Leticia slammed the trailer door shut and stood still for a moment, straining her ears against the weighty silence of the night. It pressed on her like lead. Inside, the air carried a faint trace of lavender, of dried herbs… and something heavier, something guilty, as though her own remorse had seeped into the walls.
She kicked off her boots in the narrow entryway, the dull thud of their soles echoing through the hollow space. Without taking off her jacket, she walked into the cramped kitchen. The weak bulb dangling from the ceiling flickered twice, as if it too wanted to reproach her.
Leticia sighed so heavily it sounded like her lungs had finally given up on holding the last scraps of strength inside her. She was ready to collapse right there by the sink. But instead, her body betrayed her: hands moving on autopilot, she reached for the kettle. Routine was the only thing keeping her from falling apart completely.
