I looked at the red liquid spreading across the tablecloth.
Then at her face.
And I began to cry.
Elena didn't ask me to stop.
She simply sat beside me until I could breathe again.
Healing wasn't a straight road.
But it was a road I was finally allowed to walk at my own pace.
Luis, the waiter from the restaurant, contacted me through Andrés several months later.
He wanted to know how I was doing.
We met for coffee one afternoon.
He arrived looking nervous, twisting the strap of his backpack.
"I wasn't sure whether you'd remember me," he said.
I smiled.
"Of course I remember you."
He looked down.
"I should have said something sooner that night."
"You did say something."
"After the police arrived."
I leaned forward.
"Luis, you were working. You didn't know what was going to happen."
He nodded, but his expression remained troubled.
