“And you?”
“60, but I already know. I’ve done my research on you.”
Raúl frowned. “Why me?”
“Because you’re honest. You touched me. You don’t want my money. You treated me with respect. You reminded me what it’s like to be loved.” Then she opened up. “I’ve been betrayed. I’ve been humiliated.
I’ve been used. All my life I’ve had money and recognition, but never love at my age. I just want to feel what it’s like to be loved.”
Raúl was speechless. She asked him if he had children. “No.”
She told him she had an adopted daughter, María, 23, whom she had raised alone. Then Raúl stood up, walked over to her, and kissed her.
“Is that a yes?” Raquel asked, confused. He nodded, and that’s how their story began.
That night Raquel didn’t sleep alone. For the first time in years, she felt sincere arms around her, tender gestures. He said softly, “I may not be rich, but I’m yours.”
The days passed, and they saw each other more and more, first discreetly, then publicly. Raúl regained her trust.
