THE SCENT OF THE PAST

POV ABIGAIL.

The Miami sun poured like warm honey over the big windows, bathing in liquid gold the bouquets of white orchids and gardenias I had chosen so carefully. I had dreamed of this day for months, storing every detail in my heart like someone guards a promise: the man who loved me, the dress that made me feel invincible, the two women who were more family than any blood. And now, everything trembled inside me, a mix of nerves and hope that made me cling to the edge of the mirror in the small antechamber.

I looked at myself once more, adjusting the veil with fingers that barely obeyed. The dress was a whisper of ivory silk that slid over my hips like a forbidden caress, reminding me of who I had decided to become after him: Abigail Rodríguez. Strong. Reborn. Deserving of a love that didn’t hurt, one that wrapped me in warmth instead of burning me. Belén was at my side, her dark eyes shining with contained emotion, adjusting my veil with that impatience of hers that always made me smile.

“You’re going to take his breath away, Abi,” she said, her voice half tenderness, half threat. “And if he doesn’t, I’ll knock the wind out of him myself so he falls to his knees.”

Cinthia, leaning against the doorframe with that natural elegance I had always envied just a little, let out a low laugh, crossing her arms as she watched us.

“Relax, Bel. If Armando doesn’t fall at her feet, I’ll push him myself. No one deserves this more than our Abi.”

I felt my tears trying to break free, but I held them back with a firm blink. Not today. Today was the day I began again, leaving behind the woman who fled Italy with a shattered heart and a stained name. Belén and Cinthia were my anchor, the ones who had seen me at my worst —the nights of endless crying, the days when I could barely get out of bed— and had pushed me to rebuild myself. Our friendship was a bond forged in fire: Belén with her impulsive fire, always ready to fight for me; Cinthia with her strategic calm, the one who planned every step like a chess match. Together, we were invincible.

When the assistant opened the door and murmured “It’s time,” I felt the floor tilt slightly beneath my heels. Belén took one arm, Cinthia the other, and we walked together toward the hall. I had no father to take me down the aisle, but I had something infinitely better: I had them, my guardians, my confidants. The air was filled with jasmine and soft whispers, flowers hanging from the ceiling like a canopy of dreams. And there, at the end, waited Armando. Tall, self-assured, with that calm smile that had restored my faith in men. He looked at me as if I were the only fixed point in a world spinning too fast, and I felt my heart race, beating with a mix of love and anticipation that made me feel alive again.

But as I reached his side, I couldn’t ignore Lucrecia, his mother, with that grimace disguised as a smile that always made me feel like an intruder. And Daniela, the perfect cousin, measuring every inch of my dress as if searching for the crack in my armor. Their disdain was a subtle poison, one that seeped into every look and word, reminding me that to them, I was the outsider in their privileged world. Armando and I had fought against that —nights of quiet arguments, whispered promises in the dark— but his love for me was genuine, a balm that healed the wounds of the past. He had taught me to trust again, with his endless patience and the way he made me feel like it was just the two of us against the world.

As Belén walked past Armando, she whispered without losing her smile:

“Touch her wrong and I’ll take your life with my own hands.”

Cinthia, with her velvet-sharp voice, added:

“And I’ll help you hide the body.”

Armando let out a nervous laugh, but his eyes locked on mine with a warmth that dispelled any shadow. The officiant began to speak, his words floating around us like soap bubbles, formalities that brought us closer to the “I do” that would change everything.

“Do you take…?”

“Yes,” said Armando, and his voice was a firm vow, full of the certainty that had drawn me to him from the start.

He looked at me, expectant.

I took a deep breath. I was going to say yes. I was going to say it with all my soul, sealing this new beginning —and I said it with strength and hope.

The officiant continued with the phrase no one wants to hear. “If anyone objects to this union, speak now or—”

Silence. A silence so dense it hurt, making time stretch like an elastic about to snap. And then, the door burst open, as if destiny itself had decided to enter without knocking, bringing with it a gust of hot air and chaos.

A voice that still lived in my nightmares thundered through the hall:

“I object!”

The world stopped, and I felt the ground open beneath my feet. I saw him stride between the chairs, tall, dark-haired, with that way of walking that had once driven me insane. Impeccable black suit, stormy black eyes, the tense jaw of someone who’d carried a too-heavy guilt for three years. Leonardo Ferrer. My husband. My ex. My biggest mistake and my deepest love, the man who lifted me to the stars only to let me fall into the abyss.

Armando stepped in front of me like a human shield, his body tense, protecting me.

“Who the hell are you?” he growled, his voice tinged with protective anger.

Leonardo didn’t even look at him. He only looked at me, as he always had, with that intensity that had captivated me and then destroyed me.

“Luciana,” he said, and my real name fell like a stone into the pond of my new life, rippling everything I had worked so hard to build.

I felt the air leave my lungs. Three years. Three years hiding, changing name, country, soul. Three years trying to forget his hands on my waist, his lips on my neck, the night I found him with her —the photos scattered on the table like irrefutable proof of his betrayal, my trembling signature on the divorce papers, the deafening silence of my departure without even a goodbye note. And now he was here, shattering my wedding like someone breaking glass with a bare hand, reopening wounds that had barely begun to heal.