The divorce day arrived like a quiet storm.
Barcelona, 9:30 a.m. Outside the courthouse, Cristina Montalvo adjusted her seatbelt over her eight-month pregnant belly, staring through the rain-streaked windshield. The drops slid down the glass like tears she refused to shed.
This wasn’t a day for crying.
This was the day she took back her dignity—even if no one else understood it yet.
“Are you sure you want to do this alone?” her mother asked, gripping the steering wheel tightly.
Cristina’s voice was calm—too calm for someone about to divorce her husband.
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