The unraveled plot,
by Alfredo Behrens

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        When she arrived home, Martha stood in the hallway, recognizing her husband only as one recognizes a faded photograph in a history book. The connection had been severed; the thread was gone. And without the thread, there was nothing left to bind her to the ghost of the man in the armchair.

She left the house immediately; she couldn’t stand the smell of the place. Martha headed for the park, where she knew her two daughters, Claire and Elena, would be playing with her grandchildren. The daughters watched in amazement. Martha wasn’t just sitting on the bench; she was on the grass, bending down easily to play with the children, smiling and laughing with feline grace. Claire and Elena looked at each other, stunned. ‘Mum? What happened? What’s going on?’ Claire asked. ‘I’ve changed,’ Martha replied, her eyes crystal clear. ‘I’m leaving. Not forever, perhaps, but I need to enjoy life. I’m going to Finisterre, in Portugal.’ Claire winked mischievously. ‘Finisterre? Is it because of that young fisherman you had a romance with forty years ago?’ Martha searched her mind. She saw his face but felt no warmth or nostalgia. It was just a fact in a closed book. ‘I don’t care about the fisherman,’ said Martha. ‘I’m going because the light is honest there. I’m going towards the breath.’