They asked me to go with them to the Hospital Español to give my statement. I went with them.
When I finally came out, almost an hour later, my hair was a mess, my dress was wrinkled, and I had three messages from Andrés.
Where are you?
My mom is offended.
Please come and be charming.
Be charming.
As if a man’s life were worth less than a well-placed smile in front of rich people.
When I arrived at the Villaseñor mansion, Andrés opened the door before I even rang the bell. He didn’t kiss me. He didn’t ask how the gentleman was.
He just whispered:
“You have to apologize.”
“For being late?”
“For making me look bad.”
An elegant woman appeared behind him, wearing pearls around her neck, her gaze sizing me up and down.
“So you’re Mariana,” she said. “The girl who kept my son waiting.”
I was about to answer, but the house phone rang.
The butler answered. His expression changed.
“Mrs. Cecilia… the call is from the Spanish Hospital.”
Everyone froze.
The butler swallowed hard.
“They found Don Héctor Villaseñor.”
And then Andrés’s mother slowly turned toward me.
“Which old man did you help tonight?”
I couldn’t believe what was about to happen.
PART 2
The Villaseñor family’s dining room looked like a museum where they sometimes served soup.
There were crystal glasses, silver cutlery, long candles, and plates with the family crest. But what took my breath away was the portrait hanging above the fireplace: an older man, with white hair, a hard gaze, and a firm jaw.
It was him.
The man from the sidewalk.
Younger, stronger, more imposing. But it was him.
“Is that Don Héctor?” I asked.
Ricardo Villaseñor, Andrés’s father, placed his glass on the table.
“My father,” he replied. “Why?”
“Because the man I found lying on Reforma looks like him.”
Andrés’s sister, Paulina, let out a barely audible “Oh no.”
Cecilia turned white, but not from worry. More like someone surprised that a secret had been revealed prematurely.
“Which hospital did you say?” Ricardo asked.
“Hospital Español.”
“What was he carrying?”
He didn’t ask if he was alive.
He didn’t ask if he was conscious.
He didn’t ask if he was cold.
He just wanted to know what he was carrying.
I looked at him calmly.
“Why is that the first thing you care about?”
Andrés took my arm.
“Mariana, let’s go talk outside.”
His hand was too tight.
“Let go of me,” I said.
He didn’t immediately. That second told me more about my future than three years of our relationship.
Then my cell phone rang. It was the hospital.
“Miss Mariana López,” a nurse said, “the patient has woken up. He’s asking for the woman who stayed with him.”
I looked at Andrés.
“I’m on my way.”
“You can’t leave like this,” he said. “You’re making everything worse.”
I took off my engagement ring. I left it next to the plate I never touched.
“No, Andrés. I’m seeing everything clearly.”
I left that mansion with my back burning from the stares, but without looking back.
At the hospital, Don Héctor is
