She had aged, of course. Her hair was almost completely white and her back was slightly hunched.
But her eyes… remained the same: warm, honest, full of that tranquility that always made me feel safe.
His wife had died more than ten years ago. He lived alone in a large house in Monterrey because his son worked in another city.
We started talking as if we had never been apart.
The coffees that initially lasted an hour gradually stretched into the entire afternoon. Then came the messages at night, the calls to ask if I had eaten dinner, if I was okay, if I needed anything.
Without realizing it, we were filling the void that two lonely people had carried for years.
One day she told me with a shy smile:
—Maybe… we could live together. That way neither of us would be so alone.
I couldn’t sleep that night.
My daughter immediately objected.
