Her eyes filled.
She took the information sheet I'd prepared.
"Thank you."
I watched her leave.
And something inside me settled.
What had happened to me would always be part of my history.
But it would not be the only thing my history meant.
One warm evening in early summer, Andrés invited me back to the restaurant.
He explained that the staff wanted to thank me for the way I'd handled the incident and for recognizing Luis's help.
At first, I hesitated.
The thought of returning made my palms damp.
Lucía offered to accompany me.
I accepted.
When we arrived, the restaurant looked exactly as I remembered.
Golden light.
White tablecloths.
Crystal glasses.
Soft music floating above quiet conversations.
My stomach tightened as we passed the table where I'd sat with Javier and Mercedes.
It was occupied by an elderly couple sharing dessert.
The woman was laughing.
Her husband reached across the table to brush a crumb from her sleeve.
