow.
“Good to know.”
“There is something else,” Sofía says.
Your body tightens.
“What?”
“When I reviewed the invoices, I found fees routed through a personal consulting account attached to Martin. They were small enough to look normal, but repeated. I’m sending everything to legal.”
“How much?”
“Over six years? Almost forty thousand euros.”
You sit very still.
Not because the money will ruin you. It will not. But theft has a different taste when served by someone who laughed at your body while eating food you cooked.
“Document everything,” you say.
“Already started.”
After you hang up, you stand in the bakery kitchen and look at your hands.
These hands built five stores.
These hands frosted wedding cakes, signed payroll, held your husband’s face, carried birthday gifts to people who did not deserve them. These hands had been steady last night when you took away a contract that fed a man who called you stupid.
You are proud of them.
That surprises you.
Felipe arrives at the bakery at noon.
He looks like he has not slept. He sees Clara sitting near the office doorway and stops, understanding something without being told. She looks at him with tired kindness, then steps into the front of the shop to give you privacy.
Felipe stands in the kitchen.
“I didn’t know about the stolen fees,” he says.
“I believe you.”
His relief is brief.
“But you knew about everything else,” you add.
He nods.
“I did.”
