The lodge's dining room buzzed with evening chatter when a voice cut through the noise. "Camila?"
Camila stiffened, turning slowly. "Helena."
Lívia looked between them—a woman in her early forties with the same calm intelligence as Camila, but softer somehow. More open.
"I didn't know you were here," Helena said, though her eyes flickered to Lívia with brief curiosity.
"Annual trip," Camila replied, her composure suddenly professional. "You?"
"Same." Helena's gaze returned to Lívia. "I'm Helena."
"Lívia." No apology in her tone. No embarrassment.
Helena studied her—not with judgment, but with recognition. "You look lighter," she said to Camila.
The observation landed deeper than an accusation would have. Camila's jaw tightened slightly. "It's not what you think."
"I didn't say it was anything." Helena paused. "Are you happy?"
Camila didn't answer immediately. She looked at Lívia. And for once, she didn't calculate the response. "Yes."
Helena nodded. There was sadness there—but also relief. "Good," she said softly. "I wanted you to learn how to be." She left them standing there—not defeated, not angry. Just closed.
Camila exhaled slowly. "You okay?" Lívia asked, touching her arm.
Camila nodded. "For the first time in a long time."