At 8:30 in the evening, Cecilia started gathering the household trash to take it to the container out on the street. It was true that ever since her son was born, she hadn’t had a moment’s rest. If she wasn’t working or studying, she was looking after Ismael, and even in her spare time, she took extra shifts or accepted summer jobs.

Of course, she believed she needed a vacation and longed to relax, but she didn’t want to. And although Ismael had something to do with that reluctance, he wasn’t the main reason. The truth was, the few times she had let herself take a break, she regretted it. The reason was simple: every time her mind was clear, she thought about Victor. It bothered her, but she justified it by telling herself she only thought of him because she wanted to one day run into him, ask him “Why?” and punch him… or maybe the other way around, depending on what came to mind first.

She needed to close that chapter of her life.

“Cecilia, hey,” a familiar voice called behind her, just as she was tossing the bags into the container and getting ready to head back inside. She turned around.

“Hi, Gerardo,” she greeted him. Gerardo was standing in the middle of the sidewalk. Unlike her, he looked like he’d just gotten off work, dressed in a white shirt, dress pants, and, as always, his brown hair slicked back. His glasses were tucked into his shirt pocket.

“How long have you been standing there?” she asked, cautiously.

“I’ve been following you since you left the house.”

A shiver ran down Cecilia’s spine. She really liked Gerardo, but sometimes he could be… slightly unsettling.

“I’ve told you not to be so—weird.”

Gerardo shook his head, convinced he wasn’t doing anything strange.

“You were muttering to yourself. I didn’t want to interrupt your conversation with your imaginary friend.”

Cecilia blushed slightly. “Whatever. It’s nighttime, don’t blame me if one day I knock you out with a punch,” she joked, making a karate chop motion as she started walking home. “You wanna come in? Laura made hot chocolate and I’m sure there are some butter cookies around.”

“No thanks,” Gerardo replied, a little too quickly.“Actually, I came to invite you to dinner.”

Cecilia took a breath, ready to turn him down.

“I made a reservation at The Lost Ship.”

“The Lost Ship?” she repeated, taking a couple of seconds to react.

The Lost Ship was the most famous and exclusive restaurant in the city. But what hit Cecilia wasn’t that — it was the fact that this was the name the new owners had given to what had once been her house, before it was taken from her.

The place was so exclusive no one could get in without a reservation, and Cecilia hadn’t set foot there in years. At first, she used to pass by, peeking through the windows. But that had stopped long ago.

“Yeah,” Gerardo smiled. “I thought you’d like it. A friend helped me get the reservation.”

It was ironic that the one person trying to win her over would unknowingly offer her the chance to return to her old home. Gerardo didn’t know about her past. Not even Manuel or Laura knew she’d once owned that house; they all thought the bank had taken a small home from her after she couldn’t pay the mortgage.

“Cecilia,” Gerardo called, noticing her silence.

“The Lost Ship?” she laughed nervously. “I mean, wow… I think it’s too late and I’m not ready. I don’t have clothes for a place like that.”

“Since when do you care about what you wear?”

“Always!” she protested.

Gerardo pointed at her, as if to highlight how untrue that was. Cecilia was wearing white pants with orange polka dots, a black T-shirt that looked like a kid’s, and a pair of spiked slippers shaped like bats.

“The reservation’s at 10. I’ll wait for you to get changed.”

Cecilia scratched her head, her usual nervous gesture. Part of her wanted to go back to her old house; another part was afraid of what the new owners might have done to it.

She decided to accept after Laura told her this might be her only chance to get inside. She put on the most decent clothes she had, got in the car, and let Gerardo drive her there.

They didn’t talk on the way. Cecilia wasn’t in the mood, and Gerardo wasn’t particularly chatty. He could tell something was wrong but didn’t push. He simply touched her shoulder when they arrived.

When Cecilia saw the house, she took a deep breath. From the outside, it looked the same. Municipal regulations prohibited modifying the facades of historic homes. But she knew everything inside would be different. She was so nervous she didn’t even mind when Gerardo took her by the arm to lead her. In fact, she held onto him, closing her eyes as they crossed the threshold.

She heard murmurs, discreet laughter, and the hostess looking for their reservation. When curiosity finally beat fear, she opened her eyes.

The ceiling was as high as she remembered, made of planks, held up by cedar beams. It was just as she’d instructed the restorers back then. The new owners hadn’t touched it.

But as her gaze moved along the walls, the first disappointment came. They had opened arches and added support columns to enlarge the space. It didn’t look bad, but everything felt different. The boundaries between the living room, dining room, foyer, and kitchen had vanished.

At the back, the bedroom wall no longer had its rustic finish. It had been smoothed over and covered with layers of cement and lime. The red tile floor was gone too, replaced by polished black marble.

She knew her belongings wouldn’t be there, but she couldn’t help feeling let down when she didn’t see her grandfather’s portrait on the back wall.

“Cecilia,” Gerardo called softly, pulling out her chair.

Cecilia sat down like an automaton, so distracted she didn’t even protest when Gerardo ordered for her. She didn’t really react until the waiter set a bowl down in front of her.

“Tortilla soup?”

“It’s your favorite,” Gerardo explained.

“Yeah, but—I didn’t think they’d have it on the menu.”

“Who knows, maybe it’s common,” Gerardo replied, focused on his steak with sweet-and-sour sauce, pepper, and potatoes.

Cecilia lowered her head. She remembered how, when she was with Victor, they never went to fancy restaurants. Villafuerte always said those places didn’t serve food to his taste.

“No good restaurant serves tortilla soup,” he would repeat and those childish arguments always ended badly.

Now that she thought about it, Victor had never taken her anywhere they could be seen together. Maybe he was ashamed, or maybe he’d always planned to leave without causing a scene.

“I prefer home-cooked meals, Ceci,” Victor would say, leaning back on the couch, turning up the news.

“Me too, love,” Cecilia would reply, sitting next to him. “But I can’t just stay cooped up here doing nothing.”

“And what do you want to do?” Victor would smile in that way that made Cecilia’s heart race. She knew what that gleam in his eyes meant.

“Go out.”

Victor would smile wider, take her hand, and pull her onto him.

“I don’t think so,” he’d murmur, devouring her mouth. Cecilia would moan.

“Victor—I’m—being—serious,” she’d stammer between kisses, but Victor wouldn’t stop. 

They had barely lived together a week and couldn’t help it. Every touch, no matter how innocent, ended the same way, with Cecilia giving in. She loved how Victor’s hands slid under her shirt, traced the waistband of her pants, made her body burn with impatience.

She loved feeling those hands explore her, the kisses on her neck, the massages on her thighs, the flashes of pleasure that made her see white lights behind her eyes. She’d gasp for air, but couldn’t hold back the words: “I love you, I adore you, Victor.”

“And I—want you so much.”

Cecilia would gasp, her eyes misting from the rush of emotions.

“It’s a symposium,” Gerardo’s voice suddenly pulled her out of the memory.

Half-embarrassed for what she’d just relived, half-angry that, after everything, those moments still haunted her.

“A symposium?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Gerardo continued, oblivious to the fact she hadn’t heard a word until now.

“It’s more like a gathering of old colleagues. And I want you to come.”

Cecilia shook her head, blinking.“I’m sorry. I can’t leave Ismael with Laura and Manuel. It wouldn’t be right.”

“It’s just for three days. Next week.”

His insistence made her uncomfortable. So much was on her mind, she’d forgotten what they were even talking about.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” she said, standing up.

She headed where she remembered the bathrooms had been, but ran into a false wall. She looked up for the signs and realized they were now where her grandmother’s office used to be.

She went in, imagining the massive mahogany desk in place of the sinks. She leaned on them, remembering all the times she’d gone there seeking her wise grandmother’s advice. But when she looked up, there was no stern, blue-eyed blonde woman, just her own tired, confused reflection.

“Grandma—why?” she whispered.

There was another, much simpler reason why every time she let herself relax, she thought of Victor. She didn’t want to admit it, not even out loud, but—

Even after seeing her house destroyed, even remembering everything, the fact that those moments still haunted her could only mean one thing.

She still longed for him.

She rested her forehead against the sink. It hurt, but she didn’t complain. She just made a decision.

She’d go with Gerardo to his event.

And if something happened—she’d let it happen.