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 Index

Front page
Synopsis
Cover
Dedication
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
eleven
12
13
14
fifteen
16
17
18
19
twenty
twenty-one
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
3. 4
35
Epilogue
Author's note
Aid organizations
Thanks
Credits
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 Synopsis

Sometimes, the one who loves you the most is the one who hurts you
the most.
Lily hasn't always had it easy. Therefore, her idyllic relationship
with a magnificent neurosurgeon named Ryle Kincaid seems too
good to be true. When Atlas, her first love, suddenly reappears and
Ryle begins to show his true colors, everything Lily has built with him
is threatened.
BREAK THE CIRCLE

Colleen Hoover

Translation of Lara Agnelli

 I dedicate it to my father, who tried everything
Its strength not to show us its worst version.
And to my mother, who made sure that
we would never see that version
First part
 1

From the railing where I sit, with one foot on each side, I look at the
twelve-story drop that separates me from the streets of Boston and I can't
help but think about suicide.
Not in mine. I like my life enough to want to push it to the end. I'm
thinking about other people, about the reasons that lead someone to decide
to end their life. I wonder if they will regret it; If during the seconds
between letting go of the ledge and hitting the sidewalk, you look at the
ground approaching at full speed and think: "Shit, I screwed up."
I would say no.
Death is something I think about often, and even more so today,
considering that I just delivered—barely twelve hours ago—one of the most
epic panegyrics that the people of Plethora, in the state of Maine, have ever
witnessed. in all his life. Well, okay, maybe epic isn't the most appropriate
word to define it, maybe it would be more appropriate to call it disastrous ;
I guess it depends on if you ask me or if you ask You ask my mother.
"My mother, who probably won't speak to me again for another year."
The eulogy that I gave will not go down in history, that is clear. It wasn't
like the one Brooke Shields gave at Michael Jackson's funeral, or Steve
Jobs's sister's, or Pat Tillman's brother, but it was epic all the same.
 At first I was nervous. After all, we are talking about the funeral of the
prodigious Andrew Bloom, the beloved mayor of my town — Plethora,
Maine — who was also the owner of the largest real estate agency in the
municipality. Husband of the beloved Jenny Bloom, the most revered
teaching assistant in all of Plethora, and father of Lily Bloom, the strange
girl with that unformal red hair, the one who fell in love with a homeless
man to the great shame of her family.
That's me, I'm Lily Bloom and Andrew Bloom was my father.
As soon as I finished giving the eulogy, I boarded a plane back to Boston
and snuck onto the first rooftop I could find. I insist, I have no intention of
committing suicide; I'm not going to jump from the roof. But I needed fresh
air and a quiet place, and it is impossible to find it in my apartment, since I
live in a three-story building without a roof and, to make matters worse, my
roommate spends the day singing.
It hadn't occurred to me that it would be cold up here. It's not unbearable,
but it's not pleasant either, although at least I see the stars. Dead parents,
infuriating roommates, and questionable eulogies don't seem so terrible
when the sky is clear enough to appreciate the grandeur of the universe.
I love that the sky makes me feel insignificant.
I like it tonight.
Wait, I'm going to write it again, because it will be more precise if I
write it in the past tense.
I liked it tonight.
But unfortunately for me, the door just opened with such force that I
expect to see a shot human appear. The door slams shut and I hear quick
footsteps. I don't bother looking. Whoever it is, I doubt they will see me,
because I am in a very discreet place, on the low wall that serves as a
railing, to the left of the door. He came in so quickly that it's not my fault if
he thinks he's alone.
 I sigh silently, close my eyes and rest my head on the stucco wall behind
me, cursing the universe for taking away my moment of peace and
introspection. The least the universe could do to compensate me is make
sure the person who entered is a woman and not a man. If I'm going to have
company, I'd prefer it to be female. I am quite strong and could defend
myself against many men, but I am too comfortable and I don't feel like
being alone with a stranger in the middle of the night. If I felt unsafe, I
would want to leave, and I don't feel like doing that. As I just said, I'm
comfortable here.
Finally, I turn my head to the left and my eyes land on the silhouette
leaning against the wall. And no, no luck, it's obvious he's a man. Although
it is inclined, you can tell that it is tall. And broad shoulders, which
contrasts with the fragility he transmits when holding his head in his hands.
It's hard for me to make out from where I am, but his back rises and falls
every time he takes a deep breath and releases it.
He seems to be on the verge of having a nervous breakdown. I wonder if
I should speak, or at least clear my throat, so he knows I'm here, but while
I'm still hesitating, he turns around and kicks one of the deck chairs behind
him.
I cringe as I hear the lounge chair squeak on the terrace floor. Since the
guy doesn't know he has an audience, he doesn't settle for just one hit, but
keeps kicking her, over and over again. But the lounger doesn't break; All it
does is move further and further away.
"It has to be made of boat-grade polymer."
My dad once ran his car into a table made of boat polymer and the table
laughed in his face. The bumper was dented, but the table was unscratched.
The guy must have realized that he is not going to be able to defeat such
a resistant material, because he finally stops kicking the lounger. He has
remained still, contemplating her with his fists clenched at his
the sides. Frankly, it makes me a little envious. The guy just took out his
anger against a piece of garden furniture and he looked so angry. He's
obviously had a bad day, just like me, but while I keep it all inside until it
comes out in the form of a passive-aggressive response, he's already let it
all out.
My favorite way to deal with frustration is gardening. Before, when I got
stressed, I would go out into the garden and pull out all the weeds I could
find. But since I moved to Boston two years ago, I haven't had a garden.
Not even a patio. And no weeds either.
"Maybe I should buy a deck chair made of boat polymer."
I stare at the guy, wondering if he plans to move at any point, but he
remains motionless, staring at the lounge chair. At least he's not clenching
his fists anymore. His hands are resting on his hips and for the first time I
notice that his shirt is too small around his biceps. The rest of the shirt fits
him perfectly, but his arms are huge. He pats his pockets until he finds what
he's looking for and lights a joint, I imagine to calm himself down.
I'm twenty-three years old, I've been to college, and I've smoked a
couple of joints. I have nothing against this guy wanting to get high in
private. But that's the thing: you're not alone; The thing is that he doesn't
know it yet.
He takes a long drag and turns towards the wall. He looks at me as he
lets out smoke. When our eyes meet, he remains still. He doesn't seem
surprised, but he doesn't seem happy to see me either. He is about three
meters away, but there is enough light to be able to follow the direction of
his gaze. He examines me up and down, but I can't guess what he's
thinking. This guy is one of those who doesn't show his cards. Her eyes are
half-closed and her mouth is pressed into a thin line, as if she were a male
version of the Mona Lisa.
 -What is your name? -asks me.
His voice reverberates in my stomach. Bad thing. Voices should not pass
beyond the ears, but sometimes—in my case, very rarely—a voice sneaks in
further and reverberates throughout my body. And he has one of those
voices. Deep, the voice of someone confident, and at the same time soft as
butter.
I don't answer him, and he puts the joint to his lips and takes another
drag. "Lily," I finally answer, and I hate the voice that came out, so weak
that it
It seems unlikely that it reached your ears. It is impossible for it to have
resonated throughout his body.
He lifts his chin and tilts his head, pointing in my direction.
"Could you come down from there, Lily?"
Only at that moment do I realize that he is very stiff, rigid, as if he was
afraid I was going to fall from here. I'm not going to fall. The wall is about
thirty centimeters wide and I am closer to the roof than to the void. If I lost
my balance, I could catch myself and, besides, I have the wind at my back.
I look down for a moment before looking back at him.
-No, thanks. I'm fine here.
He turns a quarter turn, as if he can't bear to look directly at me.
—Please get down from there. —Although he has asked please, his tone
is more demanding—. Here you have seven empty loungers.
"More like six," I correct him, reminding him that he was about to
murder one of the poor sunbeds, but he doesn't think it's funny. Seeing that I
don't pay attention to him, he takes a couple of steps towards me.
—You're ten centimeters away from death and I've already had too big a
portion for today. —He asks me to come down with his hand—. You are
getting me nervous; So there is no one who gets high.
I roll my eyes before swinging my leg over the wall.
 —By God, no; Don't waste a joint. I jump down to the ground and wipe
my hands on my jeans. Better this way? I ask, walking towards him.
He releases his breath, as if he's been holding it all this time. I pass by it
as I head to the rooftop area with the best views over the city, and I can't
help but notice how gorgeous it is.
Although calling him a monkey is an insult. It's not cute, it's beauty in its
purest form. He is very well groomed and oozes money from every pore.
He looks several years older than me. Wrinkles form at the corners of his
eyes as he follows me with his gaze. He seems to have his lips constantly
pursed, but this is not true; It is its natural form. When I get to the other side
of the building, the one facing the street, I lean against the wall and look at
the cars, trying not to let it show how impressed I am. Just by the haircut he
wears you can tell that he is one of those guys who arouse passions, and it
goes without saying to feed his ego. It's not that he's done anything so far
that makes me think he has an inflated ego, but he's wearing a Burberry
shirt and it's not something everyone can wear in a casual situation.
I hear footsteps approaching from behind and see him leaning on the
railing next to me. Out of the corner of my eye I see him take another drag
of the joint. When he finishes, he offers it to me, but I reject it. The last
thing I need is to be positioned near this guy; His voice is a drug in itself. I
want to hear it again, that's why I ask you:
—And what has that poor lounger done to you to make you get like this?
He looks at me. He really looks at me. His eyes capture mine and he
stares at me intensely, as if he could read all the secrets I hide. I had never
seen eyes as dark as his. Or maybe yes; Maybe they seem darker to me
because they are accompanied by an intimidating body and face. He doesn't
answer me, but I'm not going to give up. If it forces me to leave my refuge
on a low wall, it will be very comfortable, at least
What you can do is entertain me by answering my nosy questions.
—Is it because of a woman? —I insist—. Has your heart been broken?
He laughs half-heartedly.
—I wish my problems were so trivial. —He leans against the wall and
looks at me face to face—. In which floor do you live? He licks his fingers
and pinches the tip of the joint before putting it in his pocket. I had never
seen you before.
—I just don't live here. —I point towards my house—. See that
insurance building?
He squints until he locates it.
-Yeah.
—Well, I live next door. You can't see it from here. It is too low, it only
has three floors.
He approaches the wall again and leans on his elbow to continue looking
at me.
—And if you live there, what are you doing here? Does your boyfriend
live in the building?
Your question makes me feel uncomfortable. It's too obvious an attempt
to get on me and I know he can do better. I have the feeling that he has not
bothered because he considers that I am not up to his level.
"You have a very cool roof terrace," I reply.
He raises an eyebrow, waiting for me to add something else.
—I wanted to get some air. I needed a place where I could think quietly.
I looked on Google Earth and this is the closest block of flats with a decent
roof terrace I've found.
He gives me a smile.
—At least you're practical. It's a good quality.
"At least?"
I nod, because at least I'm practical. And it's a good quality.
—Why did you need to get some air? -asks me.
 «Because today we buried my father; I have delivered an epically
disastrous eulogy and now I find it difficult to breathe.
I look ahead and let out my breath slowly.
—Could we be silent for a while?
He seems relieved by my request. He leans on the railing with one arm
hanging over the void and his gaze fixed on the street, and remains like that
for a while. I can't stop looking at it. I guess he realizes I'm watching him,
but he doesn't seem to care.
"A guy fell from here last month," he says.
Right off the bat, his lack of respect for my request for silence would
have bothered me, but it left me intrigued.
-It was an accident?
He shrinks his shoulders.
—It is not known. It was at sunset. His wife said she was preparing
dinner when he told her he was going up to the roof to take a photo of the
sunset. He was a professional photographer. They suspect he leaned over
the railing to get a better view and slipped.
I look at the ledge and wonder how someone could risk falling by
accident, but then I remember that a moment ago I was sitting on the low
wall, with one leg on each side.
—When my sister told me what had happened, the only thing I could
think about was whether she managed to take the photo or not. I wished the
camera hadn't fallen with him. It would be a shame, wouldn't it? Falling
because of your love for photography and not being able to save the image
that cost you your life.
Your logic makes me laugh, although I'm not sure it's right to laugh in
this situation.
—Do you always say everything you think?
He shrinks his shoulders.
—Not to most people.
 I smile. I like that he doesn't treat me like most people, even though he
doesn't know me at all.
He leans his back against the wall and crosses his arms.
-You were born here?
I shake my head.
—No, I was born in Maine, but I came to live here when I finished college.
He wrinkles his nose and even then he's sexy. Who would have imagined
that I would end the day looking at a guy dressed in Burberry and with a
haircut.
of two hundred dollar hair making faces.
—So you're in purgatory, right? It's bullshit.
-What are you talking about?
He smiles sideways.
—Tourists treat you as if you were from here and those from here treat
you as if you were from outside.
I start laughing.
—Wow, you nailed it.
—I've only been here for two months, so I haven't even entered
purgatory. You're ahead of me.
—What brought you to Boston?
-The residence. And my sister, who lives here. He taps his foot and adds,
“Right beneath us, in fact.” She married a tech-savvy Bostonian and they
bought the entire plant.
Looked down.
—The entire top floor?
He nods.
—And the bastard works from home. You don't even have to take off
your pajamas and you win a million.
"Well yes, what a bastard."
—And what kind of residency are you doing? You are a doctor?
He nods.
 -Neurosurgeon. I have less than a year left to finish and I will officially
be one.
He's elegant, he speaks well, he's intelligent... and he smokes marijuana.
If you were taking the selectivity exam, the question would be which of the
four things does not fit.
—Is it okay for doctors to smoke joints?
He gives me a wry smile.
"Probably not, but if we didn't have an escape route, there would be
more people jumping from the roofs, I can tell you that."
He is leaning against the wall, looking straight ahead, with his chin on
his arms. He has his eyes closed and seems to be enjoying the wind blowing
in his face. As it is now it is not so intimidating.
—Shall I tell you something that only people
here know? "Sure," he answers, turning his
attention to me again. I point to the east.
—Do you see that building? The one with the green roof?
He nods.
—Behind there is another one, which faces Melcher Street. And on the
roof of that building there is a house, a real house. It cannot be seen from
the street and the building is so tall that many people do not know that the
house exists.
-Oh really? —It seems that I have impressed him.
-Yeah. -I nod-. I saw it while I was walking around on Google Earth and
looked for more information. Apparently the owners obtained the building
permit in 1982. It must be very cool, don't you think? Live in a house at the
top of a skyscraper?
—You would have the entire roof to yourself.
I had not thought of it. If it were mine, I could plant a garden up there.
It would have an exhaust valve.
-Who lives there? -asks me.
-Nobody knows. It is one of the great mysteries of Boston.
 He laughs and gives me a curious look. —What
is the other great mystery of Boston? -Your
name.
When I finish saying it, I slap my forehead. It sounded so forced and
pathetic that the only way out is to laugh at myself.
He smiles.
—My name is Ryle. Ryle Kincaid.
I sigh and cringe.
—It's a fantastic name.
—And why do you say it in such a sad tone?
—Because I would give anything to have a good name.
"You don't like Lily?"
Tilting his head, he raised an eyebrow.
—My last name is Bloom.
Ryle is silent, but I can tell he's holding back his laughter. In English,
Lily means "lily" and Bloom means "flower." Speechless.
-I know. It's all very well if you're a two-year-old girl, but for a twenty-
three-year-old woman it's a horrible name.
—A name is a name, no matter how old you are. Names don't outgrow
us with age, Lily Bloom.
-Well, how bad. And the worst of all is that I love gardening. I love
flowers, plants; Growing them is my passion. I have always dreamed of
opening a florist shop, but I am afraid that people will think that I open it to
take advantage of my name, and not because being a florist is my true
passion.
—It could be, but what does it matter what they think?
—Yeah, I guess it doesn't matter. —In a whisper, I add: “Lily Bloom's.” —
He smiles secretly—. The truth is that it is the perfect name for a florist shop.
But I have a master's degree in Business Administration.
Companies. It would be a step down from a professional level, don't you
think? I'm working for one of Boston's top marketing companies.
—Having your own company is not going down a level.
I raise an eyebrow.
—As long as it's not a fiasco.
He nods.
—As long as it's not a fiasco, actually. And, already, tell me. What is
your middle name, Lily Bloom?
When I grunt, he looks at me interested.
—Worse than the first?
I nod, covering my face with my hands.
—Rose?
I shake my head.
-Worse.
—Violet?
-Hopefully. I grimace and murmur, “Blossom.”
Ryle, who knows that that word refers to the flower bud that
begins to open, maintains a few seconds of compassionate silence before
murmur:
-Fuck.
-Well yes. Blossom is my mother's maiden name. My parents thought it
was fate that their last names were synonymous. That's why, when I was
born, they gave me a name after a flower.
“Your parents must be real jerks,” he jokes.
One of them is.
"It was."
—My father died this week.
He looks at me out of the corner of his eye.
-Nice try; I almost believe it.
 -I'm serious. That's why I came here. I needed to cry and vent.
He continues looking at me in disbelief, until he makes sure I'm not
kidding him. He doesn't apologize for the mistake. Instead, he narrows his
eyes a little more, as if he's downright intrigued.
—Were you very close?
"How difficult it is to answer that."
I rest my chin on my arms and look down at the street.
-Don't know. -I shrug-. As a daughter, I loved him; but, as a human
being, I hated it.
He looks at me for a few moments in silence before commenting:
-I like your sincerity.
"He likes my sincerity."
I think I'm blushing. We remain silent for a while, until he breaks it
again.
—Wouldn't you like people to be more transparent?
-What are you talking about?
He fiddles with a piece of stucco on the wall with his thumb until the
paint comes off and he throws it onto the street.
—I have the feeling that everyone is pretending to be someone they are
not, when, deep down, we are all equally screwed. The only difference is
that some of us hide it better than others.
Either the joint is having an effect on him or he has become
introspective. In any case, it seems fine to me. My favorite conversations
are the ones where it's impossible to find answers.
"I don't think being reserved is a bad thing," I reply. The honest truth is
not always pretty.
He stares at me for a few moments.
"The honest truth," he repeats. I like it.
 He turns around and walks towards the center of the roof. He adjusts the
position of one of the lounge chairs behind me and sits on it. He is one of
those that can become completely flat, so he places his hands behind his
head and lies there, looking at the sky. I approach him and adjust the
neighboring lounger until it is in the same position as his.
—Tell me your honest truth, Lily, bluntly.
-About what?
He shrinks his shoulders.
-Don't know. About something you're not proud of. Something that
makes me feel like I'm not so screwed up inside.
He continues to stare at the sky, waiting for my response. I notice the
straight line of his jaw, the curve of his cheekbones, the shape of his lips
and his furrowed eyebrows. I don't know why, but it seems like it needs
conversation. I think about what he has asked of me and try to find an
honest answer. When I find it, I stop looking at it and focus on the sky
again.
—My father was an abuser. No, he didn't mistreat me, but he did
mistreat my mother. When they quarreled, he became angry and sometimes
hit her. When he got to those extremes, he would spend a week or two
trying to make it up to us. He would buy my mother flowers or take us to
dinner at a good restaurant. Sometimes he would also buy me something,
because he knew that I couldn't stand it when they fought. As a child, I had
once hoped they would argue because I knew the next two weeks would be
fantastic. —I pause. I don't think he had ever admitted it out loud, not even
in private. Of course, if it had been up to me, I would have made sure he
never laid a hand on her again, but abuse was inevitable in their marriage
and became routine. As I grew older, I realized that, by doing nothing to
prevent it, I had become his accomplice. I spent a good part of my life
hating him for being
such a bad person, but now I'm not so sure that I was better than him.
Maybe we were both bad people.
Ryle looks at me with a thoughtful expression.
"Lily, there are no good guys and bad guys," he tells me with conviction.
We are all people who sometimes do bad things.
I open my mouth to reply, but his words leave me speechless.
"We are all people who sometimes do bad things."
I suppose you are right. Nobody is completely or totally bad
Well. Although some people have to try harder than others to hide
its bad part.
-Your turn.
From his reaction, I suspect that he is not going to want to play the game
he invented himself. He sighs deeply and runs his hand through his hair. He
opens his mouth, but closes it tightly again. He thinks for a while more and
finally says:
—Today I saw a little child die. —His voice sounds dejected—. I was
only five years old. He and his younger brother found a gun in their parents'
bedroom. The little boy picked it up and it was shot by accident.
My stomach twists. This truth has been a little too stark for me.
—When he arrived on the operating table, there was nothing we could
do for him. Around me, all the doctors and nurses were heartbroken
thinking about the family. "Poor parents," they lamented. But when it was
my turn to go out and tell those parents that their son had not survived, I
didn't feel a bit of pity for them. I wanted them to suffer; that they would
feel the full weight of the consequences of their recklessness, for having
kept a loaded gun within reach of two innocent children. I wanted them to
be aware that they hadn't just lost a child; They had just ruined the life of
the other one, the one who had shot by accident.
"Oh my God!"
 I wasn't prepared for something so intense. I don't understand how a
family can overcome that.
—My God, that poor brother. I can't imagine how something like that is
going to affect him.
Ryle brushes something off the knee of his jeans.
—Well, I'm telling you: it's going to destroy his life.
I turn on my side to look at him, resting my head on my hand.
—Is it very hard to have to see things like that every day?
—It should be much harder, but the more contact I have with death, the
more I accept it as a part of life. And I don't know if that's good. —He looks
at me—. Tell me another one. My truth has been more twisted than yours.
I don't agree, but I'll still tell you what I did just twelve hours ago, to see
if it seems twisted enough.
—Two days ago my mother asked me to speak at my father's funeral. I
told him no, that I didn't want to start crying in front of everyone, but it was
a lie. I didn't want to talk because I think eulogies should be given by
people who respect the deceased. And I didn't respect my father.
—Did you speak at the end?
I nod.
-If this morning. —I sit down and cross my legs in a lotus position.
—. Do you want me to
repeat it? He smiles.
-Of course.
I rest my hands on my lap and take a deep breath.
—I had no idea what to say. An hour before the funeral I asked him
again.
Tell my mother that I didn't want to do it. She told me that it was very easy
and that my father would have wanted me to speak. He told me that the
only thing
All I had to do was get on the stand and tell five good things about my
father. And, well..., that's what I've done.
Ryle bends his elbow and rests his head, growing interested. My
expression tells him that things are going to get worse soon.
—Oh, Lily. What have you done?
—I'll repeat it.
I get up and stand on the other side of the lounge chair, as if I were
facing the funeral attendees, in the crowded room where I have been this
morning. I straighten my back and clear my throat.
—Hello, I'm Lily Bloom, daughter of the late Andrew Bloom. Thank
you for joining us on this day when we mourn your loss. I wanted to honor
his memory by sharing five good things about my father. The first is…” I
look at Ryle and shrug. That's it.
He sits on the lounger.
-What do you mean?
I sit back down on mine and lie on my back.
—I stayed up there silent for two minutes. I haven't been able to say
anything good about that man, so I just watched the attendees in silence
until my mother realized what I was doing and asked my uncle to make me
get out of there.
Ryle cocks his head.
—Are you kidding me? Have you given an anti-panegyric at your
father's funeral?
I nod.
—It's not that I feel proud; not too much, at least. If it had been up to me,
my father would have been a much better person and I would have spent an
hour up there singing his praises.
Ryle lies down again.
-Wow! —He shakes his head—. You are my hero. You made fun of a
dead man at his funeral.
 —Said that way it sounds terrible.
—Yeah, well, the honest truth usually hurts.
Laughter escapes me.
-It's your turn.
—I can't get over that.
—I'm sure you can at least match it.
-I do not have it very clearly.
I put my eye white.
-Yes. Don't make me feel like I'm the worse human being of the two.
Tell me the last thing that was on your mind that most people wouldn't dare
say out loud.
He crosses his arms behind his head and looks me in the eyes.
—I want to fuck you.
I am left speechless. Realizing this, I close my mouth. I have been left
speechless.
He gives me an innocent look.
—You asked me to tell you the last thing that was on my mind and that's
what I did. You are beautiful and I am a guy. If you were into one night
stands, I'd take you to my room and fuck you.
I don't even dare to look at it. His words have awakened a lot of
sensations in me at the same time.
-OK right. I'm not one for one night stands.
-I imagined. "It's your turn," he lets go as if nothing had happened; as if
he hadn't just left me speechless.
“I need a moment to recover after this,” I reply, laughing.
I try to think of something outrageous, but I can't get what he said out of
my head. Aloud. He is a neurosurgeon and I would never have imagined
that someone with higher education would use the word fuck so boldly.
 I recover a little, just enough to be able to speak.
-OK. Since you brought it up... The first guy I slept with was homeless.
He looks at me with renewed interest.
—Don't leave me like this, I need to know more.
I stretch out my arm and rest my head on it.
—I grew up in Maine. We lived in a fairly respectable neighborhood, but
the street behind our house was pretty deserted. The patio faced a
dilapidated house and two abandoned lots. I made friends with a guy named
Atlas who broke into the ruined house. No one knew he lived there; just me.
I used to bring him food, clothes and other things, until my father found out.
-And what he did?
I grit my teeth. I don't know why I brought it up when there isn't a day
when I don't force myself not to think about it.
—He beat him up. —And that is the starkest thing I intend to admit —.
Your turn.
He looks at me silently, as if he knows there is a lot I haven't told him,
but he doesn't protest. Looking away, he says:
-I do not want to get married. Marriage generates a great rejection for
me. I'm almost thirty years old and I don't want a wife, much less children.
The only thing that interests me in life is success, but if I say it in public I
am called arrogant.
—Do you mean professional success or social status?
-Both. Anyone can have children and anyone can get married, but not
everyone can be a neurosurgeon. I feel very proud to have achieved it. And
I'm not satisfied with being a good one; I want to be the best in my field.
—You're right, you sound arrogant.
He smiles.
 —My mother tells me that I am wasting my life because I do nothing but
work.
—You are a neurosurgeon and your mother is disappointed? —I start
laughing
—. How crazy. Is there no way for parents to be satisfied with their
children? Is there anyone who thinks they are good enough?
he denies with the head.
—My children wouldn't be up to me. There are very few people who
have my level of motivation, so bringing them into the world would be
dooming them to failure. That's why I don't plan to have children.
—I think it's respectable, Ryle. Many people refuse to admit that they
are too selfish to have children.
He shakes his head.
—Oh, it doesn't cost me anything. I'm too selfish to have children and
too selfish to be in a relationship.
-And what are you doing? Don't you ever
go out with anyone? He looks at me and
gives me a discreet smile.
—When I have time, there are girls who satisfy those needs. I have no
problems with that, if that's what you're worried about. But love doesn't
attract me. I see it more as a burden than anything else.
I wish I could see it the same way. My life would be much easier. —
How envious you make me. I can't help but think that somewhere there is
the perfect man for me. I quickly get tired of my partners because I have
very high expectations. I feel like I'm on a search
perpetual holy grail. —You
should try my method. —
What is your method?
—One night stands. —He raises an eyebrow, as if it were more of an
invitation than an answer.
I'm glad it's dark, because my cheeks are burning.
 —I could never sleep with a person if I didn't think that relationship was
going somewhere. "I say it out loud, but even I can tell that my voice lacks
conviction."
He takes a deep, slow breath and lies back down on his back.
"You're not that kind of girl, I see," he replies, unable to hide his
disappointment.
Disappointment that I share. I don't know how he'd react if I got serious,
but chances are he's just ruined the possibility of me trying.
—It's clear to me that you wouldn't sleep with someone you just met. —
He turns to me—. But tell me, specifically, how far would you go?
I don't know how to answer you. I lie on my back because he's looking at
me in a way that makes me rethink my theory about one-night stands. I
guess they're actually not that bad. The thing is that, until now, the guys
who had proposed it to me didn't interest me.
Until now.
"Believe."
Are you seriously proposing to me? I've always been embarrassed about
flirting.
He grabs the edge of my lounge chair and, with an agile movement that
doesn't seem to cost him any effort, he pulls me towards him until the two
terrace chairs are stuck together.
I tense up. He is so close that I feel the warmth of his breath break
through the cold air. If I turned to him, his face would be a few centimeters
away from me, but I don't, because he would probably kiss me and I don't
know anything about this guy, apart from a couple of stark truths. However,
my consciousness stops working when he places a heavy hand on my belly.
 "How far would you go, Lily?" —His voice is pure temptation, pure
seduction, and it runs through my entire body.
"I don't know," I whisper.
He moves his fingers looking for the edge of my shirt and slowly lifts it
until a piece of skin is exposed.
“Oh, God,” I whisper, feeling the warmth of his hand sliding upwards.
Putting common sense aside, I turn to him and am caught in his eyes. In
his eyes I see hunger, but also hope that transforms into confidence. Biting
his lower lip, he continues to torture me with his fingers under my shirt. I'm
sure he notices my racing heart. Damn, I can probably hear it.
—Have I crossed the line? -asks me.
I don't recognize myself when I shake my head and respond:
—You haven't even come close.
Smiling, he brushes the bottom of my bra, running his fingers over my
prickly skin.
I close my eyes, but, just at that moment, a noise breaks the silence.
He freezes when we realize it's a phone, his.
He drops his forehead on my shoulder.
-Shit.
I frown when he removes his hand from under my shirt. He looks for his
cell phone in his pocket, gets up and takes a few steps away before
answering.
"Dr. Kincaid," he says. He listens attentively, holding the back of his
head with his other hand. Can't Roberts go? I'm not even on local guard. —
He listens again in silence and ends up answering—: Okay, give me ten
minutes. I 'm coming.
He hangs up and puts the phone in his pocket. Turning to me, he can't
hide his disappointment. Pointing towards the staircase door, he tells me:
 -I have to...
I nod.
-Clear. No problem.
He stares at me for a moment and raises a finger.
"Don't move," he asks me, while he retrieves his cell phone.
He walks over and picks it up, as if he wanted to take a photo of me. I'm
about to protest, although I don't know why. I am dressed although, for
some reason, I feel exposed.
He takes a photo of me lying on the lounge chair, with my arms relaxed
above my head. I have no idea what he plans to do with it, but I like that he
took it from me. I like that he felt the need to immortalize the moment to
remember me as I am now, even knowing that we will not see each other
again.
He looks at the photo for a few seconds and smiles. I'm tempted to take
one of him, but I'm not sure I want to have a photo of someone I'm never
going to see again. I find it a little depressing.
—It was nice meeting you, Lily Bloom. I hope you defy the statistics
about dreams and make yours come true.
I smile, feeling sad and confused at the same time. I had never been with
someone like him, someone used to a very different lifestyle, someone with
whom I don't share a tax bracket. And I will most likely never meet him
again, but I have been pleasantly surprised to see that we are not that
different.
"Prejudice confirmed."
He looks down at the ground and remains in an indecisive pose, as if
torn between the desire to tell me something more and the need to leave. He
gives me one last look and this time he doesn't bother putting on a poker
face. With his mouth pursed, proof of how disappointed he feels, he starts
walking away from me. Open the door and I hear his footsteps
further and further away as he descends the ladder. I'm alone on the roof
again, but surprisingly, I'm not happy to be alone anymore.
 2

Lucy—my roommate, the one who loves to hear herself sing—goes from
one side of the living room to the other, looking for her keys, her shoes, her
sunglasses... I'm sitting on the couch, opening shoe boxes. full of things I
kept at my parents' house and that I picked up when I was there for the
funeral.
-You work today? —Lucy asks me.
-No. I have leave due to the death of a family member; I won't be back
until Monday.
She stops abruptly.
-See you Monday? —snorts—. Lucky you, bitch!
—Sure, Lucy. It's lucky that my father died. —I try to say it with
maximum irony, but I grimace when I realize that, in reality, it doesn't seem
that ironic to me.
"You know what I mean," he murmurs. She picks up her purse with one
hand as she balances on one foot and puts on her missing shoe. Today I
won't come to sleep. I'm staying at Alex's house.
He slams the door and leaves.
At first glance, we have a lot in common, but apart from clothing size,
age, and our four-letter names that start with L and end in Greek I, we are
just roommates, nothing more. It's already going well for me like this; Apart
from how annoying it is to hear her sing non-stop, she is a fairly tolerable
companion. She is clean and spends a lot of time away from home, two of
the main qualities of a roommate.
 The phone rings while I'm uncovering one of the shoe boxes. I reach out
to the other end of the couch and grab it. Seeing that it's my mother, I bury
my face in one of the cushions and pretend to cry before putting the phone
to my ear.
-Hello.
There are three seconds of silence before he answers:
—Hello, Lily.
Sighing, I lean back on the couch.
-Hi Mom.
The truth is that I am surprised that he speaks to me. It's only been a day
since the funeral. That's three hundred and sixty-four days earlier than I
expected.
-How are you? —I ask him.
She sighs dramatically.
-Good. Your uncles returned to Nebraska this morning. This is going to
be my first night alone since...
“You'll be fine, Mom,” I interrupt, trying to sound safe and confident.
My mother is silent for too long and finally tells me:
—Lily, I just want you to know that you shouldn't feel ashamed about
what happened yesterday.
I don't say anything.
«I don't feel ashamed. Absolutely."
—Everyone gets blocked from time to time. I shouldn't have put so
much pressure on you, knowing how hard it was for you. I should have
asked your uncle.
I close my eyes.
"Here we go again." As always, my mother draws a thick veil over what
she doesn't want to see and carries blame that doesn't belong to her. "Of
course." He has convinced himself that yesterday I was blocked and that
because
That's not the end of the panegyric. "How not?" I'm tempted to clarify that I
wasn't blocked, that I just didn't have anything good to say about the guy
she chose to be my father.
The problem is that part of me feels guilty for what I did—basically
doing it in front of my mother—so I agree to his terms and play along.
-Thanks Mom. I'm sorry I blocked myself.
—It's okay, Lily. I have to go. I'm going to the insurance office to find
out about your father's policy. Will you call me tomorrow?
—Yes, I'll call you tomorrow. I love you mom.
I hang up and throw the phone to the other end of the couch. I open the
shoe box and take out what's inside. On top of everything there is a wooden
heart, small, hollow inside. I caress it, remembering the night it was given
to me, but as soon as the memories come flooding back, I let it go.
Nostalgia is a very curious thing. I set aside several old letters and
newspaper clippings. Underneath everything I see what I was looking for in
these boxes, although a part of me hoped I wouldn't find it.
"My Ellen Diaries."
I caress them. There are three in this box, but I would say I have eight or
nine in total. I haven't re-read what I wrote in them.
I refused to admit that I kept a diary because it seemed very vulgar to
me. I preferred to think that what I was doing was much cooler, because it
wasn't technically a newspaper. They were like letters I wrote to Ellen
DeGeneres, because I never missed her show.
I started watching it the day it started airing, in 2003, when I was little. I
saw him every afternoon when I came home from school; I was convinced
that Ellen would adore me if she met me. I wrote letters to him regularly
until I was sixteen, but really the letters were just like diary entries. It's not
that he deceived me; I knew the last thing Ellen DeGeneres needed was
letters from a teenager. Luckily, never
It occurred to me to actually send them to you. But I liked putting his name
in the heading, as if I were really writing him a letter; That's why I kept
doing it until I quit.
I open another box, in which there are more notebooks. I search through
them until I find the one I wrote when I was fifteen. I flip through it,
looking for the day I met Atlas. Nothing interesting happened in my life
until I met him, but I still filled six notebooks before he showed up.
I swore I would never read them again, but my father's death has made
me think a lot about my childhood. Maybe these journals will give me the
strength to help me forgive, although something tells me I'm more likely to
find new reasons for resentment.
I settle down on the couch and start reading:

Dear Ellen:
I'll tell you right away what happened to me today, but first I want
to tell you about a cool idea I had for your program. It would be a new
section, called "Ellen at Home." I think a lot of people would be
interested in seeing you outside of work. I, for one, always wonder what
it must be like at home, when you and Portia are alone, with no one
around. The producers could give you a camera and Portia could spy on
you from time to time and record you doing everyday things like
watching TV, cooking or gardening. I could record a few moments
without you knowing and then yell, “Ellen home!” and scare you. And
don't complain, because you love to play jokes.
Okay, I already told you. (I had the idea in my head for a long time,
but I always forgot to tell you about it.) Now I can talk to you about
yesterday; It was an interesting day. Probably the most interesting of all
the ones I've written here, if you don't count the day Abigail Ivory
slapped Mr. Carson for looking at her cleavage.
 Do you remember that a while ago I told you about Mrs. Burleson,
the one who lived in the house behind, the one who died the night of the
big storm? My father said he had so many debts accumulated from
unpaid taxes that his daughter rejected the inheritance of the house. I'm
not surprised. It is in such bad condition that it will collapse any day. It
would have been a burden rather than a gift.
The house has been empty since Mrs. Burleson died, about two
years ago. I know this because my bedroom window faces the backyard
of that house, and no one has entered or left there during this time.
Until last night.
I was in bed, playing solitaire. I know it sounds weird, but I like it.
I'm not good at playing cards, but when my parents argue, solitaires
allow me to focus on something and also help me calm down.
Getting back to the topic, it was already dark, that's why I focused
on the light. It wasn't a bright light, it looked like a candle, but it was
coming from the abandoned house, that was evident. I went out to the
backyard and, with my father's binoculars, tried to see what was
happening inside the house. I couldn't make out anything and then, after
a while, the light went out.
This morning, while I was getting ready to go to school, I saw
movement in the house again. I crouched under the window and saw
someone sneaking out the back door. It was a boy, and he had a
backpack. He looked around, as if he wanted to make sure no one saw
him, he went out through the passage between our house and the
neighbor's and went to wait at the school bus stop.
I had never seen him before. It was the first time we met on the bus.
He sat at the end and I sat in the middle, so I didn't talk to him.
him, but I saw him go down and enter the school, so I guess he goes to
class there.
I have no idea why he slept in that house. There is probably no
electricity or water. At first I thought it would have been a bet, but when
I came back I saw that I was getting off at my stop. He walked down the
street, as if he were going somewhere else, but I went straight to my
room and spied on him. Shortly after, I saw him sneak into the
abandoned house. I don't know if I should say something to my mother; I
hate getting into other people's lives, but if that boy has nowhere to go,
maybe my mother could help him, since she works at a school.
I don't know, I think I'll give him a couple of days just in case he
leaves on his own and goes back home. Maybe he's fed up with his
parents. It happens to me sometimes.
Well that's it. This is all. I'll tell you what happens tomorrow.

Lily

Dear Ellen:
I confess that I skip the dancing part at the beginning of the
program. I used to watch you when you danced in the audience, but now
it bores me; I prefer to hear you talk. I hope you don't get angry.
Well look, I found out who the boy in the abandoned house is and,
yes, he's still there. It's been two days and I still haven't told anyone.
His name is Atlas Corrigan and he is in his last year. I do not know
any more. I asked Katie who she was when she sat next to me on the bus.
He rolled his eyes before answering. He told me his name and then
added, "I don't know anything about him other than he smells bad." He
wrinkled his nose as if disgusted.
I felt like shouting at him and telling him that he can't help it, that
he doesn't have water in the house, but instead I just stared at him.
silence. Maybe for too long, because he caught me watching him.
When I got home, I went out to the backyard to take care of the
plants. The radishes were ready, so I went to pick them. It is the only
thing left in the garden; It's starting to get too cold to plant anything. I
could have waited a few more days, but the truth is that I also went out
to gossip.
As I was picking them up, I noticed that a few were missing. They
looked like they had just been ripped off. I hadn't done it, and my parents
never go near the garden.
I thought of Atlas, most likely it would have been him. At that point I
realized that if I didn't have access to a shower, I probably didn't have
food either.
I went home and made a couple of sandwiches. I took two sodas out
of the refrigerator, a bag of chips, and put everything in an insulated
bag, ran to the abandoned house and left it by the back entrance. I didn't
know if he had seen me, so I knocked on the door loudly, ran out and
went into my room. When I looked out the window to see if he was
looking at the door, the bag was already gone.
At that moment I knew he was watching me. Knowing that he knows
that I know he lives there makes me nervous. I don't know what I'll do if
he talks to me tomorrow.
Lily

Dear Ellen:
I have seen the interview you did with presidential candidate
Barack Obama. Have you gotten nervous? Aren't you impressed to
interview someone who can have control of the country in their hands? I
of
I don't understand politics, but I know that it would be difficult for me to
be funny with so much pressure.
My goodness, the things that have happened to both of us. You just
interviewed who could be our next president, and I started bringing food
to a homeless boy.
This morning, when I arrived at the bus stop, Atlas was already
there. At first we were alone and it was a little awkward. When I saw the
bus coming around the corner, I wished it would hurry up. When he
stopped before us, he took a step towards me and, without raising his
face, said:
-Thank you.
The doors have opened, and he let me go up first. I didn't say
"you're welcome" because I was shocked by my reaction. Your voice
gave me a chill, Ellen.
Has this ever happened to you with a boy?
Oh, sorry. I wanted to say if it has happened to you with a girl.
On the way there he didn't sit next to me, but when he came back
from school he was the last one to get on. There were almost no free
seats, but from the way he looked around the seats I realized that he
wasn't looking for a place, he was looking for me.
When our eyes met, I looked down and left her staring at my lap. It
makes me angry to be so shy with boys. Maybe I'll get over it when I
finally turn sixteen.
He sat down next to me and placed the backpack between his legs.
At that time I noticed the smell Katie referred to, but I didn't judge him
for it.
At first he was silent while he played with a rip in his jeans. You
could tell it wasn't one of those rips that designers put on pants to make
them look cool. It was a real hole, because the fabric is very worn. Plus,
there's a little left
They are small and you can see his ankles, but since he is so thin, they fit
perfectly.
—Have you told anyone? —he finally asked me.
I turned to him and saw that he was looking at me with concern. It
was the first time I was able to take a good look at it. He has dark brown
hair, but I think if he washed it, it wouldn't be so dark. His eyes shine,
unlike the rest. They are very blue, like those of a Siberian husky. I
shouldn't compare their eyes to a dog's, but it's the first thing that came
to mind when I saw them.
I shook my head and looked out the window again. I thought maybe
he would stay calm and move, but he hasn't. After several stops, I
gathered courage and asked him, whispering:
—Why don't you live with your parents?
He stared at me in silence, as if trying to decide if he trusted me or
not, and finally responded:
—Because they don't want me to live with them.
When he got up, I thought he was angry, but then I realized that we
had arrived at our stop. I grabbed my things and went down after him.
This time he didn't bother to hide. Normally he walks around so I don't
see him enter, but today he accompanied me to the garden of my house.
When we reached the point where we should have separated, we both
stopped. He kicked the ground, raising dust and pebbles, and looked at
the door behind me.
—What time are your parents coming back? -I've been asked.
"About five," I answered. It was a quarter to four. He nodded and
gave me the impression that he wanted to say something.
more, but he hasn't. He nodded again and headed towards the
abandoned house, the one that has no food, no electricity, no water.
Let's see, Ellen, I know what I did was stupid; You don't need to tell
me. I called him and, when he turned around, I said:
—If you hurry, you can take a shower before they come back.
My heart was pounding because I knew that if my parents came
home and found a homeless person in the shower, there was going to be
a big mess. I probably wouldn't get out of that alive, but I couldn't sit
idly by, watching him enter that ruin of a house, without offering him
anything.
He looked at the ground and I felt his shame in my own stomach. He
hasn't even nodded; He just followed me silently as we entered the
house.
While he was showering, I was very upset. I spent the entire time
glued to the window, watching for my father's or my mother's car, even
though I knew it would be at least an hour before they returned. I was
afraid that one of the neighbors had seen him enter, although I don't
have that much contact with them either and I suppose that, if they see
that I arrive with someone, they will think that it is a visit and will not
give it importance.
I had given Atlas a change of clothes, so not only did he have to be
out of the house when my parents arrived, but he had better get away
from here. If my father saw a teenager in the neighborhood with her
clothes on, he would surely recognize her.
In addition to looking out the window and checking the time, I was
putting things in one of my old backpacks. Food that doesn't need a
refrigerator, a couple of my father's t-shirts, some jeans that will
probably be too big for him, and some spare socks.
I was closing my backpack when he appeared in the hallway.
 He was right. Even wet, you could tell that his hair was lighter than
it had been a while ago. And his eyes seemed even bluer.
He had probably shaved too, because he looked younger than
before he got into the shower. I swallowed and looked down at the
backpack, surprised by the change. I was afraid he might guess what I
was thinking. After looking out the window one last time, I gave him the
backpack.
"You better go out the back door so no one sees you," I told him.
He took the backpack and looked at my face for a minute.
-What is your name? —he asked me, slinging his backpack over his
shoulder.
—Lily.
He smiled at me. It was the first smile he had ever given me, and at
that moment a terrible, most superficial idea came to mind. I've
wondered how it was possible that someone with such a pretty smile
could have such shitty parents. I instantly hated myself for thinking
about it, because parents should always love their children, regardless
of whether they are cute or ugly, fat or skinny, whether they are
intelligent or if they can't do much more. But you can't always control
ideas; Sometimes the mind goes free. Although we can try to train her
not to go down that path.
He offered me his hand and introduced himself:
—I'm Atlas.
"I know," I told him, without shaking his hand. I don't know why I
haven't shaken it. It's not that I'm afraid to touch it. Well, it does scare
me, but not because I think I'm better than him; It makes me nervous.
He lowered his hand and nodded once.
 "I'd better go," he said.
I have stepped aside to let him pass. He pointed towards the kitchen,
to see if the back door was there. I nodded and followed him down the
hallway. Before reaching the door, he stopped for a moment and took a
look at my bedroom.
It made me ashamed. I'm not used to anyone seeing my bedroom, so
I've never bothered to make it look more mature. I'm still wearing the
pink bedspread that matches the curtains that I've had since I was
twelve. And for the first time in my life I wanted to tear off the Adam
Brody poster.
He has not paid attention to the decoration. He glanced at the
window—the one that overlooks the backyard—and turned to me. Before
leaving he told me:
—Thank you for not being dismissive, Lily.
And he's gone.
Of course, it was not the first time I had heard the derogatory word ,
but I was surprised that a teenager used it. With Atlas everything is
contradictory. How is it possible that a polite, correct guy who uses
words like derogatory words ends up living on the street? How is it
possible that a teenager, any teenager, ends up living on the streets?
I need answers, Ellen.
I'm going to find out what happened to him, you'll see.

Lily

I'm about to read a new post when the phone rings. I crawl across the
couch and I'm not surprised to see that it's my mother, again. Now that my
father's dead and she's left alone, I guess she'll call me twice as often.
-Hello.
 —What do you think if I move to Boston? —he lets me out at point blank
range.
I grab the nearest cushion and bury my face in it, muffling a scream.
“Um, wow,” I say, and add, “Really?”
She remains silent before answering:
—It was just an idea. We can talk about it tomorrow. I'm already
arriving at the meeting.
-OK. Bye.
I suddenly want to get out of Massachusetts. You can't move here. He
doesn't know anyone here. She will want me to be with her every day,
entertaining her. Let's see, I love my mother, but I left Boston to live my
life, and if she lived in the same city, I would feel less independent.
My father was diagnosed with cancer three years ago, when I was still in
college. If Ryle Kincaid were here, he would tell him the raw truth, straight
up. I would tell you that I felt a certain relief when my father lost his
strength due to the illness and was no longer a threat to my mother. The
dynamic of their relationship changed completely, and I no longer felt
obligated to stay on Plethora to make sure my mother was safe.
And now that my father is gone and I don't have to worry about my
mother again, I wanted to take flight a little, so to speak.
And now you intend to move to Boston?
I feel like my wings have just been
clipped.
“Where is a polymer boat lounger when you need one?”
I'm getting pretty stressed out and I don't know what I would do if my
mom moved to Boston. Here I have no garden, no orchard, no weeds. Not
even a patio.
 "I need to find another outlet."
I choose to clean and organize. I put the old shoe boxes in the bedroom
closet. Then I organize the rest of the closet: jewelry, shoes, clothes...
"He can't come to Boston."
 3

six months later

“Oh,” is all my mother says. She turns around, examining the place. He
runs a finger along the closest window sill, picking up the dust and then
trying to shake it off between his fingers. Is...
"There's a lot of work to do, I know," I interrupt her. Pointing to the
sideboard behind him, I add: “But look at the windows.” They have
potential.
She examines them, nodding. He has the habit of making a little noise in
his throat. As if nodding, but with tight lips. In reality, when she makes that
noise what it means is that she is not convinced. And he just did it, twice.
I let my arms fall discouraged.
—Do you think I did something stupid?
She shakes her head.
"Everything will depend on the result, Lily," he answers. The place was
previously a restaurant and is still full of old tables and chairs. He walks
over to one of the tables, pulls out a chair and sits down. If things go well
and the flower shop is a success, people will say that it was a brave, daring
decision; that you had good business instincts. Now, if it fails and you lose
the inheritance money...
—People will say that it was an absurd decision.
 My mother shrugs her shoulders.
-The same thing always happens; You already know, you have a degree
in Business. "I even have a master's degree," I murmur, while she
observes everything.
slowly, as if imagining how everything will be in a month.
"Make sure it's a brave and bold decision, Lily."
I smile. I think it's good advice.
—I still can't believe I bought it without asking your advice first. — I sit
next to him at the table.
—You are already an adult; “You are within your rights,” he replies,
although he cannot completely hide his disappointment.
I think realizing that I don't need her anymore makes her feel lonelier.
Six months have passed since her husband's death and, although my father
was not good company, she has still had to get used to loneliness. He got a
job at an elementary school in Boston and moved. He is living in a quiet
neighborhood on the outskirts. He bought a very cute little house on a cul-
de-sac. It has two bedrooms and a huge backyard. I would like to plant a
garden there, but that would require me to take care of it every day and my
visit limit is one a week; two at most.
—What are you going to do with all this junk?
Is right. The place is full of junk. It will take me half a lifetime to clear
it.
-Don't know. I guess I'll have to break my back emptying the place
before thinking about decorating it.
—When do you stop working at the marketing company?
I smile.
-Yesterday.
She sighs, shaking her head.
"Oh, Lily." I hope things turn out well for you.
 We get up and I hear the door open. There are shelves in front of the
door, so I tilt my head to see who it is. It's a woman, who looks around until
she sees me.
-Hello. —He greets me, raising his hand.
She looks nice. She is well dressed. Too much. He's wearing white
capris, a potential disaster in this nest of dust.
-I can help?
She tucks her purse under her arm and offers me her hand.
"I'm Allysa," he answers, as I shake it.
—Lily.
He points his thumb over his shoulder.
—There is a sign on the door. It says they are looking for personnel.
I look where he points and raise my eyebrows.
-Oh yeah?
"I haven't put up any signs."
She nods, but shrugs.
—Although he looks old. It's probably been there for a while. I went out
for a walk and, upon seeing the sign, I looked out, out of curiosity.
I liked him from the first moment. He has a pleasant voice and a smile
that seems sincere.
My mother puts her hand on my shoulder and leans over to kiss me on
the cheek.
"I have to go," he tells me.
"Tonight we celebrate," I remind him as he leaves. Then I turn to Allysa.
The truth is that I still don't plan to hire anyone. —I point around me—. I'm
going to start a flower shop, but it won't take me a couple of months to
open, at least.
I know I shouldn't let myself be prejudiced, but this woman doesn't seem
like the type to settle for minimum wage. Your bag alone must cost more
than this building.
 His eyes light up.
-Oh really? I love the flowers! —Turns around—. This place has a lot of
potential. What color do you plan to paint it?
I cross one arm in front of my chest and grab my elbow. Rocking on my
heels, I respond:
-I do not know yet. They gave me the keys to the place an hour ago, so I
haven't had time to think about the decoration yet.
—Lily, right?
I nod my head.
—I don't have design studies, Lily, but decorating is what I like most in
life. If you need help, I will do it for free.
I tilt my head.
—Would you work for free?
She nods.
—I don't need to work. I entered on an impulse, because I admit that
sometimes I get bored. I would love to help you with whatever you need:
cleaning, decorating, choosing colors. I'm a Pinterest junkie; I am hooked.
—He points to something behind me—. That broken door, for example. I
could renovate it and it would look spectacular. In reality, almost
everything there could be used with a good facelift.
I look around me, knowing that the job is too big for me. I won't be able
to do it alone. Half of the objects are too heavy to move without help. I'm
going to have to hire someone sooner or later.
—I'm not going to let you work for free, but I could pay you ten dollars
an hour if you're really interested.
She claps her hands and I'm sure if she hadn't been wearing heels she
would have jumped up and down.
-When can I start?
I look down at his white pants.
 —Is tomorrow going well for you? I guess you want to wear something
more weathered. She waves her hand, dismissing it, and puts down her
purse.
of Hermès on a table covered in dust.
-Crap. My husband is watching a Bruins game at a bar down the street. If
things are going well for you, I prefer to stay with you and we'll start now.

Two hours later I'm convinced I just met my new best friend. And she
wasn't exaggerating: she's a Pinterest junkie.
We write SAVE and THROW on post-its and paste them on all the objects
in the room. Like me, she's a big proponent of creative recycling, and we
came up with ideas to reuse 75 percent of the stuff left at the restaurant. She
says the rest will be thrown away by her husband when he has free time.
Once we have decided what we are going to do with things, I grab a
notebook and a pen, and we sit at one of the tables to write down decorating
ideas.
"Good," he says, leaning back in his chair. I hold back my laughter
because her capri pants are covered in dust, but she doesn't seem to care.
Have you set any goals for yourself? he asks, looking around again.
—Yes, I have one: make it a success.
She starts laughing.
—I have no doubt about that: it will be a success, but you need an
overall idea.
I think about what my mother told me: Make sure it's a brave and bold
decision, Lily.
Smiling, I straighten my back.
"I want a brave and daring place," I tell him. I want it to be different, I
want to take risks.
 She narrows her eyes and nibbles on the tip of her pen.
—But you are going to sell flowers. How can a florist be brave and
daring?
I look around me, trying to express what I say in concrete concepts, but
it's hard for me because I don't even have a clear idea. I'm getting nervous,
like when you're about to have an important revelation.
—What words come to mind when you think of flowers? —I ask him.
She shrugs her shoulders.
-I don't know. They are adorable, aren't they? They are alive, so they
make me think of life. And in the color pink. And in the spring.
"Adorable, life, pink, spring," I repeat, and a moment later, I exclaim,
"Allysa, it's great, brilliant!" —I get up and walk from one side to the other
—. We'll take what everyone loves about flowers and do just the opposite!
She makes a face, letting me understand that she is not following me.
—Okay, let's see. What do you think if, instead of showing the beautiful
and adorable side of flowers, we highlight their most scoundrel side. Instead
of choosing pink flowers, we focus on darker shades, such as purple or even
black. And instead of limiting ourselves to spring and life, we also celebrate
winter and death.
Allysa widens her eyes.
—But... what do we do with customers who want pink flowers? —Well,
we give them what they want, of course, but we also give them
We will sell things they don't know they want yet.
She scratches her cheek.
—So, your idea is to sell black flowers?
She seems worried, and I'm not surprised. You are only seeing the dark
side of the project. I sit down and try to take her to my field.
 —Someone once told me that there are no good and bad guys. We are all
people who sometimes do bad things. The phrase stuck with me because it
is so true. We all have our good part and our bad part. I want that to be the
store's motto. Instead of painting the walls in cloying tones, we will paint
them purple with black touches. And instead of placing the usual flowers in
boring glass vases that make people think about life, we will give them a
provocative, daring and brave touch. We will show centers of darker
flowers, or bouquets tied with leather or silver chains. And no glass vases;
in any case black onyx or... what do I know..., vases lined with purple
velvet and decorated with silver studs. The possibilities are endless. —I get
up again—. Florists for people who love flowers are everywhere, but what
about people who hate flowers? Who thinks of them?
Allysa shakes her head.
"No one," he whispers.
—Exactly, nobody.
We stare at each other in silence for a few moments, until I can't take it
anymore. I'm about to burst with nerves and joy, and I start laughing like a
little girl. Allysa is contagious and laughs with me. He jumps and hugs me.
—Lily, it's so twisted it's brilliant!
-I know! —I feel charged with energy—. I need a desk so I can start
writing the business plan, but my future office is full of boxes of
vegetables!
She heads towards the back room.
—Well, come on, let's get them out of there and buy you a desk!
We squeeze into the future office and begin to take out the boxes one by
one. I get on a chair to stack the boxes we take out so we have more room
to move.
 —These boxes are perfect for the displays I have in mind.
—He hands me two more and walks away.
I stand on tiptoe to place them on top of the pile, but it expires and falls
on top of me. I try to hold on to something, but the pile of boxes throws me
off balance and I fall out of the chair. When I hit the ground I notice that
my ankle is twisted and my foot is left in an unnatural position. A moment
later, pain shoots up my leg.
Allysa runs back and takes a couple of boxes off of me.
—Lily! Oh my God! Are you OK?
I sit down, but it doesn't even occur to me to put weight on my foot.
Shaking my head, I respond:
-Ankle.
She takes off my shoe and takes her cell phone out of her pocket. He
dials a number and looks at me.
—I know it's a stupid question, but don't you have a refrigerator with ice
around here?
I shake my head.
-I imagined. —Turn on the “hands-free” function and put the phone on
the floor to lift the leg of my pants.
I grimace, not so much in pain as in anger. I don't believe I was such an
idiot. If I broke my ankle, I'm screwed. I just spent my father's inheritance
on a building that I won't even be able to renovate for months.
“Eeeeh, Issa,” a deep voice murmurs on the other end of the phone.
Where are you? The game has already ended.
She picks up the phone and brings it to her mouth.
-At work. Listen to me, I need...
The guy interrupts her.
-At work? Baby, you don't have a job.
Allysa shakes her head.
 —Marshall, listen to me. It's an emergency. I think my boss broke her
ankle. I need you to bring ice.
He interrupts her again, laughing out loud.
-Your boss? "Girl, I remind you that you don't have a job," he repeats.
Allysa looks up at the sky with resignation.
"Marshall, are you drunk?"
“It's sleepover night,” he drawls. You already knew it when you left us
at the bar, Issa, free beer until...
She lets out a growl.
—Tell my brother to get on.
“Okay, okay,” Marshall murmurs.
Noises come from the phone until another voice speaks.
-Yeah?
Allysa gives him our address.
—Come here right now, please. And bring an ice pack.
-Yes ma'am. —The brother also sounds a little drunk, frankly.
You hear laughter and someone saying "he's in a bad mood" before
hanging up.
Allysa puts her phone in her pocket.
—I'll go wait for you at the door; The bar is very close. Will you be okay
here?
I nod and try to hold on to the chair.
—Maybe I should try to see if I can walk.
Allysa pushes my shoulder back against the wall. —No, don't move.
Wait until they arrive, okay?
I don't know what two drunk guys are going to do for me, but I nod. My
new employee has gone into authoritarian mode and she scares me a little
right now.
I wait in the back room for about ten minutes and finally I hear the door
open. -What the hell! —exclaims a male voice—. What do you do
alone in this dilapidated building?
 Allysa replies:
-Is there.
She approaches me followed by a guy wearing one-piece pajamas. He is
tall, rather thin, handsome, with a child-like face, large eyes with a sincere
look and dark, tousled, long hair.
He brought a bag of ice.
“Did I mention he's wearing one-piece pajamas?”
A pajama that looks like a baby's, but in an adult size, with drawings of
SpongeBob SquarePants.
—Is he your husband? —I ask Allysa, raising an eyebrow.
"Unfortunately," she answers, with a long-suffering expression.
She turns to him and, at that moment, another guy—also wearing one-
piece pajamas—appears. I don't notice him because Allysa is telling me
why they are dressed like that on any given Wednesday.
—There's a bar next door that serves free beer to anyone who shows up
in one-piece pajamas when the Bruins play. She moves closer to me and
gestures for the men to follow her. “She fell off her chair and hurt her
ankle,” she tells the man who is not her husband.
He walks around Marshall and the first thing I notice is his arms.
"Fuck! I have seen those arms before. They are the arms of a
neurosurgeon.
"Is Allysa your sister?"
The sister who owns the entire top floor of her block and whose husband
works from home in his pajamas and earns a million a year?
When our eyes meet, his entire face transforms into a smile. I haven't
seen Ryle in—My God, how long has it been?—six months. During that
time I have thought about him a lot, but I never imagined that we would see
each other again.
—Ryle, this is Lily. “Lily, my brother, Ryle,” he introduces us. And this
is my husband, Marshall.
 Ryle walks over and kneels before me.
“Lily,” he says, giving me a smile. Pleased to meet you. It's obvious that he
remembers me, you can see it in his smile, but, like me, he's pretending that
it's the first time we've met. I don't feel like explaining the circumstances
under which we met, and I suppose he
the same thing happens to him.
Ryle lifts my ankle and examines it.
—Can you move it?
I try, but a sharp stab of pain runs through my leg.
I take a deep breath through clenched teeth and shake my head.
-Not yet; it hurts me.
Ryle gestures to Marshall.
—Look for something to put the ice on.
Allysa follows Marshall as he leaves the back room. As they leave, Ryle
looks at me and smiles.
"I won't charge you, but only because I'm a little drunk," he says,
winking at me.
I tilt my head.
—The first time I saw you you were high; now you're drunk. I don't
know if you're going to become a highly qualified neurosurgeon.
He starts laughing.
—I guess I gave you that image, but I promise you that I hardly ever get
high and today is my first day off in more than a month. I needed a beer. Or
rather five.
Marshall returns with the ice wrapped in an old rag. He hands it to Ryle,
who presses it against his ankle.
"I'm going to need the first aid kit you have in the car," he asks Allysa.
She nods and takes Marshall by the hand.
Ryle rests a hand on the sole of my foot.
"Push against my hand," he orders.
 I follow your instructions. It hurts, but I am able to move his hand.
-It's broken?
He moves his foot from side to side before answering:
-No I dont think so. Let's wait a couple of minutes and try to see if it can
hold your weight.
I nod and watch him get comfortable in front of me. He sits cross-legged
and rests my ankle on his lap. He looks around before looking back into my
eyes.
—And this place? What is it?
I smile enthusiastically at him; perhaps excessive.
—It's Lily Bloom's and it will be a flower shop in about two months.
I swear his entire face lights up with pride.
-I can not believe it. Oh really? Are you really going to open your own
business?
I nod.
-Yeah. I thought I might as well try it now that I'm young and can still
recover if it goes wrong.
One of his hands is holding the ice pack, but the other has it around my
bare foot and he's stroking it with his thumb, as if it were the most normal
thing in the world, but it isn't. I notice the contact of his hand much more
intensely than the pain in my ankle.
—I'm ridiculous, aren't I? —he asks, taking a look at his one-piece
pajamas, which are red, plain.
I shrug.
—At least yours doesn't have cartoons. It gives you a slightly more
mature look than SpongeBob SquarePants.
He starts to laugh, but the smile fades from his face when he rests his
head on the door next to him. He examines me and says:
—You are even prettier in broad daylight.
 At times like this, I hate being a redhead with all my might. I'm so pale
that when I blush it doesn't just show on my cheeks, but on my entire face,
on my neck and also on my arms.
I rest my head on the wall behind me and hold his gaze.
—Do you want to hear the honest truth?
He nods.
—I have wanted to return to your roof more than once since that night,
but I was afraid to find you there. You... you upset me.
He stops stroking my foot.
-My turn?
I nod.
With his eyes half-closed, he lowers his hand to the sole of my foot,
running it from the tip of my toes to my heel.
—I still really want to fuck you.
Someone is holding their breath and it's not me.
Ryle and I look at the door at the same time. Allysa is gaping, eyes wide,
pointing at Ryle.
-But what...? —Looking at me, he apologizes—. I'm so sorry, Lily. He
glares at Ryle. Did you just tell my boss that you want to fuck her?
"Oh Mother."
Ryle remains silent, biting his lower lip. Marshall peeks out from behind
Allysa.
-What's happening? -ask.
She looks at Marshall and points back to Ryle. —
He just told Lily that he wants to fuck her!
Marshall looks at us both. I don't know whether to laugh or hide under a
table.
—Did you tell him that? he asks Ryle, who shrugs.
-It seems.
 Allysa hides her face in her hands.
-God blessed! —he exclaims, and looks at me—. He's drunk. They both
are. Please don't judge me for my brother's bullshit.
Smiling, I make a gesture downplaying what happened.
—It's okay, Allysa. There are a lot of people who want to fuck me. —I
look at Ryle, who continues to caress my foot as if nothing had happened.
At least your brother is sincere. Not many people are able to recognize what
they are thinking.
Ryle winks at me and carefully moves his ankle off his lap. —Let's see if
you can put weight on that foot. —Between him and Marshall
They help me get up. Ryle points to a table a couple of meters away, against
a wall. Let's try to get to that table so I can sell it to you.
He puts his arm firmly around my waist to make sure I don't fall.
Marshall stands on the other side, but doesn't do much; He only gives me
security with his presence. I put a little weight on my foot and my ankle
hurts, but it's not unbearable pain. I'm able to hop to the table with a lot of
help from Ryle, who lifts me up until I'm sitting at the table with my back
against the wall, my leg stretched out in front of me.
—The good news is that it's not
broken. —And the bad one? —I ask
him. While opening the medicine
cabinet, he answers:
—That you're going to have to rest for a few days, without putting your
foot on the ground. At least a week; maybe a little more depending on how
long it takes to heal.
I close my eyes and lean my head against the wall.
"But I have so many things to do," I lament.
He begins to gently bandage my ankle. Behind him, Allysa watches him.
 "I'm thirsty," Marshall says. Would anyone like a drink? There's a CVS
store across the street.
"Nothing, thanks," says Ryle.
"I would have a water," I reply.
"Sprite," Allysa says.
Marshall grabs her hand.
—You are coming with me.
Allysa lets go and crosses her arms.
-I'm not going anywhere; I don't trust my brother.
"Allysa, it's okay," I assure her. I was joking.
She looks at me in silence for a few moments before becoming satisfied.
"Okay, but promise me you won't fire me if I do anything again."
bullshit.
—I promise I won't fire you.
Finally convinced, she takes Marshall's hand back and they leave.
Still bandaging my ankle, Ryle asks me:
—Does my sister work for you?
-Yeah; I hired her a couple of hours ago.
He looks in the medicine cabinet and takes out tape.
—Are you aware that my sister has never had a job in her life?
"Yes, he already warned me," I reply. I notice that his teeth are clenched
and he doesn't seem as relaxed as he did a while ago. It occurs to me that
maybe he thinks I hired his sister to get close to him. I had no idea she was
your sister until I saw you enter the store. I swear.
He looks at me for a moment before returning his attention to the
bandage. "I haven't thought about it," he assures me, while placing the
tape over
The band.
 —I know, but just in case. I'd hate for you to think I wanted to hunt you
down or something. Our goals in life are different, I don't know if you
remember.
Nodding, he gently places his foot on the table.
-I remember. I'm into one-night stands while you're in search of the holy
grail.
I start laughing.
-You have a good memory.
"True," he gives me a languid smile, "but it is also true that you are not
easy to forget."
"Oh my God."
You have to stop saying these things. I rest my hands on the table and
lower my leg.
—A pure truth is coming.
He leans on the table and says:
-I'm all ears.
I jump in headfirst.
"I'm very attracted to you," I admit. There is almost nothing about you
that I don't like. And taking into account that you and I are looking for
different things in life, if we meet again I would appreciate it if you would
stop telling me things that go to my head. It doesn't seem fair to me.
He nods once.
-Now I. —He rests his hand on the table, near mine, and leans a little
towards me—. I'm also very attracted to you; There is almost nothing about
you that I don't like, but I prefer that we never meet again, because I don't
like to spend so much time thinking about you. Which isn't really that
much, but it's more than I would like. So, if you're still not interested in a
one-night stand, I think we'd better try not to meet again, because it's not
going to be easy for either of us.
I don't know how we ended up so close. His proximity makes it difficult
for me to pay attention to the words coming out of his mouth. He lowers the
He looks towards my lips, but as soon as he hears the door of the store
open, he quickly walks away. When Allysa and Marshall arrive, they find
Ryle stacking the boxes that had fallen. Allysa looks down at my ankle.
-And good? What is the verdict?
I look at her making a pout.
—Your brother, the doctor, says I can't put my foot down for a few days.
She gives me the water I ordered from them.
—Thank goodness you have me. I can take care of clearing this out and
cleaning it while you rest.
I take a sip and dry my mouth. —Allysa, I
name you employee of the month. She
smiles and turns to Marshall. —Have you
heard that? I am your best employee!
He puts his arm around her and kisses her on the top of her head.
—I'm proud of you, Issa.
I like that she uses that diminutive for Allysa. I wonder if I'll ever meet
someone who gives me a sweet, cute diminutive like Issa. Illy? No, it's not
the same.
—Do you need help getting home? -asks me.
I get off the table and try to put my foot down.
—Maybe even the car. Since it is the left foot, I suppose I will be able to
drive without problems.
She walks over and puts her arm around my waist.
—If you want to leave me the keys, I'll close the store and come back
tomorrow to continue cleaning.
The three of them walk me to the car, although Ryle lets Allysa do most
of the effort. It almost seems like he's afraid to touch me. When I'm inside
the car, Allysa puts my bag and other things in
the glove compartment and sits next to me, in the passenger seat. Take my
cell phone out of my bag and write down his number on it.
Ryle looks out the window.
—Don't forget to ice your ankle for as long as you can for the next few
days. Cold water baths also work well.
Seat.
-Thanks for the help.
Allysa intervenes.
"Ryle?" Maybe you should walk her home and take a taxi back, just in
case.
He looks at me and shakes his head.
—I don't think it's a good idea. She can come back alone. I have drunk
more than necessary; It's better not to drive.
“You could at least walk her home,” Allysa insists, but he shakes his
head again and, after tapping the roof of the car, turns around and leaves.
I'm still watching him when Allysa hands me my phone back and says:
—Now seriously, I'm very sorry about my brother. First he throws things
at you and then he acts like a selfish prick. —Get out of the car, close the
door and continue talking to me through the window—. That's why he will
remain single all his life. —He points to his cell phone at me—. Send me a
message when you get home. And call me if you need anything. I will not
bill you for favors as hours of work.
—Thank you, Allysa.
She smiles.
-Not thanks to you. It had been a long time since my life had seemed so
exciting to me. Specifically since the Paolo Nutini concert I went to last
year.
 She waves goodbye and heads to where Marshall and Ryle are waiting
for her.
I watch them go down the street in the rearview mirror. As they turn the
corner, I see Ryle turn and look in my direction. I close my eyes and let out
my breath.
The two occasions I have been with Ryle have coincided with days I
would rather forget: my father's funeral and the fall that resulted in a
sprained ankle. Although, to be honest, his presence has made both
misfortunes more bearable.
«I hate that he's Allysa's brother. I suspect this will not be the last time
we see each other.
 4

It takes me half an hour to go from the car to the apartment. I've called Lucy
twice to ask her to help me, but she hasn't picked up the phone. When I
enter the house, I get angry when I see her lying on the couch with her
phone in her hand.
Only when I slam the door does he raise his head and look at me.
-What happened to you?
I lean on the wall to jump to the hallway.
—A sprain. I have twisted my ankle.
When I'm entering my room, I hear her scream:
—Sorry I didn't respond! I'm chatting with Alex, I was thinking of
calling you later.
-No problem! —I shout back before slamming the door again.
I go to the bathroom and find some old painkillers that I had kept in the
closet. I take two, lie down on the bed and stare at the ceiling. I can't believe
I'm going to have to spend a week stuck here. I pick up the phone and write
a message to my mother.
Me: I sprained my ankle. I'm fine, but could you bring
me a few things from the store?

I put my phone on the bed and, for the first time since moving to Boston,
I'm glad that my mother lives relatively close by. In reality, things have
been much easier than I thought. Now that my
Father is dead, I like my mother much more. I know it's because he couldn't
forgive her for not leaving him. And although the resentment I felt towards
my mother has almost disappeared, the same does not happen to me
towards my father.
I know it can't be good to harbor so much resentment, but damn, he
behaved horribly. With my mother, with me, with Atlas.
I have been so busy between my mother, work and searching for
commercial premises that I have not had time to finish the newspapers that I
started rereading a few months ago.
I walk pathetically to the closet, although I only stumble once, which
seems like a success, especially since I manage to hold on to the drawer.
With the journal in hand, I go back to bed and get comfortable.
I have nothing better to do now that I won't be able to work for a week.
I can dedicate myself to feeling sorry for my past while I feel sorry for
my present.
Dear Ellen:
Your Oscar presentation was the biggest thing on television last
year. I don't think I got to tell you. With the vacuum part I almost wet
myself.
Oh, and you already have a new follower. I have recruited Atlas.
Before you judge me for letting him into the house again, let me tell you
the circumstances.
After he showered at home yesterday, I didn't see him again, but this
morning he stood next to me on the bus. He seemed happier than
yesterday because, as he sat down, he smiled at me.
I'm not going to lie to you, it seemed strange to see him dressed in
my father's clothes, but the pants don't fit as bad as I thought. I
transcribe here what we talked about:
-Did you know? —he told me, leaning forward to unzip the
backpack.
 -That?
He took a bag out of his backpack and gave it to me.
—I found this in the garage. I've tried to clean them because they
were full of dust, but I couldn't do much without water.
With the bag in my hand, I looked at him suspiciously. He had never
talked to me so much. I finally looked inside the bag and saw that they
were old garden tools.
—I saw you digging with the shovel the other day. I don't know if
you already have garden tools, but since no one uses these, well...
"Thank you," I said, very surprised. I used to have a garden shovel,
but the plastic handle broke and my hand got blisters when using it.
I asked my mother for new tools for my birthday, and when she
brought me a big shovel and a hoe, I wasn't able to tell her that wasn't
what I needed.
Atlas cleared his throat and, in a much lower voice, added:
—I know it's not a real gift, I didn't buy it, but I wanted to give you
something. You know, because...
Seeing that he left the sentence unfinished, I nodded and tied the
bag again. —Could you keep them for me until school is over? I
don't
They fit in the backpack.
He grabbed the bag, put the backpack on his lap and put the tools
inside. Then, hugging the backpack, he asked me:
-How old are you?
-Fifteen.
I thought he was sad when he heard my age, but I don't understand
why.
that.
—Aren't you in high school yet?
 I shook my head, because nothing occurred to me. I don't usually
talk to kids, and even less so with those in their last year of high school.
AND
When I get nervous, words don't come out.
"I don't know how long I'll stay in that house," he continued, again
in a low voice. But if one day you need help with the garden or with
anything else, let me know. It's not like I have anything better to do, no
electricity or anything.
I started to laugh, but then I thought maybe I shouldn't have
laughed at his comment.
We spent the rest of the ride talking about you, Ellen.
When he commented that he was bored, I asked him if he didn't
watch your show. He told me that he would like it because he thought
you were very funny, but that he would need electricity to watch TV. I
laughed again, and then I regretted doing it again.
I told him he could watch the show with me after class. I record it
and watch it later while I do my homework. I thought I could lock the
door and that way, if my parents came back early, Atlas would have time
to escape through the back door.
I didn't see him again until after school. On the bus home he didn't
stand next to me because Katie got ahead of him. I felt like asking her to
sit somewhere else, but then she would have thought I had a crush on
Atlas and wouldn't have left me alone, so I didn't say anything.
Atlas stayed at the front of the bus and got off before me. He waited,
somewhat awkwardly, for me to come down too, and when I got to his
side, he opened the backpack and gave me the tools. He didn't say
anything about my invitation to watch the show with me, so I took it for
granted.
"Come on," I said. He followed me and, as I locked the door, I
warned him, "If my parents suddenly show up, go out the back door and
don't let them see you."
He nodded.
 "Don't worry, they won't see me," he replied, ironically.
I asked him if he wanted something to drink and he happily
accepted. I prepared some snacks and took it to the living room along
with the drinks. I sat on the couch and he sat on my father's chair. I put
on the program and there is not much more to say. We didn't talk much
because I went through the ads quickly, but he laughed at all the right
moments. I think being able to react to jokes in time is one of the best
virtues a person can have. Every time he laughed at one of your jokes, I
didn't feel so bad for letting him into our house. I don't quite understand
the reason. I guess his laugh makes me think he's someone who could be
my friend and that makes me feel less guilty.
He left just when the program ended. I wanted to invite him to
shower again, but it would have been risky. The last thing I wanted was
for him to have to run out of the shower and cross the yard naked.
Although, all things considered, it could have been fun.

Lily

Dear Ellen:
Oh really? Reissues? A whole week of reissues? I understand that
you need to rest, but let me give you some advice. Instead of recording
one program a day, record two. This way you will do twice the work in
half the time and we won't have to swallow reissues.
And when I say we, I mean Atlas and me. It has become my regular
companion to watch your shows.
I think he likes you as much as I do, but I haven't told him that I
write to you every day. I'm afraid he'll think I'm a stalker fan.
He's been living next door for two weeks now. He has showered
several times at my house and every time he comes I give him something to
eat. I also wash his
clothes while he is with me in the afternoons. He keeps apologizing, like
it's a burden, but frankly, I love doing it. While I take care of him I don't
think about other things. I spend my days waiting for school to end so I
can spend some time with him.
Dad came home late today, which means he went to the bar after
work. Which means it will probably soon cause a fight with my mother.
Which means that he will do something animal again. I swear I don't
understand why my mother is still with him. I get sick. I know I'm only
fifteen and there are probably reasons beyond me, but I refuse to let
myself be used as an excuse. I don't care if we're poor and have to move
into a shitty apartment and eat ramen noodles until I finish school. I
would prefer it a thousand times to continue like this.
I hear him screaming right now. Sometimes, when he gets into this
plan, I go down to the living room to see if he calms down. He doesn't
like hitting my mother in front of me. Maybe I should go down now.
Lily

Dear Ellen:
If I had a gun or a knife at hand right now, I would kill him. As soon
as I entered the living room, I saw him pushing her. They were in the
kitchen. She grabbed his arm, trying to calm him down, and he slapped
her upside down, sending her to the ground. I'm sure he was going to
start kicking him, but he stopped when he saw me arrive. He muttered
something to her that I didn't hear, he went into his bedroom and
slammed the door.
I ran to the kitchen to help her, but my mother doesn't like me seeing
her like that.
He made a gesture with his hand for me to leave and said:
 —I'm fine, Lily, I'm fine; It has been a minor fight. He was crying
and you could already see the red mark on his cheek.
who had received the slap. When I got a little closer to make sure he was
okay, he turned his back on me and held onto the counter.
"I told you I'm fine, Lily." Go back to your room.
I ran out of the kitchen, but I didn't return to my room. I went out
the back door and crossed the garden. I was so angry with her for
talking to me like that and I didn't want to be in the same place as them.
Although it was already night, I went to the house where Atlas is
sheltering and knocked on the door.
I heard a noise inside, like I had hit something.
"It's me, Lily," I whispered.
Seconds later, the door has opened. He glanced behind me and then
turned left and right before looking at my face. Only then did he notice
that she was crying.
-Are you OK? —he asked me, going out into the street.
I wiped my tears with my shirt and realized that he preferred to go
out rather than invite me in. I sat on the porch step and he stood next to
me.
"I'm fine," I replied. The thing is that I am very angry, and
sometimes I cry when I am angry.
He reached out and brushed my hair behind my ear. I liked that he
did it; Suddenly, she wasn't half as angry anymore. Then he put his arm
around my shoulders and pulled me towards him until I was resting my
head on his shoulder. I don't know how he managed to calm me down so
quickly without even talking to me, but he did. Some people have a
calming effect, and he is one of those people. The complete opposite of
my father.
 We stayed like that for a while, until I saw the light in my room turn
on.
"You should go," he whispered to me.
From where we were, we saw my mother in my room, looking for
me. At that moment I realized that Atlas has a perfect view of my
bedroom.
As I walked home, I tried to remember the last few weeks, since
Atlas broke into that house. I tried to remember if I had walked around
my room at night with the light on, because I usually sleep in a T-shirt.
And you know the craziest thing of all, Ellen? I almost wished I

had. Lily

I close the journal when the painkillers start to take effect. I'll continue
reading tomorrow. Or not. Reading about the things my father did to my
mother puts me in a very bad mood. And reading about Atlas makes me
sad. I try to sleep thinking about Ryle, but thinking about him makes me
sad and grumpy at the same time.
Maybe it's best to focus on Allysa. I'm so glad you came into the store.
I'm going to really need a friend and someone to help me in the business
over the next few months. I have a feeling running the store is going to be
more stressful than I imagined.
 5

Ryle got it right. With a few days of rest, the ankle recovered enough that I
could put my foot down and walk a little. However, I have waited a whole
week to leave the house. I didn't feel like twisting it again.
Of course, the first thing I did was go to my flower shop. When I arrived,
Allysa was already there. To say that I was surprised is an understatement.
Everything was so changed that it seemed like another place. There are still
thousands of things to do, but she and Marshall have gotten rid of
everything we mark as junk to throw away. The rest has been divided into
different piles. They have cleaned the windows and mopped the floor, and
they have also cleared the small room that I am going to use as an office.
I helped for a few hours, but Allysa wouldn't let me do anything that
required walking, so I basically just planned. We have chosen the colors for
the painting and set a date for the inauguration, which will be about fifty
days from now. When Allysa was gone, I did all the things she wouldn't let
me do while she was there. It felt great to be back at work, but oh my! I'm
exhausted.
And that's why I'm wondering if it's worth getting off the couch to
answer the door that just got knocked on. Lucy is back at Alex's house and I
just spoke to my mother on the phone a few moments ago, so I know it's
neither of us.
 I go to the door and look through the peephole before opening it. At first
I don't recognize him because he has his head down, but then he raises it
and looks to the right and my heart skips a beat.
"What are you doing here?"
Ryle calls again and I make a pathetic effort to comb my hair with my
fingers, but it's a losing battle. I've worked my ass off and I'm a mess, so I'd
need at least half an hour to shower, put on makeup, and get dressed. But I
don't have half an hour, so you're going to have to settle with me as I am.
When I open it, his reaction surprises me.
“Fuck,” he says, resting his head on the doorframe. He's breathing hard,
like he's coming from running, and at that moment I realize that he doesn't
look any better than I do. He has two days' worth of beard, it's the first time
I've seen him unshaven, and he doesn't have his usual hairstyle. I could
define his hair as... erratic, just like his gaze. Do you have any idea how
many doors I had to knock on to find you?
I shake my head because I have no idea. But now that you bring up the
subject...
"How the hell did you know where he lived?"
"Twenty-nine," he says. He raises his hands and shows me the number
with his fingers, while whispering: Two... Nine.
I look over it. He is dressed in surgical pajamas. Couldn't you bring
something else? It fits better than the one-piece pajamas and much better
than the Burberry shirt.
—And why have you knocked on twenty-nine doors? —I ask, tilting my
head.
"Because you didn't tell me what your floor was," he answers as if it were
obvious.
—. You said you lived in this building, but I couldn't even remember if you
had mentioned the floor. I've been about to start on the third one. If I had
listened to my instinct, I would have found you an hour earlier.
 -Why did you come?
He rubs his face with his hands and points over my shoulder. -I can
pass?
I look over my shoulder too and open the door a little more.
-I guess. If you tell me what you want.
When he comes in, I close the door. She looks around, looking too sexy
in those damn surgical pajamas, and puts her hands on her hips when she
turns to me. He seems disappointed, but I don't know if with me or with
himself.
"A big, pure truth is coming," he warns me.
Get ready.
I cross my arms and wait while he takes a deep breath, preparing to
speak.
—These next two months are going to be the most important of my
career. I need to be focused. I am about to finish my years as a resident
doctor and I will only need the final exam to obtain the specialty. —He
walks from one side of the room to the other, gesturing frantically with his
hands—. But, this past week, I haven't been able to think about anything
other than you. And I do not understand. At work, at home... I can only
think about how good I feel when I'm by your side. I need you to stop this
madness, Lily. —He stops walking and stops in front of me—. Please make
it stop. Just once. I don't need more, I swear.
I dig my fingers into my arm. Ryle is still panting a little and his gaze is
still frantic, but also pleading.
—When did you last sleep? —I ask him.
He gives me an exasperated look, like I'm not getting it.
“I just got off a forty-eight hour watch,” he replies disdainfully. Focus,
Lily.
 I nod and mentally review what he just told me. If it weren't for the fact
that it couldn't be, I would almost think that...
I take a deep breath.
“Ryle,” I say, cautiously. Have you seriously knocked on twenty-nine
doors to tell me that thinking about me is torture and that I should sleep
with you so you can forget about me? Are you kidding me?
He purses his lips and, after about five seconds of reflection, slowly nods
his head.
-Okay, yes. But it sounds much worse when you say it.
I let out an exasperated laugh.
—Because it's ridiculous, Ryle.
He bites his lower lip and looks around, as if he wants to run away. I
open the door and show him the way, but he doesn't leave. He looks down
at my ankle.
"He looks good," he says. How's it going?
I raise my eyebrows in resignation.
-Good. Today was the first day I was able to help Allysa in the store.
He nods and looks like he's about to leave, but as he passes me he turns
sharply toward me and puts his hands on the door on either side of my head.
I hold my breath at both his closeness and his persistence.
"Please..." he begs me.
I shake my head, even though my body is turning over to the enemy and
begging my mind to surrender.
"I'm good at it, Lily," he tempts me, smiling. You won't have to do
almost anything.
I laugh, but his determination is as funny as it is annoying.
—Good night, Ryle.
 He drops his head and shakes it from side to side. Take your hands off
the door and straighten your back. He comes out to the landing but, instead
of walking away, he drops to his knees in front of me and hugs me around
the waist.
"Please, Lily," he asks, laughing at himself at the absurdity of the
situation. Please sleep with me. He's looking at me with doe eyes as he
gives me a pathetically hopeful smile. I wish you so much, you can't
imagine how much. If you sleep with me, I promise you that you will never
hear from me again; never.
Seeing a neurosurgeon kneeling at my feet begging me for sex is
strangely sexy to me. If he's pathetic, I'm not far behind.
"Get up," I order, freeing myself from his arms. You're making a fool of
yourself.
He slowly gets up, sliding his hands along the door until he has me
trapped in his arms again.
-That is a yes?
His chest is rubbing against mine. Feeling so desired is incredible. I
know I shouldn't like it, but when I look at it I have a hard time breathing.
Especially when he gives me that suggestive smile.
—Ryle, I don't feel sexy at all right now. I've spent the day working, I'm
exhausted, I smell like sweat and dust. If you wait until I take a shower,
maybe I'll look sexy enough to sleep with you again.
He begins to nod like a man possessed before he finishes the sentence.
-Go shower. Take all the time you need. I'll wait for you.
I slap him away and close the door. He follows me to the bedroom and I
ask him to wait for me on the bed.
Luckily, I cleaned the room yesterday. Normally I have clothes scattered
everywhere, books piled up on the nightstand, and shoes and bras that I
don't keep in the closet, but today everything is organized. I have even done
the bed before going to work; There is no shortage of the horrible quilted
cushions that my grandmother darned for all the members of the family.
I look around to make sure there's nothing embarrassing that might catch
his attention. He sits on the bed and I watch as he looks around. From the
bathroom door, I give him one last chance to change his mind.
—You say you want to sleep with me so you can forget me, but I'm
warning you, Ryle, I'm like a drug. Sleeping with me will only make you
want more, but there will be no more opportunities. I refuse to become one
of those girls you use to... how did you say it? Meet your needs?
He leans back and rests on his elbows.
"You're not like those girls, Lily." And I'm not one to need more than
once, so there's nothing we need to worry about.
I close the bathroom door, wondering how I let myself be convinced by
this guy.
It's the operating room pajamas. Surgical pajamas are my weakness. It
has nothing to do with him.
"I wonder if I could leave it on while we do it."

It never takes me more than half an hour to shower, but this time I spend
almost an hour in the bathroom. I have shaved more areas than were strictly
necessary; I've been on the verge of a panic attack for about twenty
minutes, about to go out and tell him to go away. However, now that my
hair is dry and I'm cleaner than ever, I think I might be able to do it. Yes, I
can hook up with someone one night; After all, I'm already twenty-three
years old.
I open the door and see that he is still in my bed. I feel a little
disappointed to see that he has taken off his operating room coat, which is
lying on the floor. I don't see his pants, so I assume he's wearing them, but
since he's covered with the quilt I can't say for sure.
I close the door behind me and wait for him to turn to me, but he doesn't.
I take a few steps towards him and that's when I realize he's snoring. And
they are not the light snoring of someone who has just fallen asleep; It is the
type of snoring that comes from someone who is in the middle of a REM
phase.
"Ryle..." I whisper, but he doesn't react even when I shake him.
"You are kidding me?"
I lie down on the bed, not being careful. I don't care if he wakes up or
not. I just spent an hour preparing for him after breaking my back at the
store... and this is how he pays me for it?
However, I can't get mad at him, especially seeing how calm and relaxed
he is. I can't imagine the effort it must take to do a forty-eight hour watch.
Plus, my bed is very comfortable. So comfortable that it can cause a person
to freeze after having slept a whole night straight.
"I should have warned you."
I check the time on the clock. It's ten-thirty at night. I put my phone on
silent and lie down next to him. His phone is on the pillow next to his head.
I pick it up and focus on the two of us, making sure my cleavage is at a
flattering angle. I'll take a photo of us so you can see what you've missed.
I turn off the light and laugh silently because it's funny to think that I'm
going to sleep next to a half-naked man whom I haven't even kissed.

I feel his fingers moving up my arm before I open my eyes. I hide a smile
and pretend to continue sleeping. He caresses my shoulder and stops at my
collarbone before reaching my neck. At that point I have a small tattoo
that I did at university. It is the outline of a heart, slightly open at the top. I
feel him wrap his fingers around the tattoo before leaning over me and
placing his lips on it. I close my eyes tighter.
“Lily,” he whispers, putting his arm around my waist.
I groan slightly, trying to wake up, and lie on my back to look at him.
When I open my eyes, I find him watching me. From the light coming
through the window, I estimate that it is not even seven in the morning.
"I'm the most despicable man you know, aren't I?"
I laugh, but nod.
—If not the closest, you're very close.
Smiling, he brushes my hair out of my face. He leans over me and kisses
my forehead. I hate that he does it, because now I'll be the one spending
sleepless nights remembering this moment over and over again.
"I have to go, I'm late," he excuses himself, "but I wanted to tell you
three things. One: I'm sorry. Two: this will not happen again. It's the last
time you see my hair, I promise. And three: I am very sorry, more than you
can imagine.
I force myself to smile, but not really, because I hate number two. I
confess that I wouldn't mind if he repeated it. At that moment, my mind
reminds me that we look for different things in life, and I'm glad that he fell
asleep and that we never kissed, because if I had slept with him dressed in
surgical pajamas, I would have been the one I would have stood at his door,
on my knees, begging him for more.
Much better this way. Like ripping off a band-aid; better at once.
—Have a good life, Ryle. I wish you all the success in the world. Instead
of answering me, he stares at me in silence, with a frown.
frowning, until finally he says:
-Yeah. I wish you the same, Lily.
 He rolls over in bed and gets up. I'm not able to look at him, so I turn
around and turn my back on him. I hear him put on his shoes and pick up
his cell phone. When there is silence, I know he is looking at me. I close my
eyelids tightly until I hear the front door slam shut.
I notice a telltale heat in my cheeks, but I refuse to let myself get down,
so I force myself to get up. I have a lot of work to do. I'm not going to get
discouraged because I'm not important enough for a guy to rethink his life
goals.
Plus, I have mine too. And they make me very excited. So much so that I
don't have time for a man in my life right now.
I have no time.
No.
I'm a busy girl.
I'm a brave, sassy businesswoman who doesn't give a shit about men
dressed in surgical pajamas.
 6

It's been fifty-three days since Ryle left my apartment that morning. That is
to say, I haven't heard from him in fifty-three days. But that's okay because
during those fifty-three days I have been too busy to think about anything
other than the moment that has just arrived.
-List? —Allysa asks me.
When I nod, she turns over the OPEN sign .
Then we hugged each other, jumping like girls.
We stand behind the counter and wait for the first customer to arrive. It
is a trial period. I haven't done a marketing campaign or anything; I just
want to check if there are any problems before the official opening.
“It turned out beautiful,” Allysa mentions, admiring the fruit of our hard
work.
I look around, bursting with pride. Of course I want the business to
succeed, but at this point I'm not entirely sure that's the most important
thing. I had a dream and I worked my ass off to make it come true. That's
what matters; Whatever comes after will be a tip.
"It smells good here," I comment. I love this smell.
I don't know if any clients are coming today, but we both act like being
here is the best thing that's ever happened to us, so I'm glad
equal. Plus, I know Marshall will stop by at some point, and so will my
mom, when he gets off work. That's two clients already. Its alot.
Allysa squeezes my arm as the door begins to open. I feel a start of panic
because... what if something goes wrong?
And then I give in to panic because, sure enough, something has just
gone wrong. Terribly bad. My first client is none other than Ryle Kincaid.
As the door closes behind him, he stops in the middle of the store and
looks around, impressed.
-But how...? —Turns around—. How the hell...? —He turns to us—. Is
incredible. It doesn't even look like the same place!
Well, okay, maybe it's not so terrible that he's our first customer. It takes
him several minutes to get to the counter because he stops
examine and touch everything. When he finally makes it, Allysa walks
around the counter and goes to give him a hug.
—Why hasn't it turned out beautiful? —He points at me, shaking his
hand in my direction—. It was all his idea. All. I just lent a hand with the
dirty work.
Ryle bursts out laughing.
—I find it hard to believe that your knowledge of Pinterest hasn't helped
at all.
I agree with him, nodding.
—She's too modest. Thanks to her the store is what it is. At least half of
the ideas are his.
Ryle gives me a smile and it would have had the same effect if he had
stabbed me in the chest, because...
"Oh!"
Clapping the counter with both hands, he asks:
—Am I the first official client?
 Allysa hands him a brochure.
—You have to buy something if you want to be considered a customer.
Ryle glances at the brochure and puts it back on the counter. He walks
over to one of the displays and picks up a vase full of lilac lilies.
“This is what I want,” he says, setting it down on the counter. —
Lilies? I smile, wondering if he knows that Lily means "lily." —Do
you want us to send them somewhere? —Allysa asks. —Do you make
shipments?
—Not us personally, but we have the contact of a delivery person. We
didn't know if we were going to need it today.
—Are you seriously going to give a girl flowers? —Alysa asks, unable
to hide her curiosity about her brother's love life, as is normal. I don't hide
my interest well either, since I get closer to her so as not to miss the answer.
-Oh really. —Looking into my eyes, he adds—: Although I don't think
about her too much. Hardly ever.
Allysa picks up a card and passes it to him, sliding it across the counter.
"Poor girl," he comments. You're a real dick. —Knocks
in the card-. Write the message here and the address where you want us to
deliver it on the back.
I don't take my eyes off him as he leans over the card and writes on both
sides. I know I have no right to him, but I rage with jealousy.
—Will you bring her to my birthday party on Friday? —Allysa asks.
I watch it even more closely. He shakes his head and, without looking
up, answers:
-No. Will you go, Lily?
He says it in such a neutral tone that I don't know if he wants me to go or
if he would prefer me not to. Considering how stressed I seem
cause him, I am leaning towards the second option.
-I have not decided yet.
—It will be there. —Allysa decides it for me. He turns to me, narrowing
his eyes. You're coming to my party whether you want to or not. If you
don't come, I'll quit work.
When Ryle finishes writing, he puts the card in the envelope that will
accompany the flowers. Allysa prepares the bill, which he pays in cash.
While counting the amount, he looks at me.
—Lily, do you know that it is customary when you open a store to frame
the first dollar you have earned?
I nod. Of course I know. And he knows that I know. What you're really
telling me is that your dollar is going to be framed in my store until I close.
I'm tempted to tell Allysa to pay him back, but this is a business; I have to
put my pride aside.
With the purchase receipt in his hand, he hits the counter with his fist to
get my attention. He tilts his head a little and with a frank smile he tells me:
—Congratulations, Lily.
He turns around and leaves the store. As soon as the door closes, Allysa
grabs the envelope.
—Who the hell are you sending flowers to? —he asks himself, taking
the card out of the envelope—. Ryle isn't one to send flowers. He reads the
message on the card: “Make it stop.”
"Fuck."
She stares at the card, and repeats the phrase:
—Make it stop? And what the hell does that mean?
I can not take anymore. I snatch the card from him and turn it over. She
leans toward me and reads the back of the card at the same time as I do.
—He will be an idiot! —he exclaims, laughing—. He has written the
address of the flower shop. —He takes the card from my hand.
 "Wow."
Ryle just gave me flowers. And not just any bouquet. He gave me a
bouquet of lilies.
Allysa picks up her phone.
—I'll send him a message letting him know that he's involved. —After
sending it to him, he starts laughing, looking at the flowers—. How can a
neurosurgeon be so useless?
I can't stop smiling. It's a good thing Allysa is still looking at the flowers
and not at me, because otherwise she might just connect the dots.
—I'll keep them in my office until we know where you want to send
them. —I take the vase and take my flowers with me.
 7

"Stay still," Devin orders me.

—I'm still.
He takes my arm and leads me towards the elevator.
—Yes, like a hornet's nest. Don't tug on your dress again to cover your
cleavage; loses all grace. —He grabs the neckline of my dress and pulls it
down again. Then he puts his hand inside and replaces my bra.
—Devin! —I slap his hand and he starts laughing. "Relax, Lily." I have
touched tits better placed than yours and I continue
being gay.
—Yeah, but I'm sure those tits belonged to people you hang out with
often; Not like me, you see me a couple of times a year.
He replies, laughing:
—And whose fault is it? You were the one who left us stranded to go
play with flowers.
Devin was one of my favorite colleagues at the marketing company
where I worked, but we weren't close friends. This afternoon he stopped by
the flower shop and Allysa and he hit it off right away; so much so that he
has invited him to the party. And since I didn't feel like going alone, I
joined Allysa and begged Devin to come with me.
I smooth my hair with my hands and try to see myself in the elevator
mirror.
—Why are you so nervous? -asks me.
 -I'm not nervous; I just don't like going to places where I don't know
anyone.
Devin gives me a knowing smile and asks:
-What's it called?
I release the air I was holding. Am I that transparent? —Ryle. He is a
neurosurgeon and has many, many desires to
sleep with me
-How do you know?
"Because he literally got down on his knees and said, 'Please, Lily, go to
bed with me.'
Devin raises an eyebrow.
-I beg?
I nod.
—It wasn't as pathetic as it sounds. He is usually more serene.
The elevator bell announces that we have arrived. As the doors begin to
open, I hear music at the end of the landing.
Devin takes both my hands and squeezes them. —
Tell me, what's the plan? Do I have to make him
jealous?
“No,” I reply, shaking my head. It wouldn't be good. —Though, come to
think of it, Ryle never passes up the opportunity to remind me that he never
wants to see me again. Maybe a little bit? —I wrinkle my nose—. A pinch
of nothing?
Devin clenches his jaw and responds:
—Take it for granted. - Resting a hand on the small of my back, he
escorts me to the only door in the hallway and, once there, we ring the bell
-. Why is there only one door?
—Because the entire attic is yours.
Devin starts laughing.
—And does he work for you? Wow, your life is getting more and more
interesting.
 The door opens and I feel great relief when I see that it is Allysa who
comes out to greet us. Behind him you can hear music mixed with laughter.
He carries a glass of champagne in one hand and a riding crop in the other.
When he sees me looking at the crop with a look of not understanding
anything, he gets rid of it by throwing it over his shoulder and takes my
hand.
"It's a long story," he says, laughing. Come in, come in!
He pulls me and I grab Devin's hand to follow us. Allysa continues
pulling us until we reach the other end of the room.
-Hey! —Grab Marshall's arm to let him know of my arrival.
He turns, smiles at me and gives me a hug. I take the opportunity to
sneakily look around us, but I don't see any sign of Ryle. Maybe he was
lucky and had to work.
Marshall offers his hand to Devin, who shakes it.
—What's up, man? I'm glad to meet you!
Devin puts his arm around my waist.
—I'm Devin! —he shouts, to be heard over the music—. Lily's sexual
partner.
I start to laugh and nudge him before saying in his ear:
—This is Marshall. Nice try, but you've got the wrong man. Allysa grabs
my arm and pulls me away from Devin, who is talking to
Marshall. I reach out to him as they pull me in the opposite direction.
-Everything will be fine! —Devin yells at me.
I follow Allysa into the kitchen, where she grabs a glass of champagne
and places it in my hand.
"Drink," he tells me. You deserve it!
I take a sip, but I'm not able to appreciate it as it deserves because I don't
have the eyes to take in everything I see in the room, which is industrial-
sized. There are two kitchens with different types of fire and a refrigerator
larger than my apartment.
 “Fuck,” I whisper. Do you really live here?
A giggle escapes her.
-I know. And to think I didn't even marry him for money. Marshall had
four dogs and drove a Ford Pinto when I fell in love with him.
—The same Ford Pinto you have now?
She sighs.
—Yes, we have very good memories of that car.
—Yuck!
She raises her eyebrows.
—But it counts. That Devin is very cute.
—Yes, but she's probably more attracted to Marshall than I am.
—Wow, what a disappointment. And I thought he was playing
matchmaker when I invited him to come.
The door opens and it's Devin.
"Your husband is looking for you," she tells Allysa, who comes out of
the kitchen laughing and twirling. I love it.
—Isn't that great?
Devin leans on the center island and tells me:
—I think I just met the “kneeling supplicant.”
My heart races in my chest, although I think "the neurosurgeon" sounds
better. I take another sip of champagne before speaking.
—How do you know it's him? It has been presented?
he denies with the head.
—No, but he heard Marshall introduce me to someone as “Lily's
partner” and he almost incinerated me with the look he gave me. That's why
I came here to hide. I like you, but I'm not willing to die for you.
I start laughing.
-Do not suffer. I'm sure the murderous look he gave you was nothing
more than his usual smile. They almost always go together.
 The door opens again and I tense, but it's a waiter.
I breathe a sigh of relief.
—Lily.
-That?
"You look like you're about to vomit," he accuses me, in a disappointed
tone. You really like it.
I roll my eyes, but then slump my shoulders and pretend to be crying.
—I know, Devin. I like it, but I don't want to like it.
He snatches the glass from me, empties it in one gulp, and grabs my
arm. "Let's socialize," he orders me, pulling me out of the kitchen
against
my will.
There are more people in the room than before. There must be more than
a hundred people. I don't think I know that many people, counting all my
acquaintances.
We walk around the room, chatting with each other, although it's
actually Devin who's talking. So far he has found at least one contact in
common with each of the people he has talked to. After half an hour I am
convinced that he has set out to find a common acquaintance with everyone.
I'm next to him, but I don't pay too much attention to what he says, because
I'm waiting to see if I can find Ryle. I don't see him anywhere and I'm
starting to doubt that the guy Devin saw before was him.
“It's funny,” says a woman. What do you think it is?
I follow the direction of his gaze and see that he is looking at a painting
on the wall. Upon closer inspection, I realize that it is an enlarged and
framed photograph. I tilt my head to examine her better.
The woman wrinkles her nose.
—I don't understand why they took the trouble to frame that image. It's
so blurry that you can't make out what it is.
 She walks away indignantly and I'm glad to be out of sight. Yeah, okay,
the painting is a little weird, but who are we to judge Allysa's tastes?
-How about? —His voice is serious, deep, and he is right behind me.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath before releasing it slowly and
silently, hoping that he doesn't notice the effect his voice has on me.
-I like it. I don't know what it is, but it's interesting. Your sister has good
taste.
He walks around me and stands next to me, looking at me. He takes
another step and is so close to me that he brushes my arm.
—Have you brought a partner? —He says it in a casual tone, but I know
he is not sincere. When I don't respond, he leans over me and whispers in
my ear. He repeats the phrase, but this time it is not a question. You brought
a partner.
I work up the courage to look at it, but instantly regret it. He wears a
black suit that makes me forget about my operating room pajamas. I have to
swallow saliva to undo the lump that has formed in my throat; Only then
can I say:
—Any problem with me inviting someone? —I look away and return to
the photograph hanging on the wall—. I was trying to help you, you know,
to make this stop.
He smiles wryly and downs the rest of the glass in one gulp.
—How thoughtful, Lily.
He throws the empty glass towards a trash can in the corner. He hits the
shot, but the glass breaks when it falls to the bottom.
I look around, but no one has noticed what happened. When I turn to
Ryle, I see him walk down the hallway and into one of the rooms. I stay
still, looking at the photograph once more.
And, right at that moment, I recognize it.
 The image is blurry, so it's hard to notice at first, but I recognize that
hair: it's mine. And I also recognize the polymer boat lounger I'm reclining
on.
"It's the photo he took of me on the roof the night we met." He must
have enlarged and distorted it so that no one would
recognize. I put my hand on my neck; I feel my blood boiling and bubbling
in my veins.
"It is very hot in here."
Allysa appears next to me.
—It's strange, huh? —he comments, looking at the photo.
I scratch my chest.
—It's very hot here, don't you think?
She looks around.
-Oh yeah? I didn't realize it, but I'm a little drunk. I'll tell Marshall to
turn up the air conditioning.
He disappears again and I continue looking at the image. The more I
look at her, the angrier I get. Ryle has hung a photo of me in his apartment,
has given me flowers and is upset because I came with him to his sister's
party. He's acting like there's something between us... and we haven't even
kissed!
Everything comes together. The anger, the irritation, the half glass of
champagne I had in the kitchen. I'm so angry I can't reason. If he wanted to
sleep with me so much, why did he fall asleep? If he doesn't want me to
pine for him, why does he give me flowers? And why does he hang
enigmatic photos of me on his wall?!
Fresh air. I need fresh air. Luckily, I know where to find it. Moments
later, I burst onto the roof. I am not alone, there are others
party guests. Three are sitting on deck chairs. Ignoring them, I head straight
to the railing with the good views and lean over it. I take several deep
breaths trying to calm down. I want to go down and
confront him, tell him to make up his mind, but I know I have to have a
clear head for that.
The air is cold and, for some reason, I blame Ryle. Tonight, I blame him
for everything. But everything everything. The wars, the famines, the
shootings, it's all Ryle's fault, I'm sure.
—Can you leave us a few minutes alone?
I turn around and see Ryle near the other guests. The three of them nod
and stand up to give us privacy. I raise my hands and tell them:
-One moment. "None of them look at me." Needless; oh really. Ryle
waits stoically with his hands in his pockets while one
of the guests murmurs:
—It's okay, we don't care.
When they disappear down the stairs, I roll my eyes, exasperated, and
return to the railing.
—Does everyone always do what you want? —I ask him, without hiding
his anger. He doesn't respond, but approaches with a slow, steady step. My
heart starts to beat like I'm on one of those speed dating rounds. I scratch
my chest again.
—Lily.
I turn towards him and with both hands I grab the railing, which is now
behind me. When he looks down at my neckline, I pull the dress up so he
doesn't see more than necessary and I hold onto the railing again. He laughs
and takes another step towards me until we are almost touching. My brain
has turned into mush. It's pathetic. I'm pathetic.
"I have the feeling that you want to say a lot of things," he comments,
"so I'm going to give you a chance to tell me the honest truth."
—Ha! You're sure?
He nods, so I prepare to tell him what I'm thinking. I push him in the
chest and take the place where he was. Now it's him
who is leaning on the railing.
"I don't know what you want, Ryle!" And every time I start to move on
from you, you reappear in my life. You show up at work, at my door, at
parties...
"I live here," he excuses himself, which makes me even more angry.
With clenched fists, I shout:
—Aaah! You are making me crazy. Do you want me or not?
He pushes away from the railing and takes a step toward me.
-Oh yeah. I want you, Lily. Don't doubt it for a second. The thing is, I
don't want to want you.
I sigh with my whole body when I hear his comment, partly out of
frustration, and partly because everything he says gives me chills. I hate
that he makes me feel this way. And I hate myself for allowing it.
—You don't understand, do you? —I say, shaking my head and lowering
my voice. I feel like I've lost the battle and I can't keep yelling at him. I like
you, Ryle. And knowing that you only want me for one night makes me
very, very sad. Maybe a few months ago we could have had one night of
sex and nothing more. You would have left and I would have been able to
move on with my life, but not now. You've waited too long and now you're
too involved in my life. That's why I ask you please: don't continue playing
with me. Don't hang pictures of me in your apartment and don't send me
flowers. Because you don't make me feel good, Ryle. On the contrary, those
things hurt me.
I am exhausted and demoralized; I want to leave here, but he is watching
me silently and I give him time to refute my arguments. However, it
doesn't. He turns around, leans on the railing and stares at the street, as if he
hadn't heard me.
I cross the roof and open the door, waiting for him to call me and ask me
not to leave, but when I get to the floor, I lose hope. I make my way
through the crowd and finally find Devin after walking three
bedrooms. He just needs to see my face to know something is wrong.
He nods and comes towards me.
—Do you want to go now? —he asks me, taking my arm.
I nod my head.
—Yes, as soon as possible.
We found Allysa in the main hall. I say goodbye to her and Marshall
with the excuse that I'm still exhausted from opening the store. She gives
me a hug and walks us to the door.
“See you on Monday,” he says, giving me a kiss on the cheek.
"Happy birthday," I wish him.
Devin opens the door, but before we step out onto the staircase landing, I
hear my name being called.
It's Ryle, trying to make his way through the crowd.
—Lily, wait! —he shouts, approaching with difficulty.
My heart beats erratically. Ryle, increasingly frustrated, weaves around
people who get in his way. In a less crowded part of the room he establishes
eye contact with me again and no longer breaks it as he continues to
advance towards me. As he approaches, he doesn't slow down, and Allysa
moves away when he sees him arrive with so much impetus. For a moment,
I think he's going to kiss me or at least defend himself from my rooftop
attack, but instead he surprises me by doing something I wasn't expecting.
He lifts me up in his arms.
"Ryle!" —I scream, clinging to his neck, for fear of falling. Put me
down!
He holds me with one arm under my legs and another around my back.
"I need you to lend it to me tonight," he asks Devin. Any problem?
I look at Devin with wide eyes and shake my head. He gives us a wry
smile and answers:
 -No problem; serve yourself.
"He will be a traitor!"
Ryle turns around to go back the way he came. As we pass Allysa, she
looks at me blankly.
"I'm going to kill your brother!" -shout.
Everyone is looking at us. I feel so embarrassed that I bury my face in
Ryle's chest as he crosses the living room to his bedroom. Once inside, he
closes the door and slowly sets me down on the floor. I immediately yell at
him and push him, trying to get him away from the door, where he is
blocking my way. But he turns me around and pushes me against the door.
He takes hold of my wrists and pins them to the wall, on either side, a little
above my head.
"Lily?"
His gaze is so intense that I stop resisting and hold my breath. His chest
presses against me, keeping me pressed against the door, and finally his
mouth covers mine, invading my lips with his warm pressure.
Despite his strength, his lips are soft as silk. I surprise myself when I
hear myself moan and I surprise myself even more when I part my lips,
demanding more. When his tongue slides over mine he lets go of my wrists
to grab my face. He sinks deeper into my mouth, but it's not enough and I
grab his hair, pulling him closer to me, feeling the kiss all over my body.
We become a mass of moans and gasps as the kiss pushes us beyond all
limits. Our bodies want more than our mouths can offer. Ryle lowers his
hands, grabs my legs, and lifts me off the ground so I can wrap my legs
around his waist.
My God, how this man kisses. It's like he takes it as seriously as he takes
his profession. When he pulls me away from the door, I react and realize
that, although he has great skill with his mouth, he hasn't.
used to respond to what I said to him on the roof. If we keep going, I'll feel
like I've given up; that I have granted him what he wanted: a one-night
stand. And, frankly, I don't think he deserves it.
I pull away from him, breaking the kiss, and push him on the shoulders.
—Put me down.
He continues walking towards the bed, so I repeat it to him:
"Ryle, put me down right now."
He stops and lets go of me. I turn and take a few steps away to regain my
ability to think. Looking at him while I still feel his lips on mine is more
than I can bear.
I notice that he puts his arms around my waist and rests his head on my
shoulder.
"I'm sorry," he whispers. He turns me around, rests a hand on my cheek
and caresses it with his thumb. It's my turn, I know.
I remain impassive before his caresses, with my arms crossed in front of
my chest, waiting to hear what he has to say.
—I enlarged the photo the day after taking it. It's been in the apartment
for months, because you are the most beautiful thing I had ever seen and I
wanted to see you every day.
"Oh."
—And the night I stood at your door? I came looking for you because no
one had ever gotten under my skin the way you did. In my whole life. You
snuck in there and refused to leave. I didn't know what to do... And the
reason I sent you flowers is because I'm so proud of you for making your
dream come true. Although if I sent you flowers every time I feel like doing
it, you wouldn't fit in the apartment, because I spend the day thinking about
you, Lily. Yes you're right. I'm hurting you, but it hurts me too, and until
tonight I didn't know why.
I don't know where I get the strength to speak after that.
—Why does it hurt?
 He lets his forehead fall on mine before answering:
-I do not know. I have no idea what's going on. You make me want to be
different, but what if I don't know how to be the way you need me to be?
This is all new to me and I don't know how to show you that I love you for
much more than just one night.
He looks so vulnerable in that moment that I want to believe his confession
is genuine, but he has insisted so much that he is looking for just the
opposite that now I am afraid of giving myself to him and then he will
disappear. "What can I do to make you believe me, Lily?" Tell me and I
will do it.
Don't know. I know almost nothing about him, although I know him enough
to
knowing that sleeping with him once won't be enough. But how do I know
Do you want something more
than sex?
I look him in the eyes and say:
—Let's not go to bed.
He stares at me with an expression I can't decipher, until he seems to
understand what I'm asking and nods.
-OK. —He continues nodding—. I agree. I won't sleep with you, Lily
Bloom.
He walks around me to go back to the bedroom door and close it. Turn
off the general light and leave only one lamp on. He then walks towards me
while taking off his shirt.
-What are you doing?
He throws his shirt onto a chair and takes off his shoes.
-Go to sleep.
I glance at the bed and back at him.
-Now?
He nods and comes over to me. With one agile movement, he removes
my dress over my head, leaving me in the middle of his bedroom covered
only in my underwear. I try to cover myself, but he doesn't look at me. He
pulls me onto the bed and lifts the covers for me to get under.
 As he walks around the bed to enter the other side, he tells me:
—Anyway, we've slept together before without anything happening. "It's
sucked," he says, making me laugh.
He goes to the dresser and plugs his phone into the charger. Meanwhile,
I take a look at the bedroom. It's not the kind of guest room I've ever slept
in. Three bedrooms like mine could easily fit here. There is a sofa against
one wall, an armchair in front of a television, and an office area with a
floor-to-ceiling bookcase. I'm still looking around when he turns off the
light.
"Your sister is damn rich," I comment, while he covers us both. What do
you do with the ten dollars an hour I pay you? Wipe your ass?
Laughing, he takes my hand and intertwines his fingers with mine. "I
don't think I'll put my heels in," he admits. Have you checked it? I
haven't and now I'm curious. —Good night, Lily.

I smile like a fool because this situation is ridiculous.

But I love it.
—Good night, Ryle.

I think I've gotten lost.

Everything is so white and immaculate that it is blinding. I shuffle across
one of the living rooms, looking for the kitchen. I couldn't find my dress
this morning, so I wore a Ryle shirt. They fit below my knees and I wonder
if you will have to buy them a larger size to fit your arms.
There are too many windows that let in too much sun, so I have to cover
my eyes while I continue my tireless search for coffee. I push the kitchen
door and finally find a coffee maker.
 "Thank my God."
I turn it on and go in search of a cup when the door opens behind me.
Turning around, I'm comforted to see that Allysa isn't always perfectly
made up and bejeweled. Her hair is in a tangled bun and her cheeks are
smeared with mascara.
“I'm going to need some of that,” he tells me, pointing to the
coffee pot. He sits on the island and lets his shoulders fall forward.
-Can I ask you something?
She barely has the strength to nod her head.
I point around me with my hand.
-How did you do it? How the hell did you get the house spotless again
after last night's party? Have you spent the night cleaning?
She starts laughing.
"There are people who take care of that," he answers.
-People?
-Yeah. There are people who take care of everything. You would be
surprised. You will see; think of something, anything. I'm sure we have
someone who takes care of it.
-The purchase?
—Someone makes it.
—Christmas decorations?
She nods.
-Also. Someone is taking care of it.
—And birthday gifts? The personal ones, for family members?
—Well, yes, too. There are people who make sure that each member of
my family receives a gift and a greeting card without me having to lift a
finger.
I shake my head in disbelief.
-Oh. How long have you been so rich?
 -Three years. Marshall sold Apple a few apps he had developed and got
paid a lot. In addition, every six months it creates update packages and sells
them to you as well.
The coffee begins to fall more slowly. I take a handle cup and fill it.
—Shall I add something to your coffee? Or do you already have
people who take care of it? Allysa bursts out laughing.
—I have you, so give me sugar, please.
I follow his instructions and take the cup to the island before pouring
another one for myself. I add heavy cream and wait in silence for him to
bring up Ryle. The conversation is inevitable.
—Can we get this awkward topic out of the way? —he doesn't take long
to ask.
I sigh in relief.
-Yes please. I hate this feeling. I turn to her and take a sip of coffee.
She sets the cup aside and grips the island counter. —How
could it happen?
I slowly shake my head, trying not to smile like a fool in love. I don't
want him to think I'm stupid or crazy for giving in to him.
—I knew him before I met you.
She tilts her head.
"Do you mean before you and I knew each other well or do you mean
when we first met?"
-The second. We met one night, about six months before you walked
into the store.
"You mean... you had a one night stand?"
-No. We hadn't even kissed before last night. I don't know, it's hard for
me to explain. We had a strange relationship, an innocent flirtation..., until
last night it turned into something more. And that's it.
 She takes the cup back and drinks slowly. He's staring at the ground and
I get the feeling he's a little sad.
"Allysa?" You're not mad at me, are you?
He immediately shakes his head.
—No, Lily. It's just that... —He puts the cup back on the island—.
I know my brother. And I love him very much, seriously. But...
-But what?
Allysa and I turn towards the door at the same time. Ryle is looking at us
with his arms crossed in front of his chest. He is wearing gray sweatpants
that hang low on his hips. And nothing more. This model moves up many
notches on Ryle's set list. Yes, I have them all cataloged in my head.
He walks into the kitchen, approaches me and snatches the cup from me.
He leans over me, kisses my forehead and takes a sip of coffee while
leaning on the counter.
“I didn't mean to interrupt,” she tells Allysa. Please finish what you were
saying.
She rolls her eyes and says:
-For.
Ryle hands the cup back to me and goes to get another one for himself.
While filling it, he adds:
"I thought you were about to give Lily a warning."
I'm curious what you were going to say to him.
Allysa jumps down from the island and carries the cup to the sink.
—She's my friend, Ryle. And you don't have a very bright track record
when it comes to relationships. —He rinses the cup and, when finished,
turns toward us and rests his hip on the sink—. And, as her friend, I have
the right to give her my opinion about the guys she dates. That's what
Friends Are For.
 The tension rises between them, making me feel uncomfortable. Ryle
hasn't even tried his coffee. She walks over to Allysa and throws it down
the sink. They are very close, but she doesn't look at his face.
-Well. As your brother, I would like you to show a little more faith in
me. That's what brothers are for.
He leaves the kitchen, pushing the door open.
When he's gone, Allysa takes a deep breath. Shaking his head, he brings
his hands to his cheeks.
—I'm sorry for what happened. —He forces himself to smile—. I need a
shower. "Don't you have anyone hired to take care of that?"
Allysa comes out of the kitchen laughing. I wash the cup and return to
Ryle's bedroom. When I open the door, I find him sitting on the couch,
checking his cell phone. When he doesn't raise his head when he hears me
enter, I think for a moment that he's angry with me too. But he immediately
throws the phone on the couch and leans back.
"Come here," he tells me.
He takes my hand and pulls me onto him, one leg on each side. He
presses his mouth to mine and kisses me so hard I wonder if he's trying to
convince me that his sister isn't right.
When he stops kissing me, he leans back and looks me up and down.
—I like how my clothes look on you.
"Unfortunately, I have to go to work, so I'll have to take it off," I reply,
smiling.
He brushes my hair out of my face and says:
—I have to prepare for a very important operation, which means I won't
be able to see you for a few days.
I try to hide the disappointment. I have to get used to these situations if
he is really willing to start a relationship. He already warned me that he
works very hard.
 —I'm busy too. The official opening is this Friday.
—Oh, we'll see you before Friday. I promise you.
This time I don't hide the smile.
-OK.
He kisses me again, this time for at least a minute. He leans me towards
the couch, but suddenly stops and pushes me away from him.
-No. I like you too much to settle for touching you.
I lie on the couch and watch him get dressed for work.
As if to brighten my eyes, he puts on his surgical pajamas.
 8

“We need to talk,” Lucy says, sitting on the couch, mascara running down
her cheeks.
"Oh shit."
I drop the bag and run towards her. When I get to her side, she starts
crying.
-What's happening? Has Alex broken up with you?
When she shakes her head I start to really worry. Please, don't let it be
cancer. I take his hand and in that moment I realize.
—Lucy! Are you engaged?
She nods.
-I'm sorry. I know we still have six months left on our lease, but Alex
wants me to move in with him.
I stare at it for a long time.
«Is that why you are crying? Why do you want to
leave the apartment? He takes a tissue and wipes his
eyes.
—I feel terrible, Lily. You're going to be alone. I'm moving in with my
boyfriend and you don't have anyone...
"What the hell?"
"Lucy?" Um... I'll be fine, I promise. She
gives me a hopeful look. -Oh really?
“Why the hell do you have that idea about me?”
 I nod again.
—Yes, I'm not angry; I'm happy for you.
She puts her arms around my neck and hugs me.
"Oh, thank you, Lily!" —She laughs while tears continue to fall down
her cheeks. When he lets go of me, he jumps up and shouts, "I have to tell
Alex!" I was so worried that you wouldn't let me leave until the contract
was up...!
She grabs her bag and shoes and leaves. Lying on the couch, I stare at
the ceiling.
“Did you just blatantly manipulate me?”
I start laughing because until this moment I hadn't realized how much I
wanted what just happened to happen.
«The whole apartment for me!»
Best of all, when I decide to have it with Ryle, we can do it here without
having to worry about the noise.
The last time I spoke to Ryle was when I left his house on Saturday. We
agreed to give ourselves a trial period, without obligation. Just a test, testing
the waters, to see if we both feel comfortable with a relationship. It's
Monday night now and I'm a little disappointed that he still hasn't contacted
me. I gave him my phone number before I left, but I don't know what the
protocol is in these cases, especially during trial periods.
One thing is clear to me: I do not plan to be the first to write to you.
So I decide to spend the night with my teenage rage and Ellen
DeGeneres. It seems like a much better option than waiting for a guy I'm
not even going to sleep with to call me. Although I don't know what makes
me think that reading about the first guy I slept with is going to make me
not think about the guy I'm not sleeping with.

Dear Ellen:
 My great-grandfather's name was Ellis. All my life I thought it was
a really cool name for someone so old. Upon his death, I read his
obituary and then I found out. Do you want to believe that Ellis wasn't
his real name? His name was actually Levi Sampson, but I had no idea.
I asked my grandmother where the name Ellis came from and she
told me that since his initials were LS and everyone called him by his
initials, as time went by the name became distorted and ended up
sounding like something similar to Ellis. .
And that's why they ended up calling it that.
I was looking at your name and I remembered the story. Is Ellen
your real name? Because maybe you're doing like my great-grandfather,
using the initials to mislead. Are they LN? AHA! Gotcha, “Ellen,” wink,
wink.
Speaking of names, do you think Atlas is a strange name? A little
yes, right?
Yesterday, while we were watching your show together, I asked him
where his name came from and he said he didn't know. Without thinking,
I told him he should ask his mother why she wore it. He looked at me for
a few seconds before answering that it was a little late for that.
I don't know what he was referring to. I don't know if his mother
died or if she gave him up for adoption. We've been friends for several
weeks now and I still know almost nothing about him. I don't even know
why he has nowhere to live. I would ask him, but I don't know if he trusts
me enough. He has a hard time trusting people and, frankly, I'm not
surprised.
It worries me. This week it has started to get really cold and it is
expected to be even colder next week. If there is no electricity, the boiler
does not work. I hope you at least have blankets. Can you imagine how
bad I would feel if he froze to death?
It would be horrible. Terribly awful, Ellen.
 This week I will look for blankets and give them to them.

Lily

Dear Ellen:
It's going to start snowing soon, so I've decided that this afternoon
I'll get the garden ready for winter. I had already picked the radishes, so
I was just planning to add a layer of mulch and compost, which shouldn't
have taken me long, if it hadn't been for the fact that Atlas has insisted
on helping me.
He asked me many questions about gardening and I liked that he
was interested in my hobbies. I have taught him to place compost and
mulch on the soil so that the snow does not punish it too much. My
garden is small; It measures about three meters by four, but it is the
piece of backyard that my father lets me use.
Atlas has covered all the ground while I watched him sitting on the
ground, legs crossed. It wasn't because of laziness. He wanted to do it
and I allowed him.
It is obvious that he is a very hard worker; Maybe while he works
he forgets about his problems and that's why he always wants to help
me.
When he finished, he came over and sat down next to me on the
grass.
—What prompted you to grow a garden? -I've been asked.
I turned to him and saw that he had also crossed his legs and was
looking at me curiously. At that moment I realized that he is probably the
best friend I have ever had, even though I know almost nothing about
him. I have friends at school, but they don't let me invite them home for
obvious reasons. My mother is afraid that something could happen and
that everyone will find out about my father's problems. I never go to
other houses either and I understand that less. Maybe it's because my
father doesn't want me to see how a good husband treats
his wife. He probably wants me to think that the way he treats my mother
is normal.
Atlas is the first friend who has been to my house. And he is also the
first to know how much I am passionate about the garden. And now he is
the first to ask me why I like it so much. I have pulled up a weed and
broken it into small pieces while I pondered the question, searching for
the answer.
—When I was ten years old, my mother subscribed me to a website
called Semillas Anónimas —I responded. Every month I received an
unlabeled packet of seeds with instructions on how to plant and care for
them. I didn't know what I had planted until the plant appeared outside.
Every day after school I ran home to check on the progress of the plants.
It was my dream; I spent the day waiting for that moment to come.
Growing plants for me is a reward.
Without looking away from me, he asked me:
—A reward for what?
I have shrugged my shoulders.
—For loving plants well. They reward you according to the amount
of love you give them. If you treat them cruelly or don't take care of them
as you should, they won't give you anything. But if you take care of them
correctly and give them love, they will reward you with fruits, vegetables
or flowers.
He looked down at the weeds I was tearing up. There was almost
nothing left and I got rid of the remaining piece by catapulting it with
my index finger.
I didn't want to turn towards him, because I felt like he was still
watching me, so I stayed looking at the garden, already covered in
mulch.
"We are equal," he said.
I've looked at him out of the corner of my eye.
 -You and I?
He shook his head.
—No, people and plants. Plants need to be loved well to survive, but
so do humans. We need our parents from the moment we are born.
Without them we cannot survive. If they take care of us and love us, we
become good human beings, but if they neglect us... —He has lowered
his voice to a sad whisper. Rubbing his hands on his knees to get rid of
the dirt, he added, "If we are neglected, we end up lying in the street,
unable to do anything worthwhile."
His words made me feel like the fertilizer I had just spread. I didn't
even know what to say. Is that the opinion you have of yourself?
He seemed to be about to get up, but I
stopped him .
calling him and I have pointed out the row of trees that follows the fence in
the left part of the garden.
—Do you see that tree over
there?
In the middle of the row of trees, which were all the same, the only
one that was different stood out: an oak, taller and more robust than the
rest.
Atlas has located the tree and has looked over it until he reaches the
top.
-AHA.
—Well, he grew up alone. Many plants need care to survive, but
some of them, like trees, can do it on their own.
I didn't know if Atlas understood what I was trying to tell him
indirectly, but I wanted him to know that I think he's strong enough to
survive on his own, no matter what. I don't know him well, but I know
that he is a resilient guy, with much more endurance than I would have
in his circumstances.
 He continued observing the tree without blinking, motionless. It took
a long time to react. When he finally did, he simply nodded slightly and
looked down at the grass. When he pursed his lips, I thought he was
going to frown too, but instead he smiled. It was a small smile, almost
invisible, but enough to make me feel like I had brought him back to life.
"We are equal," he said, repeating himself.
—Plants and humans?
He shook his head.
—No, you and me.
I'm out of breath, Ellen. I hope he didn't hear me holding my breath,
but what could I say to that?
I sat there, quite uncomfortable, until he stood up silently and
turned towards the house.
—Atlas, wait.
When he looked down at me, I pointed to his hands and said:
—You better go in and take a quick shower before you leave. The
compost is made from cow poop.
He looked at his hands and then looked at his clothes dirty with
fertilizer.
—Cow poop? Oh really?
I nodded, smiling. He started laughing and, without telling me, he
dropped to the floor next to me and started rubbing his hands all over
my body, as if he wanted to clean himself on me. While we were both
laughing, he reached into the bag of fertilizer and spread it over my
arms.
Ellen, I'm sure the sentence I'm about to write has never been
written down or spoken out loud before, but the point is
 that I had never been so excited as when I was covered in cow shit.
Soon after, we were both lying on the ground, laughing and panting.
Finally he stood up and helped me up. I knew I had to hurry if I
wanted to shower before my parents arrived.
While he took a shower, I washed my hands in the kitchen sink and
thought about his words. I didn't know exactly what he meant by saying
we were equal, but I took it as a compliment. Did you mean that I'm
strong too? Because I don't usually feel strong. In those moments,
thinking about him made me feel weak. I have begun to wonder what I
am going to do with the feelings it awakens in me. I also wonder how
long I will be able to keep his existence a secret, without my parents
finding out. And how long are you going to stay in the house across the
street. In winter in Maine, the cold is unbearable. I wouldn't survive
without heat, or without plenty of blankets.
That made me think and I went to look for all the blankets I had.
found. I was going to give them to him when he got out of the shower, but it
was already
five and he ran away.
I'll take them to you tomorrow.

Lily

Dear Ellen:
Harry Connick Jr. is very funny. I don't know if you've ever invited
him because I hate to admit that I've missed any of your shows since you
started, but if you've never invited him, you should. Have you ever seen
Conan O'Brien's late night show? A guy named Andy comes out, who
performs every night. I wish Harry was you
collaborator and went out every day. His answers are the cane. Seeing
you two together would be epic.
I wanted to thank you. I know you don't do your show with the goal
of making me laugh, but sometimes it seems that way to me. Sometimes I
feel like I've lost the ability to laugh or even smile, but then I watch your
show and it doesn't matter if I'm in a good mood or a bad mood, I
always feel better when it's over.
So yes: thank you very much.
I assume you want me to update you on Atlas and I'll do that right
away, but first I need to tell you what happened yesterday.
My mother is a primary school assistant teacher at Brimer School.
It's not close to home, which is why it never arrives before five. My
father works three kilometers from home and usually arrives just after
five.
We have a garage, but it only fits one of the cars, because my father
has it full of junk, so my father parks in the garage and my mother leaves
her car in front of the house.
The fact is that yesterday my mother arrived a little early. Atlas was
still at home; We were finishing watching your show when I heard the
garage door start to open. Atlas left the house through the back door and
I hurried to gather the cans of soda and bags of snacks.
Yesterday at noon it started to snow seriously and my mother had a
lot of things in the car; That's why he left it in the garage to unload them
directly through the door that leads to the kitchen. They were work
things and shopping bags. I was helping her put everything in when my
father arrived. Seeing that he couldn't get into the garage, he started
honking like crazy. I guess I didn't want to get out of the car in the snow.
It's the only reason I can think of why I would want to get it out of the
garage so quickly, instead of waiting for it to finish unloading. And now
that I think about it, why does my father always park in
garage? Shouldn't I let my mother get the best spot?
Anyway. The fact is that my mother was very scared when she heard
him honk and asked me to take her things to the table while she took the
car out.
I don't know exactly what happened when he got to the garage. I
heard a crash and then she started screaming, so I ran to the garage
thinking maybe she had slipped on the ice and fallen.
Ellen..., I don't even know how to tell you what happened next. I'm
still in shock.
When I opened the garage door, I didn't see my mother. I only saw
my father, behind the car, doing something. As I got closer, I realized
why I couldn't see my mother. My father had pushed her onto the hood
and was squeezing her neck with his hands.
I was strangling her, Ellen!
Just thinking about it would make me cry. He was looking at her
with a lot of hatred, while yelling at her that she had no respect for him
or for how hard he worked. I don't really know why I was so angry,
because all I remember is the silence of my mother, who was struggling
to breathe. I don't remember well the next few minutes; It's all fuzzy in
my mind, but I know I started yelling at my dad. I jumped on his back
and hit him on the head... until I stopped.
I don't know what exactly happened; I guess he got rid of me. I only
know that I was riding on his back and that suddenly I found myself on
the ground and my forehead hurt like hell. My mother was sitting next to
me, holding my head and saying she was so sorry. I looked around,
looking for my father, but he wasn't there. When he saw that he had hit
me on the head, he got into his car and took off.
 My mother gave me a cloth and told me to press it hard on my
forehead because I was bleeding. He helped me into his car and took me
to the hospital. During the ride, he only told me one thing: "When they
ask you, tell them you slipped on the ice."
When I heard it, I looked out the window and started crying. For a
few moments, I thought this would be the straw that broke the camel's
back. I thought my mother would leave him, now that he had hurt me
too, but in that moment I realized that my mother would never leave him.
I felt tremendous disappointment, but I was too scared and didn't say
anything.
They had to give me nine stitches in my forehead. I still don't know
what I hit myself with, but that's the least of it. The important thing is
that my father was the culprit and he didn't even stay to check on me. He
left us lying on the garage floor and took off.
Last night I came home very late and fell asleep immediately
because of the medication they had given me.
This morning, when I met Atlas, on the way to the stop, I tried not to
look at his face so that he wouldn't see my forehead. I had combed my
hair, covering the points with my bangs, and at first it didn't notice.
When we sat together on the bus, our hands touched each other as we
put things down.
Like ice. Your hands were two blocks of ice, Ellen.
At that moment I realized that I had forgotten to give him the
blankets that I had taken out for him, because my mother returned home
earlier than expected. The incident in the garage made me forget about
everything else, including him. It has been snowing all night, at subzero
temperatures, and he has spent it in that dark, alone house. And in the
morning he was so frozen that I don't understand how he could move. I
took his hands in mine and told him:
 —Atlas, you're frozen.
He hasn't responded anything. I rubbed his hands to warm them, put
my head on his shoulder, and then I did something embarrassing: I burst
into tears. I don't usually cry a lot, but I was still very upset by what
happened yesterday, and I felt so guilty for having forgotten to give him
the blankets that it all came out at once. He hasn't said anything. He
removed his hands so I could stop rubbing them and placed them on top
of mine. And so we spent the trip to school, with our heads and hands
together. I would have thought it was nice if it hadn't been so sad.
On the way back home is when he finally noticed my forehead.
Frankly, I had forgotten about the points. At school no one has asked me
anything, and when he sat next to me, I didn't even try to hide it with my
hair.
He stared at me and asked me:
—What happened to your head?
I haven't known how to respond to him. I touched the wound with
my fingers and looked out the window. I've been trying to gain his trust
for a while so he can tell me why he doesn't have a place to live, and it
has made me very angry having to lie to him, but I didn't want to tell him
the truth either.
When the bus started moving, he told me:
—Yesterday, when I left your house, I heard something was
happening. There were voices. I heard you scream and then I saw your
father leaving. I went to your house to make sure you were okay, but
halfway there I saw you leaving with your mother.
He must have heard the fight in the garage and saw us leaving for
the hospital. I can't believe he dared to come home. Do you know what
my father would do to him if he found him there dressed in his clothes? I
have been upset
a lot because I think he is not aware of what my father is capable of
doing.
Looking into his eyes, I warned him:
"Atlas, don't do that again!" Don't even think about coming home
when my parents are home!
He remained silent for a few moments before saying:
"I heard you scream, Lily."
He said it as if my being in danger was more important than
everything else. And that has made me feel terrible. I know he just wants
to help me, but if he showed up during the fight, things would have
gotten even uglier.
"I fell," I finally answered.
As soon as I said it, I felt very bad for lying. And he looked at me
disappointed. We both knew we weren't talking about a simple fall.
Atlas has lifted the sleeve of his shirt and shown me his arm.
Ellen, my heart has sank. His arm was covered in small scars. Some
looked like cigarette burns. He turned his arm so that he could see that
the scars also extended to the other side.
"I used to fall often too, Lily."
He has lowered his sleeve and has not added anything else.
I was about to tell him that my case was not the same, that my father
never hurts me and that he was just trying to get rid of me, but I realized
that that would be using the same excuses that my mother uses.
I was embarrassed that he knew what was happening at my house
and I spent the rest of the journey looking out the window because I
didn't know what to say to him.
 When we got home, my mother's car was already there.
In front of the house, of course, not in the garage.
And that means Atlas hasn't been able to come watch your show
with me. I wanted to tell him that I'll go and bring him blankets later, but
he got off the bus and left without saying goodbye, as if he were angry
with me.
Now it's dark and I'm waiting for my parents to go to bed, but then
I'll go bring him blankets.
Lily

Dear Ellen:
I'm in quite a mess.
Have you ever done something that you know is wrong, but at the
same time you know is right? I don't know how to explain it more
clearly.
I know I'm only fifteen and I shouldn't let a boy spend the night in
my room, but if you know someone needs a place to sleep, isn't it your
responsibility as a human being to help them?
Last night, when my parents went to bed, I snuck out the back door
to take Atlas's blankets. I took a flashlight because it was very dark. It
was still snowing heavily, and when I arrived at her door, it was
freezing. I knocked and as soon as it opened, I pushed the door to get in
and get out of the cold.
But... I couldn't escape the cold. Somehow, I felt it was even more
intense inside the old house. With the flashlight, I focused around me. I
could see the living room and the kitchen, but there was nothing, Ellen!
No sofa, no chairs, no mattress. I gave him the blankets and
continued looking around. There was a big hole in the roof above the
kitchen where the snow and wind came in. While shining the flashlight,
vi his things in a corner of the living room: his backpack and the one I
had given him. There was a small pile of things, like the clothes I had left for
him and also two towels on the floor. I imagined that one was for lying on
and the other for covering up.
I was so horrified that I covered my mouth with my hand. I had been
living like this for weeks!
Atlas put a hand on my back and tried to lead me towards the door.
"You shouldn't be here, Lily." You could get in trouble.
Grabbing her hand, I said:
—You shouldn't be here either. I pulled him toward the door, but he
pulled his hand away. Without thinking, I said, "You can sleep on the
floor of my room tonight." I'll lock the door. You can't stay here, Atlas.
It's too cold, you'll get pneumonia.
He looked at me not knowing what to do. I'm sure the thought of
being discovered in my bedroom scared him as much as dying of
pneumonia. He took a quick look at the corner of the room where he had
his things and said:
-OK.
So tell me, Ellen. Was I wrong to let him sleep at my house last
night? It didn't seem like it to me. It seemed to me that I was doing the
right thing. But I know that if they had caught us, we would have been in
big trouble. He slept on the floor, I mean, we're not talking about
anything strange, I just let him sleep in a warm place.
And I also discovered something new about him last night. After
getting him into the house and into my room, I locked the door and
prepared a cot for him on the floor, near my bed. I set the alarm for six
and warned him that he should leave the house before my parents got up,
since my mother sometimes comes to the room to wake me up.
 I got into bed and moved closer to the edge so I could look at him
while we chatted for a while. I asked him how long he thought he was
going to stay in the old house and he said he didn't know. And then I
asked him how he ended up there. He had the nightlight on and we were
talking in whispers, but when I asked him that, he remained silent for a
while, watching me, with his hands behind his head. Then he answered:
—I don't know my father; He never took care of me. My mother and
I lived alone, but about five years ago she remarried a guy I never got
along with. We argued a lot. When I turned eighteen a few months ago,
he kicked me out of the house. He took a deep breath, as if he didn't want
to continue talking, but then he continued. “Since then, I've been living
with a friend and his family, but his father was transferred to Colorado
and they moved there. They couldn't take me with them. They had
already been very kind to allow me to stay with them for so long, so I
told them that I had spoken to my mother and that I was going to return
home. The day they left, I didn't know where to go. So I came home and
asked my mother to let me stay there until I graduated. But he told me
no, he didn't want to bother my stepfather.
He turned on his side and stared at the wall.
—I was wandering aimlessly for a few days until I saw this house
and decided to stay here until I found something better or until I
graduated. I have enlisted in the Marines, but I will start in May. I have
to hold on until then anyway.
May is six months away, Ellen. Six.
When he finished speaking, tears came to my eyes. I asked him why
he didn't ask anyone for help, and he told me that it's much harder to get
help when you're an adult and he's already turned eighteen. He told me
that they had given him the telephone number of some shelters.
It appears that there are three shelters within a twenty-five kilometer
radius, but two were for abused women. The other housed homeless
people, but there weren't beds for everyone who needed them. You have
to queue a lot. He said he went once, but he didn't feel safe. And,
furthermore, it was too far for him to go to school from there every day,
so he prefers the abandoned house.
Like the ignorant little girl that I am in these types of situations, I
insisted. —But aren't there other options? -I asked for-. You can not
speak
with the high school counselor and tell him what your mother has done?
He shook his head, saying that he is too old to go to a foster home.
When he turns eighteen, his mother has no obligation to welcome him
into her home. He also told me that he had tried to get food vouchers,
but that he didn't have the money to go to the place where they gave it
out. He also doesn't have a car, of course, and that makes it very difficult
for him to find work. He told me he had tried; that when he leaves my
house at five o'clock he asks in places and stores, but that, not being able
to leave a telephone number or an address, it was almost impossible.
I swear, Ellen, every time I proposed something to him, he had
already tried it. It was as if he had tried every possible way to avoid
finding himself in this situation, without obtaining any results. It seems
like no one thinks of people like him. I got so angry that I told him he
was crazy for enlisting.
—Why the hell do you want to serve a country that has allowed you
to end up in this situation? —I shouted.
And do you know what he answered me, Ellen? With the saddest
eyes I have seen in a long time, he said:
—It's not this country's fault that my mother doesn't give a shit
about me. —He turned off the nightstand lamp—. Good night, Lily.
 But I didn't have a good night. I had a hard time sleeping after that.
I was furious, and I don't even know exactly who to blame for my fury. I
kept thinking about the injustices of the world in general and our country
in particular. I don't understand why people don't help each other more.
I don't know when humans started to worry only about ourselves. Maybe
it's always been like this. I wondered how many people there are in the
world in the same situation as Atlas. For the first time I wondered if
there were more homeless kids at school.
I go to class every day and protest that I have to go; It had never
occurred to me that high school could be the only home for some kids.
It's the only place where Atlas can get food.
I won't be able to respect millionaires anymore, knowing that they
prefer to spend their fortunes on material objects instead of helping
other people.
No offense, Ellen. You are a millionaire, but I wasn't talking about
people like you. I have seen you help many people from your program
and I know that you collaborate with many charities, but there are many
selfish millionaires in the world. Let's see, you don't have to be a
millionaire to be selfish; you can be selfish being poor... or middle class.
Look at my parents, for example. We're not rich, but we could certainly
help other people. And, as far as I know, my father has never donated
anything to any charity.
I remember one time we were going into a grocery store. At the
entrance was an old man shaking a bell and asking for money for the
Salvation Army. I asked my father if we could give him something and he
said no, he works very hard to earn his salary and he wasn't going to
give it away; that it wasn't his fault that other people didn't want to
work. He spent the entire time we were in the store telling me all the
tricks the girl uses.
people to abuse government aid. He said that until the government
stopped helping these people, the problem would not be solved.
And I believed it, Ellen. Three years have passed since then, and
during this time I have believed that the people who sleep on the street
are all drug addicts or lazy people who did not want to work like the
others. But now I know it's not true. Yes, there will be some, I don't
doubt it, but my father was using the worst cases as an excuse. Not
everyone chooses to be on the streets; many simply have not found
anyone to lend them a hand.
And people like my father make things worse. Instead of helping
them, they accuse them of horrible things to excuse their own selfishness
and greed.
I will never be like him, I swear. When I grow up, I'm going to do
everything I can to help others. I'll be like you, Ellen, although probably
not as rich.
Lily
 9

I drop the journal on my chest and am surprised to notice tears streaming

down my cheeks. Every time I reread it, I think that it won't affect me, that
a lot of time has passed and that I won't feel the same as I did then.
I'm a fool. Every time I read it, I really want to hug people from my past.
Above all, to my mother. During this last year, I haven't wanted to think
about everything she had to endure before my father died. I'm sure it still
hurts.
I pick up the phone to call her and look at the screen to see four
messages from Ryle. My heart skips a beat. What a donkey! I had it quiet! I
immediately chastise myself for my reaction. I shouldn't be so happy.
Ryle: Are you sleeping?
Ryle: I guess so.
Ryle: Lily...
Ryle:

The sad face was sent to me ten minutes ago. I tell him no, I'm not
sleeping, and he sends me a new message shortly after:
Ryle: Good. I'm going up to your house. I'll be there
in twenty seconds.

Smiling, I jump out of bed. I go to the bathroom and look at my face.

Not bad. I run to the door and open it just as Ryle reaches the landing. It
looks like it crawled up. He stops at the door. He looks exhausted.
He has red eyes and marked dark circles. He wraps his arms around my
waist and pulls me close, burying his face in my neck.
"You smell so good..." he tells me.
I pull him into the house.
-Are you hungry? I can prepare something for you.
He shakes his head as he struggles to take off his jacket, so I forget about
the kitchen and head straight to the bedroom. He follows me and leaves the
jacket on the chair. He takes off his shoes and leaves them against the wall.
"She's wearing surgical pajamas."
"You look exhausted," I tell him.
He smiles, holding me by the hips.
-I am. I just got out of an eighteen hour operation.
He leans over me and kisses the heart-shaped tattoo on my collarbone.
"No wonder he's exhausted."
—How can an operation last so long? —I ask him—. Eighteen hours?
He nods and pulls me onto the bed. We lay down and faced each other,
sharing a pillow.
—Yes, but it has been incredible. There will be a before and after of this
operation. It will be in the medical journals and my name will appear, so
I'm not complaining. The thing is that I'm very tired.
I lean over him and give him a peck. He rests his hand on my cheek and
looks at me.
—I know you're probably dying to have sweaty, wild sex with me, but I
don't have the strength tonight. I'm sorry. I missed you and, I don't know
why, I sleep better when I'm with you. Is it okay if I stay the night?
I smile.
 —Better than good.
He leans towards me and kisses my forehead. He takes my hand and
places them together on the pillow, between us. His eyes close, but I keep
mine open to watch him. She has the kind of face that people don't dare
look directly at for long, for fear of getting caught up in her beauty. And to
think that I can contemplate it as I please. I don't need to shyly look away
because Ryle is mine.
"Maybe."
We are in a testing period; I must not forget it.
After a minute, he lets go of my hand and flexes his fingers. I stare at his
hand, wondering how it is possible to stand for so many hours, having to
use your fine motor skills with precision. I can't think of many jobs that
cause that level of exhaustion.
I get out of bed and go to the bathroom to get the moisturizing lotion. I
return to the bed and sit next to him with my legs crossed. I pour lotion on
my hand and place his arm in my lap.
He opens his eyes and looks at me.
-What are you doing? —he murmurs.
"Sleep," I whisper.
I press his palm with my thumbs and massage it, drawing circles that go
upward and outward. He closes his eyes again and groans, burying his face
in the pillow. I continue massaging it for about five minutes before
switching hands. He keeps his eyes closed the entire time. When I'm done
with my hands, I get on his back and take off his surgical jacket. He tries to
help me, but his arms are as limp as soaked noodles.
I massage his shoulders, neck, back and arms. When I'm done, I get off
of him and lie down next to him.
While I'm giving him a hair massage, he opens his eyes.
 "Lily, I think you are the best thing that has ever happened to me," he
whispers, in a sincere tone.
His words wrap me like a warm blanket. I remain silent because I don't
know what to say. He raises a hand and gently holds my cheek. His gaze
warms me inside. He leans towards me and presses his lips to mine. I hope
he just gives me a bite, but he doesn't move away. He runs the tip of his
tongue over my lips and gently separates them. His mouth is so warm that I
can't help but moan as he deepens the kiss.
He lays me on my back on the bed and runs his hand over my body until
he reaches my hips. He moves a little closer to me and runs his hand down
my thigh. When he pushes into me, I feel a surge of intense heat rush
through my body.
Grabbing him by the hair, I whisper against his mouth:
"I think we've waited long enough." I would really like you to fuck me.
Right now.
He grunts with renewed strength and yanks my shirt off. The next few
minutes are an interlude of hands, moans, tongues and sweat. I feel like it's
the first time a man has touched me. The few who preceded him were all
boys, who acted with nervous hands and timid mouths. But Ryle is pure
confidence. He knows exactly where he should touch me and how he
should kiss me.
He only stops giving me his full attention when he reaches out to find a
condom in his purse. When he's back under the covers, with the condom in
place, he doesn't waste time hesitating. He takes me with a quick and
accurate lunge, and I hold my breath with my mouth glued to his and my
body tense.
His mouth is fierce and demanding, and he kisses me in every corner he
can reach. I lose strength in my muscles and also my will; I can only
surrender to him. He's fucking me ruthlessly. Support a
hand between my head and the headboard of the bed as he pushes harder
and harder and the bed hits the wall again and again.
I dig my nails into his back as he buries his face in my neck.
“Ryle,” I whisper. “Oh my God,” I say. Ryle! -shout.
I bite his shoulder to camouflage the sounds that escape my mouth after
the first scream while tremors run up and down my body. For a moment I
fear I might faint. I increase the force with which I squeeze his hips and I
notice that he tenses.
"God, Lily," he says, shaking like a leaf. After one last push, he growls
and remains motionless on top of me. When he convulses, I let my head fall
back onto the pillow. More than a minute passes before we regain speech
and the ability to move. But even then, we prefer to remain still. He buries
his face into the pillow and lets out a deep sigh. Can't...
He raises his head and looks at me. His gaze is loaded with something I
can't identify. With his lips glued to mine, he tells me:
—How right you were.
-About what?
He pulls out of me slowly, holding his weight on his forearms.
—You warned me. You told me that just once with you wouldn't be
enough. You warned me that you were like a drug..., but you failed to tell
me that you were one of the most addictive.
 10

-Can I ask you a personal question?

Allysa nods as she finalizes the details of a bouquet of flowers that we
have ordered for home delivery. There are three days left until the official
opening and we have more and more work.
-What is it about? —he asks, turning to me.
He leans on the counter and starts biting a nail.
—You don't have to answer if you don't want to.
—Well, if you don't ask me the question, it's clear that I'm not going to
answer you.
There is no lack of reason.
—Do you and Marshall donate to charities? She gives me a
confused look. -Yes because?
I shrug.
—Out of curiosity. I wasn't trying to judge you or anything like that.
Lately I've been thinking about the idea of founding one.
—What type of organization had you thought about? -asks me-. Now
that we can afford it, we donate to a few, but my favorite is one we started
collaborating with last year. They build schools in other countries. Last year
alone we provided funds for the construction of three schools.
"I knew I liked him for some reason."
 —I don't have that much money, obviously, but I would like to do
something.
The thing is, I haven't decided what yet.
—How about we focus on the inauguration first and then start thinking
about philanthropy? One dream after another, Lily.
Allysa comes out from behind the counter and heads to the trash can. I
watch as she takes out the full trash bag and ties it. I can't help but wonder
why she—who has people who do everything for her—decided that she
wanted to work somewhere where she would have to take out the trash and
get her hands dirty.
—Why do you work here? —I ask him.
She looks at me, smiling.
“Because I like you,” he says, but the shine fades from his eyes before he
turns around and leaves to throw out the trash. That's why, when he comes
back, I insist.
—Allysa, why do you work here?
She stops what she's doing and takes a deep, slow breath, as if she's
considering being honest with me. He backs up to the counter and leans on
it, ankles crossed.
"Because I can't get pregnant," she answers, looking at her feet. We've
been trying for two years and nothing works. I was tired of staying home,
crying, and decided to find something to keep myself occupied. He sits up
and brushes his hands through his jeans. And you, Lily Bloom, keep me
very busy. —She turns around to continue arranging the bouquet of flowers.
He's been touching it up for half an hour. She picks up a card and places it
among the flowers before turning to me and handing me the vase. By the
way, this is for you.
It's obvious that Allysa wants to change the subject, so I take the vase
from her hands.
-What do you mean?
Rolling her eyes, she points toward my office.
—It puts it on the card; go read it.
 From their reaction I deduce that they are Ryle's.
With a smile on my face, I run to my office, sit down, open the envelope
and read the card.
Lily:
I have a tremendous withdrawal syndrome.

Ryle

Still smiling, I put the card back in the envelope. I pick up my phone and
take a photo of myself, sticking out my tongue, with the bouquet in my
hands. I send it to Ryle accompanied by this message:
I warned you.

He answers me instantly.
I anxiously watch the screen while the little dots tell me that he is
writing.
Ryle: I need my fix. I'll be out of here in about half an
hour. Can I invite you to dinner?

I can not. My mother wants me to take her to try a

new restaurant. She has become a foodie , she is
very heavy.

Ryle: I like food; it's just what

What do I eat? Where are you going to take her?

Me: To a place called Bib's, on Marketson.

Ryle: Is there room for one more?

I stare at the message without quite believing it. Do you want to meet my
mother? We're not even dating. Let's see..., I don't have any problem with
him knowing her; I know she will love it, but we have gone from not
wanting to know anything about relationships to a trial period and from
there to wanting to meet the parents within a period of five days. My
mother! I wasn't exaggerating when I said I'm like a drug!
 Me: Okay. We stayed there
within half an hour.

I leave my office with my phone raised and show it to Allysa.

—He wants to meet my mother.
-Who?
—Ryle.
-My brother? —he asks, with the same shocked expression that I must
have.
Seat.
-Your brother. My mother.
She snatches my phone from me to read the messages.
—Puff. It's all very strange.
I take the phone from his hands.
—Thank you for the vote of confidence.
She excuses herself, laughing.
—You know what I mean. It's just that we're talking about Ryle. And my
brother has never, in his entire life, met a girl's parents.
Allysa's words make me smile, although then I wonder if he wants to
meet my mother just to please me. Maybe he's doing things he doesn't want
to do because he knows I want us to have a real, complete relationship.
And then my smile gets even bigger, because at the end of the day a
relationship is based on this, right? In sacrificing yourself for the person
you like to see them happy.
"I think your brother really likes me," I joke.
I turn to Allysa, expecting to see her laugh, but her look is very solemn.
He nods his head.
—Yes, I'm afraid so. —Takes the bag from under the counter and adds—:
Well I'm leaving. You'll tell me how it goes, okay?
 She walks past me and I stare at her as she leaves. Then I stay still for a
while, watching the door. I'm a little worried that he's not excited about me
dating Ryle. I wonder if the cause is her feelings towards me or her feelings
towards Ryle.

Twenty minutes later, I put up the CLOSED sign .

"How close it is until the inauguration."
I lock the door and head to the car, but stop dead when I see someone
leaning against it. It takes me a few moments to recognize him, because he
has his back to me, talking on the phone.
"I thought we were at the restaurant, but oh well."
I press the button and the car opens with a beep. Hearing this, Ryle turns
to me, smiling.
“Yes, I agree,” he says to his interlocutor. He puts an arm around my
shoulders and pulls me towards him to kiss the top of my head. We'll talk
about it tomorrow; Now I have to take care of something very important.
He hangs up and puts his phone in his pocket before kissing me. It's not
a "hello-how-are-you" kiss. It's an I've-been-thinking-about-you-non-stop
kiss. He hugs me and turns me around until my back is against the car,
where he continues kissing me until my head starts to spin.
When he turns away from me, he gives me an admiring look.
—Do you know what part of you drives me the craziest? —He raises
two fingers towards my mouth and continues my smile—. This. Your lips. I
love that they are as red as your hair even if you don't wear lipstick.
Smiling, I kiss her fingers.
—Well, I'll have to watch you when I introduce you to my mother,
because everyone says we have the same mouth.
He stops the caress and stops smiling.
 —Lily, of course not.
Laughing, I open the door.
—Are we going in two cars?
He just opened the door for me and answered:
—I took an Uber to come here; let's go together.

My mother is already sitting at the table when we arrive, but she doesn't see
us because her back is to the entrance.
I was impressed by the restaurant from the first moment. My eye goes to
the neutral but warm colors that decorate the walls and the almost life-size
tree that occupies the center. It seems to sprout directly from the floor of the
restaurant, as if the rest of it had been built around it. Ryle follows close
behind, his hand resting on the small of my back.
When we get to the table, I take off my jacket.
-Hi Mom.
She looks away from the phone to greet me.
—Oh, hello, darling. —She leaves her cell phone in her bag and points
around.
—. I love it. Have you noticed the lighting? Lamps could have sprung from
your garden. —At that moment he notices Ryle, who is waiting patiently
next to me while I sit on the bench. Smiling, my mother tells him: “Two
waters for now, please.”
I look at Ryle and then at my mother. —
Mom, come with me; It's not the waiter.
She gives him a confused look, but he smiles and offers her his
hand. —A very normal mistake, ma'am. I'm Ryle Kincaid.
She shakes his hand, alternating her gaze between the two of them, until
he releases her hand and sits down next to me. My mother seems a little
nervous when she finally shows up.
 —Jenny Bloom. Nice to meet you. —He looks at me, raising an eyebrow
—. A friend of yours, Lily?
I can't believe I haven't prepared myself better for this moment. How the
hell do I present it? My temporary test ? I can't call him boyfriend , but
calling him friend is an understatement. And my boyfriend candidate
sounds fatal.
Noticing my doubts, Ryle places a hand on my knee and gives me an
encouraging squeeze.
"My sister works for Lily," he says. Do you know her? Do you know
Allysa?
My mother leans forward.
—Oh! Yes of course! You guys look a lot alike now that I look at it. It's
the eyes, I think. And the mouth.
Ryle nods.
—We both look like our mother.
My mother smiles at me.
—People always say Lily looks like me.
"Yes," he replies. They have identical mouths. It's amazing. Ryle
squeezes my knee again under the table as I try to hold back my laughter.
Ladies, if you'll excuse me, I have to go to the men's room for a moment. —
He leans toward me and kisses my temple before standing up—. If the
waiter comes, I'll have water.
My mother follows Ryle with her eyes as he walks away, then slowly
turns back to me. He points at me and points to Ryle's empty seat.
—How come you haven't told me about him?
A smile escapes me.
"Things are a little... Actually, it's not what..." "I have no idea how to
explain the situation to my mother." He... works a lot, and that's why we see
each other very little. Very little. In fact, this is the first time we're going to
dinner together.
 My mother raises an eyebrow.
-Oh really? —He leans back again—. Well, no one would say it seeing
how he acts. He treats you like... I mean he seems very comfortable around
you... and very affectionate. It's not the usual behavior of someone you just
met.
"We haven't just met," I admit. It's been almost a year since we first saw
each other. We have spent time together, but we had never gone out on a
date. He works a lot.
-Where he works?
—At Massachusetts General Hospital.
My mother leans forward with her eyes so wide that they seem to be
about to pop out of their sockets.
—Lily! —he hisses—. He is a doctor?
I nod, holding back my laughter.
-Neurosurgeon.
-Ladies? Can I get you something to drink? —a waiter asks us.
"Yes," I answer. We'll take three...
I close my mouth and stare at the waiter while he stares at me. I have a
lump in the throat; I am not able to speak.
"Lily?" —My mother points to the waiter—. He's waiting for you to
order the drinks.
"I..., um..." I hesitate, shaking my head.
“Three waters,” my mother finally asks, interrupting my clumsy
babbling, and the waiter snaps out of his own trance long enough to
scribble something in his notebook.
"Three waters," he repeats. Very good.
He turns around and walks away, but as I've been watching him, I see
him turn back to me before pushing open the kitchen doors.
My mother leans forward and asks me:
 —But what the hell is wrong with you?
I point over my shoulder.
“The waiter,” I reply, shaking my head. It was just like...
I'm about to say "Atlas Corrigan" when Ryle comes back and sits next to
me.
Looking between my mother and me, he asks:
—What have I missed?
I swallow hard, shaking my head. No, it can't be Atlas. But those eyes...
and that mouth. I know I haven't seen him in many years, but I will never
forget his face. It has to be him. I know it was him... And he also
recognized me, because as soon as our eyes met, he looked at me as if he
had seen a ghost.
"Lily..." Ryle calls me, squeezing my hand. Are you OK?
I nod my head and force myself to smile. Then I clear my throat and say:
—Yes, we were talking about you. Looking at my mother, I add, “Ryle
participated in an eighteen-hour operation this week.
My mother leans forward, interested, and Ryle begins to talk to her about
the operation. The waters arrive, but a different waiter brings them to us. He
asks us if we have looked at the menu and informs us of the chef's
specialties. The three of us order and I make a constant effort to stay
focused on the conversation, but I can't; I spend the time looking for Atlas
with my eyes.
I need to calm down a little; That's why I say to Ryle:
—I have to go to the bathroom.
He gets up to let me out. On the way to service, I examine the faces of
all the waiters, but nothing. I push the door to the hallway that leads to the
bathrooms. Left alone, I lean against the wall and lean my body forward,
releasing my breath. I decide to take a minute to
regain composure before returning. I put my hands to my forehead and
close my eyes.
I've been wondering what happened to him for nine years.
Nine years.
"Lily?"
I lift my face and hold my breath. He stands at the end of the hallway,
like a ghost just arrived from the past. I look down at his feet to make sure
he's not suspended in the air.
It is not. It's real and it's right in front of me.
I continue with my back against the wall, not knowing what to say.
-Atlas?
As soon as I say his name, he releases his breath, relieved, and
approaches me in three large strides. I do the same. We met halfway and
hugged.
“Fuck,” he says, holding me tightly.
I nod against his chest.
-Exact. Fuck.
He puts his hands on my shoulders and takes a step back to look at my
face.
-You have not changed anything.
I put my hand to my mouth, still in shock, as I look him up and down.
The face is the same, but he is no longer the lanky, scrawny teenager I
remember.
—I can't say the same about you.
He looks at himself and starts laughing.
—Yes, that's what it's like to spend eight years in the army.
We are both still in shock, and remain silent, shaking our heads, not
believing what just happened. He starts laughing first and then I laugh.
Finally he lets go of my shoulders and crosses his arms.
 —What brings you to Boston? he asks, and his voice sounds so carefree
that I'm grateful.
Maybe he's forgotten about the conversation we had about Boston all
those years ago, which would save me an embarrassing situation.
“I live here,” I reply, forcing myself to sound as carefree as he does. I
have a flower shop in Park Plaza.
He gives me a knowing smile, as if my achievement didn't surprise him
at all.
I look at the door, because I know I have to go back. He notices and
takes another step back. He holds my gaze and the silence deepens between
the two of us, taking on a special weight. We have a lot to tell each other,
but neither of us even knows where to start. His gaze fades when he says:
—I guess you should go back to your companions. I'll look for you
someday. You said Park Plaza, right?
I nod.
He does the same.
The door opens and a woman appears accompanied by a small child.
Cross between them, which will increase the distance between the two.
I take a step towards the door, but he remains rooted to the spot.
Before I leave, I turn to him and smile.
—I really liked seeing you, Atlas.
He smiles back at me, but his eyes don't light up.
—Yes, I say the same, Lily.

For the rest of dinner, I remain almost silent. I don't know if Ryle or my
mother notices, because she doesn't cut a single hair and she keeps asking
Ryle things. He takes it well and is charming to my mother at all times. The
unexpected meeting with Atlas has upset me
mood, but by the end of dinner, Ryle has managed to make her relaxed and
happy again.
My mother wipes her mouth with the napkin and points at me.
—It's my new favorite restaurant. Incredible.
Ryle nods.
-I agree. I have to bring Allysa; He loves trying new restaurants.
The food was delicious, but the last thing I need is to have either of these
two hanging around.
"It wasn't bad," I say.
Ryle invites us both, of course, and then insists on walking my mother to
her car. The proud look she gives me tells me she'll call me later to talk
about him.
When he leaves, Ryle walks me to my car.
—I ordered an Uber so you don't have to take me home. Have
Approximately... —He checks his cell phone—. We have a minute and a half
left
to get our hands on it.
I start laughing.
He wraps his arms around me and kisses me, first on the neck, then on
the cheek.
—I would invite myself to your house, but I have an operation first thing
tomorrow morning and I'm sure the patient will appreciate that I don't spend
a good part of the night inside you.
I kiss him back, disappointed, but somewhat relieved too.
—The grand opening is approaching. I guess I should sleep too.
—When will you have a day off? -asks me.
-Never. And you?
-Never.
I shake my head.
 —We are condemned to failure. We are both too ambitious
professionally.
"Thanks to that, the honeymoon phase will last until we're eighty," he
tells me, and then adds, "I'll go to the inauguration on Friday and then the
four of us will go out and celebrate." —When a car stops next to us, he
tangles his hand in my hair and kisses me goodbye—. Your mother is
wonderful, by the way. Thank you for letting me come to dinner with you.
He backs away slowly and gets into the car. I stare at him as he pulls out
of the parking lot and walks away.
"This man gives me very good vibes."
Smiling, I turn around, but put a hand to my chest when I see him.
Atlas is waiting for me behind my car.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."
I release the air.
—Well, I'm afraid you have.
I lean against the car and Atlas remains where he is, about a meter away.
Looking down the street, he asks me.
-Who is the lucky one?
—It's... —My voice fails. It's all so strange... I have a knot in my chest
and my stomach is doing somersaults, but I don't know if it's because of
kissing Ryle or because of Atlas' presence. His name is Ryle. We met about
a year ago.
I instantly regret saying that. It feels like we've been together for a year
and we're not even officially dating.
—And what about you? Are you married? Do you have a girlfriend? —I
don't know if I'm asking you out of politeness or because I'm really curious.
-Actually yes. Her name is Cassie. We've been together for almost a year.
 Acidity. I think I have heartburn. One year? With my hand on my chest,
I nod.
-That's ok. You look happy.
"Does he look happy?"
I have no idea.
-Yes, good. I'm so glad I saw you, Lily. He starts to turn to leave, but
turns abruptly and looks at me, hands in the back pockets of his pants.
Although the truth is... I wish we had met a year ago.
I grimace and try not to let his words sink in.
This time he just turned around and walked into the restaurant.
With shaking hands, I press the button and open the car. I sit down, close
the door and grab the steering wheel. I don't know why a tear falls down my
cheek. A huge and pathetic tear that has no meaning here. I dry it roughly
and press the power button.
I didn't expect it to hurt so much to see him.
But it's good that it happened. I know it wasn't a coincidence. My heart
needed to put closure to this relationship so I could move forward and give
myself completely to Ryle.
I couldn't have done it without this conversation.
So it's good. I'm glad it happened.
Yes, I'm crying. But I know it will pass. It's simply the way we humans
heal an old wound in preparation for a new layer of skin to grow.
There's no more.
 eleven

Curled up in bed, I stare at the newspaper. I'm almost done reading it; I only
have a few tickets left. I pick it up and place it on the pillow next to me.
"I'm not going to read you," I whisper.
Although, if I finish what's left, I'll be done. After having seen Atlas
tonight and knowing that he has a girlfriend, a job and more than likely a
home, this is the only thing I need to put an end to his story. I have to finish
the damn diary so I can put it in the shoebox and never open it again.
Finally I pick it up and lie on my back.
—Ellen DeGeneres, you are the worst.

Dear Ellen:
"Keep swimming."
Do you recognize the phrase, Ellen? It's what Dory says to Marlin
in Finding Nemo .
"Keep swimming, swimming, swimming."
I'm not particularly fond of cartoons, but I congratulate you for
your participation in the Nemo movie. I like movies that make me laugh,
but that make you feel things at the same time. And after today, I think
it's my favorite movie, because lately I've felt like I'm drowning and
sometimes people need to be reminded to keep swimming.
Atlas got sick. Very ill.
 He had been coming in through the window and sleeping on the
floor of my room for several nights, but yesterday I knew something was
wrong as soon as I laid eyes on him. It was Sunday, so I hadn't seen him
since the night before, and he looked awful. His eyes were very red, he
was pale, and although it was very cold, his hair was sweaty. I didn't
even ask him if he was okay; It was obvious not. When I put my hand on
his forehead, it was burning, so much so that I was about to scream for
my mother.
"I'll be fine, Lily," he told me, and began to set up his cot on the
floor.
I told him not to move and went to the kitchen to get a glass of
water. Then I opened the bathroom cabinet and grabbed some flu
medicine. I didn't even know if he had the flu, but I gave it to him
anyway.
He stayed on the floor, curled up, until after about half an hour he
said to me:
—Lily, I think I'm going to need a trash can.
I jumped up, grabbed the trash can from under my desk, and knelt
before him. As soon as he was in front of her, he leaned over her and
began to vomit.
God, it hurt me a lot to see him so sick and know that he had no
bathroom, no house, no bed, no mother to take care of him. Just me, I
have no idea what to do to help him.
When he finished, I gave him some water and told him to go to bed.
He refused, but I ignored his protests. I put the trash can on the floor
next to the bed and helped him get into bed.
He had such a fever and was shaking so much that I was afraid to
leave him on the floor. I lay down next to him and for six hours he
continued vomiting and I got up to empty the trash can in the bathroom.
I'm not going to lie to you, it was disgusting; the most disgusting night of
my life, but what could I do? He needed my help; I couldn't count on
anyone else.
 This morning, I told him to go home and that I would come see him
later. I'm surprised he had the strength left to jump out the window. I left
the trash can next to the bed and waited for my mother to come in and
wake me up. When he saw the trash can, he approached me and took my
temperature on my forehead.
—Lily, are you okay?
I responded with a grunt, shaking my head.
—No, I've been dizzy all night, vomiting. I think it's over, but I
haven't slept a wink.
She took the trash can and told me to stay in bed; that I would call
the school and tell them I wasn't going to class. When he left for work, I
went to find Atlas and told him to stay home with me all day. He was still
throwing up, so I gave him my bed and bathroom. I've been checking on
him every half hour or so, and around noon he stopped vomiting. He
took a shower and then I made him some soup.
I was so tired I couldn't even eat. We sat together on the couch,
covered with a blanket. I don't know when I started to feel comfortable
enough with him, but the fact is that I ended up snuggling next to him.
Shortly after, he leaned toward me and kissed me on my collarbone,
right where my neck and shoulder meet. It was a quick kiss; I don't think
he had romantic intentions. It seemed more like a gesture of gratitude
without words, but it made me feel a lot of things. Several hours have
passed and I continue to touch that point with my fingers, because I
continue to notice their contact.
I know it was probably one of the worst days of your life, Ellen, but
it was one of my favorite days.
And I feel very bad about it.
 We have seen Finding Nemo, and when we get to the part where
Marlin feels very discouraged and Dory tells him: "If life defeats you,
what should you do?" We will swim, we will swim, in the sea, the sea,
the sea...», Atlas has taken me by the hand.
Not like we were dating, but like we were Marlin and Dory, and I
was helping him swim.
"Keep swimming," I whispered to him.

Lily

Dear Ellen:
I'm scared. Very scared.
I like it a lot. When we are together, I can only think about him, and
when we are apart, I worry about him constantly. My life has started to
revolve around him, and that's not good, I know. But I can't help it and I
don't know what to do, and besides, maybe he'll be gone soon.
Yesterday he left when we finished watching Finding Nemo and
later, when my parents went to bed, he sneaked in through my bedroom
window. He had slept in my bed the night before because he was sick. I
know I shouldn't have done it, but I put his blankets in the wash right
before I went to bed. When he asked me where they were, I told him that
he would have to sleep with me again, because I had washed his blankets
so he wouldn't get sick again.
For a few moments, it seemed like he was about to climb out the
window again, but then he closed it, took off his shoes, and climbed into
bed with me.
He wasn't sick anymore, but when he lay down next to me, I thought
maybe he had given it to me, because my stomach felt queasy. But no, it
was not a virus; His proximity was causing me dizziness.
We were facing each other, and suddenly he asked me:
—When do you turn sixteen?
 "Two months away," I whispered. We stood looking into each
other's eyes and my heart beat faster and faster. And you? When do you
turn nineteen? —I asked him to make conversation, because I didn't
want him to realize that his breathing was altered.
-In October.
I nodded. I wondered why he was so interested in my age. Would
you be worried if I was only fifteen? Would I look like a little girl?
Would he think of me as a little sister? I was almost sixteen now. Two
and a half years difference is not that much. Maybe when two people are
fifteen and eighteen it seems like a lot, but I'm sure that once they turn
sixteen, it will seem like a normal difference to everyone.
"I have to tell you something," he said, and I held my breath, not
knowing what he was going to say. Today I contacted my uncle. My
mother and I lived with him for a while in Boston. He told me that when
he gets back from his work trip, I can go with him.
I should have been happy for him; I have smiled and congratulated
him, but, with the immaturity of my years, I have closed my eyes and felt
sorry for myself.
-You're going?
He shrugged.
-Don't know. I wanted to talk to you first.
We were so close that I could feel the heat of his breath. I also
noticed that he smelled like mint, which made me wonder if he brushed
his teeth before coming to see me, with the water bottles I give him.
Every day I give him bottles of water.
I saw a feather stick out of the pillow and pulled on it. When I
managed to get it out, I turned it over in my fingers.
—I don't know what to say, Atlas. I'm glad you have a place to live,
but what will happen to school?
 —I could finish the course there.
I nodded and had the feeling that he had already made up his
mind. —When will you leave?
I wondered how far away Boston was. Maybe it was only a few
hours away by road, but that's a long time when you don't have a car.
—I still don't know for sure if I'll leave.
I put the pen on the pillow and lowered my hand.
—What's stopping you? Your uncle is offering you a place to live.
That is good, no?
He pursed his lips and nodded. Then he picked up the pen I had
been playing with and imitated me. Then he put it on the pillow and did
something I didn't expect: he put his fingers up to my lips and touched
them.
Oh my gosh, Ellen. I thought I was dying right there. I had never
had such intense sensations. Without removing his fingers from my lips,
he said:
—Thank you, Lily. For all.
He brought his fingers up and tangled them in my hair. Then he
leaned towards me and kissed me on the forehead. It was so difficult to
breathe that I had to open my mouth to get more air. I saw that his chest
rose and fell with as much difficulty as mine. I also saw that his eyes
remained fixed on my mouth.
"Have they ever kissed you, Lily?"
I shook my head and raised my face because I needed him to change
that circumstance right then and there, or I would never be able to
breathe again.
Then, as delicately as if I were a vase of the finest porcelain, he
brought his mouth to mine and left it still there. I didn't know what I
should do next, but I didn't care. Like
He wanted to stay like that all night without moving, it was fine with me.
I didn't need anything else.
His lips closed tighter on mine and I noticed his hand was shaking.
Imitating him, I began to move my lips just like him. When I noticed the
tip of his tongue caressing my lips, I thought my eyes were going to roll
around in their sockets. He did it again, and then again, so I did it too.
When their tongues came into contact for the first time, a smile escaped
my lips, because I had thought many times about what my first kiss
would be like, where it would be and with whom. But I never, not even by
chance, imagined it would be like this.
He pushed me, laying me on the bed. He placed his hand on my
cheek and continued kissing me. As I got more comfortable, the kisses
got better and better. My favorite moment was when he pulled away for
a moment, looked me in the eyes and kissed me again even more eagerly.
I don't know how long we were like this. A lot. So much so that my
mouth started to hurt and I had a hard time keeping my eyes open.
When we finally fell asleep, his mouth continued to touch mine.
We never talked about Boston again.
I still don't know if he will leave.

Lily

Dear Ellen:
I have to apologize to you.
It's been a week since I wrote to you or watched your show. Don't
worry. I record it so you don't lose your audience, but every day, when
he gets off the bus, Atlas takes a quick shower and then we do it.
Every day.
It's amazing.
 I don't know what's wrong with him, but I feel very comfortable next
to him. He is kind and considerate. He never does anything if I don't feel
like it, although I admit that until now I've liked everything he's done to
me.
I don't know to what extent I should go into detail, since you and I
haven't met in person, but I will tell you that if Atlas had ever wondered
what my breasts were like..., he doesn't need to wonder anymore.
You already know it.
I don't understand how people can function normally in their daily
lives when they like someone so much. If it were up to me, we'd be
kissing day and night. We wouldn't do anything else; maybe chat a little
between kisses. He tells me very funny stories. I like it when he's in
chatter mode because he uses his hands a lot. Unfortunately it doesn't
happen very often but, when he gets like this, he smiles a lot and I like
his smile even more than his kisses. Sometimes I tell him to shut up and
stop smiling, kissing me or talking just so I can look at him calmly. I like
to look him in the eyes. They are so blue that you could be at the other
end of a room and the person watching you would know they are blue.
The only thing I don't like about kissing him is that when he kisses me, he
closes his eyes.
And not. We haven't talked about Boston yet.

Lily

Dear Ellen:
Yesterday afternoon, when we were returning home on the bus,
Atlas kissed me. Nothing new, since, at this point, we have kissed a lot,
but it was the first time we did it in public. When we're together, we
forget about everything else, so I imagine he didn't think anyone would
notice, but it didn't escape Katie's attention.
 She was sitting in the back seat and said, "Yuck," when he leaned
over and kissed me. And then he said again to the girl sitting next to him:
"I can't believe Lily would let him touch her. "He wears the same clothes
almost every day."
Ellen, you can't imagine how angry I was. It hurt me a lot, for Atlas.
He pulled away, obviously hurt by her comment. I was about to turn
around and yell at him four times for judging someone he doesn't know,
but he grabbed my hand and shook his head.
"Don't do it, Lily," he asked me, so I didn't do it.
But for the rest of the ride, I remained furious. It infuriated me that
Katie would make such an ignorant comment just to hurt someone she
considered inferior. And it hurt me to see that Atlas seemed to be used to
this kind of criticism.
I didn't want him to think I was embarrassed that someone had seen
us kissing. I know Atlas better than anyone at school and I know he is a
good person; It doesn't matter what clothes he wears or that they
smelled bad before he started showering at my house.
I walked over to him to give him a kiss on the cheek before resting
my head on his shoulder.
-Did you know? -asked.
He intertwined his fingers with mine and squeezed my hand.
-That?
-You're my favorite person.
I heard him laugh a little and that made me smile.
—How many?
-Between everyone.
He kissed the top of my head and replied:
—You're my favorite person too, Lily. With a lot of difference. When the
bus stopped on my street, he didn't let go of my hand when we got up. He
was ahead of me in the hallway, so he didn't
He watched as I turned around and gave Katie a comb over.
I guess I shouldn't have done it, but just to see the look on his face,
it was worth it.
When we got to my house, he took the key from my hand and opened
the door. It's a little strange to see him move so comfortably around the
house. He went in and locked the door again. At that moment we
realized that the power had gone out. I looked out the window and saw a
power company truck on the street, working on the lines, so we said
goodbye to watching your show. I didn't feel it too much because that
meant we could mess around for an hour and a half.
—Is the oven gas or electric? -I wonder.
"Gas," I answered, not understanding why he brought up the subject.
He took off his shoes (some old shoes that had belonged to my
father) and went to the kitchen.
"I'm going to prepare something for you," he told me.
-You know how to cook?
He opened the kitchen and started rummaging.
-Yeah. I probably like it as much as you do to see things sprouting
in your garden.
After taking a few things out of the refrigerator, he preheated the
oven. I leaned on the counter and watched him work. He didn't consult
any recipes; He limited himself to pouring things into a bowl and mixing
them without even using a measurer.
I've never seen my father lift a finger in the kitchen. I'm sure I
wouldn't even know how to preheat the oven. I had assumed that almost
all men would be like him, but seeing Atlas in my kitchen has changed
my mind.
-What are you cooking? —I asked him, leaning on the island and
leaning over him to see him.
"Chocolate cookies," he answered. Cookies.
 He walked over to me, dipped the spoon into the dough, and held it
up to my mouth so I could taste it. Cookie dough is one of my
weaknesses, and this was the best I had ever tasted.
—Oh! Wow! —I exclaimed, passing my tongue over my lips so as
not to leave a drop.
He set the bowl down next to me and leaned in to kiss me. Cookie
dough and Atlas' mouth together taste heavenly, in case you were
wondering. A moan escaped me that made him realize how much I liked
the combination. He laughed, but didn't stop kissing me. He continued
kissing me despite the laughter and my heart completely melted. Seeing
Atlas happy was amazing and made me want to find out all the things he
liked so I could give them to him.
As he kissed me, I wondered if I loved him. I've never had a
boyfriend, and I don't know what to compare what I'm feeling to. In fact,
until I met Atlas I had never wanted to have one. What I see in my house
is not a great example of how a man treats the woman he loves, which is
why I have always been distrustful of people in general and relationships
in particular.
I have come to wonder if I will ever be able to trust men. I generally
hate them because they remind me of my father, but spending time with
Atlas is changing me. Not much; I still distrust most people, but at least I
have managed to believe that he is the exception that proves the rule.
He stopped kissing me and picked up the bowl again. He went to
another counter and spooned the dough onto two sheets of baking paper.
—Do you want me to tell you a trick about gas ovens? -I wonder.
Until then, I had never been interested in cooking, but Atlas piqued
my curiosity. Suddenly I felt like knowing everything
could teach me. Maybe it was because of how happy he seemed when he
talked to me about it.
"Gas ovens do not heat evenly," he explained to me, as he opened
the door and placed the cookies inside. You have to turn the molds so
that the content is made equally everywhere. —She closed the oven, took
off the oven mitt and threw it on the counter. A pizza stone is very useful.
Even if you don't make pizza, it serves to heat the oven evenly.
He approached me and cornered me against the counter. I felt a jolt
of electricity as I pulled down the collar of my shirt to kiss the spot on
my shoulder that he likes so much. I swear that sometimes, when I'm
alone, I feel his lips there.
He was about to kiss me on the mouth when we heard a car pull up
in front of the house and the garage door start to open. I jumped down
from the island, looking around frantically. He took my face in his hands
and said:
—Watch the cookies. They will be ready in twenty minutes.
He gave me one last kiss and let me go. She ran into the living room
to get her wallet and came out through the back door just as my father
turned off the engine of his car.
I was gathering the ingredients when my father walked into the
kitchen from the garage. He looked around and saw that the oven was
on.
-You are cooking? -I wonder.
I responded by nodding my head, because I was afraid that if I
answered out loud, he would realize that I was shaking like a leaf. I
scrubbed a piece of countertop that was clean and finally cleared my
throat and said:
—I'm making cookies. Cookies.
 He left the briefcase on the kitchen table and went to the
refrigerator to get a beer.
“The power went out for a while,” I continued, “and I was so bored
that I decided to bake something while I came back.
My father sat at the kitchen table and spent the next ten minutes
asking me questions about high school and my plans for college.
Sometimes, when the two of us were alone, I caught glimpses of what a
normal relationship between a father and daughter should be like.
Although I almost always hated it, I missed living moments like that,
sitting at the kitchen table, chatting about school or possible careers to
choose. If he could always behave like this, life would be very different;
much easier for everyone.
I turned the tray of cookies over like Atlas had told me to do and
when they were ready I took them out of the oven. I chose one and gave
it to my father, even though I felt bad doing so. I felt like I was wasting
one of the Atlas cookies.
-Wow. “They're great, Lily,” my father said.
I thanked him, although it was forced, because I had not done so,
but I couldn't tell him.
"They're for school, so you can only eat one," I lied. I waited for
them to cool before putting them in a container and
I took it to the room. I didn't want to try them without Atlas, so I waited
until he returned in the evening.
"You should have eaten one while they were hot," he told me. That's
when they are at their best.
"I didn't want to eat them without you," I admitted.
We sat on the bed, with our backs against the wall, and ate half of
it. I told him they were delicious, but I should have told him they were
the best I had ever tasted in my entire life.
I didn't do it because I didn't want it to go to his head. I liked him just
the way he was, humble.
I tried to get another one, but he took the container from me and put
the lid on it.
—If you eat too many, they will make you sick and you will never
want to try my cookies again.
I started to laugh.
-Impossible.
He drank some water and stood up, facing me.
"I made something for you," he said, putting his hand in his pocket.
—More cookies? —I joked.
He shook his head, smiling, and showed me his fist. I raised my
hand and he dropped something hard on my palm. It was the silhouette
of a heart carved in wood, small, about three centimeters long.
I stroked it with my thumb, trying not to smile like a fool. The heart
was not anatomically correct, but it was not a simple silhouette, like
those of drawn hearts. It was irregular and hollow in the center.
-Did you do that? —I asked him, raising my face for a moment.
He nodded his head.
—I carved it with an old knife I found in the house.
The ends of the heart were not connected. They curved inward a
little, leaving some space above the heart. I did not know what to say. I
noticed him sit back down on the bed, but I couldn't take my eyes off my
heart, not even to thank him.
"I carved it from a branch of the oak tree in your garden," he told me,
whispering. I swear, Ellen, I never thought I could love something so
intensely. Or maybe the love he was feeling wasn't for the gift, but for
him. I clenched my fist tightly and kissed him so hard that I knocked him
onto the bed. Passing your leg over him,
I stayed mounted on him. Atlas grabbed me by the waist and smiled, his
mouth glued to my lips.
"I'm going to carve out an entire house for you if you reward me
like this," he whispered.
I started to laugh.
“You have to stop being so perfect,” I protested. You are already
my favorite person, but you are being very unfair to the rest of humanity,
because no one can ever measure up to you.
Holding me by the back of my head, he turned me around until I was
lying on the bed with him on top.
"So, my plan is working," he replied, before kissing me again.
While we kissed, I held my heart tightly. I wanted to believe it was a
gift he had given me just because, but I was partly afraid that it was a
going away gift, so that I wouldn't forget about him when he went to
Boston.
I don't want to have to remember it. If I have to remember him, it
will mean that he is no longer part of my life.
I don't want him to go to Boston, Ellen. I know it's very selfish of
me; I know he can't continue living in that house, I know it.
I don't know what scares me more: him leaving, or being selfish and
begging him to stay.
I know we have to talk about it. When I come home tonight, I'll
bring up Boston. Last night I didn't want to talk about it because it was a
perfect day.
Lily

Dear Ellen:
Keep swimming. Keep swimming.
He's going to Boston.
 I don't feel like talking about it.

Lily

Dear Ellen:
My mother is going to have a hard time hiding the marks this time.
My father is an expert on the subject. He knows where to hit so as
not to leave visible bruises. He is not interested in people finding out
what he does to them. I have seen him kick her, strangle her, hit her on
the back and stomach, and pull her hair.
The few times it has hit him in the face, they have been slaps, so the
marks last a short time.
But I had never seen him do what he did to her last night.
It was late when they got home. It was the weekend and my mother
accompanied him to a social event. My dad owns a real estate company,
as well as being the mayor of the city, so they go to a lot of public events
like charity dinners, which is frankly ironic because my dad hates
charities. I guess it's just to keep up appearances.
When they got home, Atlas and I were in my room. I heard them
arguing as soon as they walked through the door. I didn't understand
everything they were saying, but it seemed to me that my father was
accusing her of having been flirting with another man.
I know my mother, Ellen, and I know she would never do something
like that. It's more likely that the guy looked at her and that made my
father jealous. My mother is a very beautiful woman.
I heard him call her a whore and right after that came the first blow.
I wanted to get out of bed, but Atlas stopped me and told me not to get
out, because he could hurt me. I told him that sometimes it works; that
when he sees me, my father leaves. Atlas kept trying to avoid him, but in
the end I got up and went to the living room.
 Ellen.
I...
I was on top of her.
They were on the couch and with one hand he was strangling her,
but with the other he was lifting her dress. My mother tried to defend
herself and I remained motionless, paralyzed. My mother begged him to
let her go, but he slapped her across the face and told her to shut up. I
will never forget his words. Told him:
—Do you want to attract attention? I'm going to give you the
attention you're looking for, bitch.
My mother stayed still and stopped resisting. She was crying and I
heard her say:
-Please, shut up. Lily is home.
He said, "Please be quiet."
Please be quiet while you rape me, darling.
Ellen, I didn't know that a human being was capable of feeling so
much hatred in his heart. And no, I'm not talking about my father. I'm
talking about me.
I went straight to the kitchen and opened a drawer. I grabbed the
biggest knife I could find and... I don't know how to explain it. It was like
I wasn't in my body and I saw everything from the outside. I saw myself
walking through the kitchen with the knife in my hand, knowing I wasn't
going to use it, but I needed something that would impress him.
However, before I left the kitchen, arms wrapped around my waist and
pulled me back. I dropped the knife. My father didn't hear it, but my
mother did. Our eyes met as Atlas pulled me back into the room. Once
inside, I started hitting him on the chest because I wanted to go back to
help my mother. I cried and fought to get rid of him, but Atlas wouldn't
let me go.
He surrounded me with his arms and said:
—Lily, calm down.
 He repeated it over and over again for a long time, until I assumed
that he wasn't going to let me go back into the living room and that he
wasn't going to let me use the knife.
He grabbed his anorak and put on his shoes.
"Let's go next door," he said. We'll call the police.
Police.
My mother had warned me not to call the police. He told me that he
would put my father's career in check. Frankly, at that time, my father's
career mattered very little to me. I didn't care if he was the mayor or if
people discovered his dark side. The only thing I cared about was
helping my mother. That's why I also put on the anorak and took some
shoes out of the closet. As I closed it, I saw that Atlas was staring at the
bedroom door.
It was opening.
My mother entered and quickly locked the door. I will never forget
his appearance. Her lip was bleeding, one eye was swelling, and a lock
of hair was torn out on her shoulder. He looked at Atlas and then at me.
I didn't even worry that he might scold me for being alone with a
boy in my room. I didn't care about that; I only cared about her. I
approached, took her hands and walked her to the bed, so she could sit
down. I brushed her hair off her shoulder and then off her forehead.
—He's going to call the police, mom. OK?
Her eyes widened and she shook her head.
-No. Turning to Atlas, he insisted, "No, you can't."
He was already at the window, about to leave, but he stopped and
looked at me.
"He's drunk, Lily." He heard you close the door and went to bed. It's
stopped, Lily. If you call the police, it will be worse; believe me. Let the
monkey sleep, tomorrow everything will be easier.
 I shook my head as tears filled my eyes.
—Mom, I was about to rape you!
She hung her head, grimacing. Shaking his head incessantly, he
said:
—No, Lily. Is not true. We're married and sometimes marriage is...
You're too young to understand.
I remained silent for a few moments, but finally I couldn't take it
anymore and blurted out:
—Well, I hope I never fucking understand it.
At that moment, he started crying seriously. She held her head in
her hands and let out great sobs, while I hugged her and cried with her.
I had never seen her so upset. Or hurt. Or scared. It broke my heart,
Ellen.
It destroyed me to see her like that.
When he stopped crying, I looked around. Atlas was not there. We
went back to the kitchen and I helped her wash her lip and eye. We do
not mention the presence of Atlas at any time. I thought at any moment
she was going to say that she was grounded, but she didn't. At first I was
surprised, but then I realized that this is how my mother reacts to things
she doesn't like. He sweeps them under the rug and never mentions them
again.
Lily

Dear Ellen:
I think I'm ready to talk about Boston.
He's gone today.
I've shuffled the cards so many times my hands hurt. I'm afraid I'll
go crazy if I don't write down how I
I feel.
 The last night didn't go too well. At first, we kissed a lot, but we
were too sad to enjoy it. For the second time in two days he told me that
he had changed his mind and was not planning to leave. He didn't want
to leave me alone in my house, but I replied that I had been living with
my parents for almost sixteen years and that it was stupid to give up a
house and continue being homeless for not leaving me alone. That
doesn't mean it didn't hurt.
I tried not to let myself get carried away by grief, so as we lay in
bed, I asked him to tell me about Boston. I told him that maybe one day,
when school was over, I could go visit him.
When he started talking about the city, he put on an expression I
had never seen on him before, as if he were talking about paradise. He
told me that everyone there has a great accent, that many times they
don't pronounce the final R, that they make it silent. He pronounces it
that way sometimes too, but I guess he doesn't realize it. He also told me
that he lived there from the age of nine to fourteen; I guess that's when
he caught the accent.
And then he told me that his uncle lives in a block of flats with a
very cool roof terrace.
—Many apartment blocks have roof terraces; some even with a
swimming pool.
In Plethora, Maine, I doubt there is a single building tall enough to
have a roof. I wondered what it must be like to be at such a height. I
asked him if he had ever been and he said yes, that sometimes he went up
to think while looking at the city from above.
And he told me about the food. He already knew that he liked to
cook, but what he didn't know was the passion that cooking aroused in
him. I guess we never talked about it, because he didn't have a kitchen
within reach and the only thing he made me was cookies.
 He told me about the port and how, before his mother remarried,
she sometimes took him fishing there.
"Boston is really no different from any other big city, I guess," he
said. It's not that I stand out for anything in particular... I don't know. It
has something, good vibes, good energy. When people say they live in
Boston, you can tell they are proud of their city. Sometimes I miss that
feeling.
I stroked her hair and replied:
—Well, hearing you talk, it seems like it is the best city in the world.
As if everything were better in Boston.
He gave me a sad look as he said:
—Almost everything is better in Boston, except the girls, because
you're not there.
His words made me blush. He gave me a very sweet kiss and, when
he finished, I told him:
—I'm not there yet. Someday I will move and find you. He asked me
to promise him and told me that if I moved to
Boston, really everything would be better there and we would be in the
best city in the world.
We kissed for a while longer and did other things that I won't tell
you about because I don't want to bore you. Although I don't want to say
that they were boring.
They weren't.
But this morning I had to say goodbye. He hugged me and kissed me
for so long that I thought I would die if he let me go. But I haven't died,
because he let me go and I'm still here. I'm alive. I keep breathing.
But it cost me.

Lily
 I turn the page, but when I see what's there, I abruptly close the diary.
There's only one entry left, but I don't feel ready to read it right now. I don't
know if I will ever be. I put the diary in the closet, convinced that my story
with Atlas has come to an end. Now he is happy.
And I am happy.
It is clear that time heals all wounds.
Or almost all.
I turn off the lamp and when I pick up my phone to charge it, I see that I
have two messages from Ryle and one from my mother.
Ryle: Uh. A pure truth is coming in three..., two...

Ryle: I was afraid that being in a relationship would

add to my responsibilities, so I've avoided them my
whole life. I already have enough stress in my life,
and seeing the stress my parents' marriage seemed
to cause them and the failed marriages of some of
my friends, I didn't want to go through the same thing.
But after tonight I realized that probably
It is the people who are doing it wrong, because what
is between us does not seem to me to be a
responsibility, but rather a reward. And I go to sleep
wondering what I've done to deserve it.

I hug the phone and smile. Then I take a screenshot because I plan to
save that message forever and finally open my mother's message.
Mom: A doctor, Lily? And do you have your own business?
When it is older
I want to be like you.

Yes, I screenshot this message too.

 12

—What are you doing to those poor flowers? —Allysa asks, behind me.
I close another silver washer and slide it over the stem of the bouquet.
" Steampunk," I answer.
We take a step back to admire the result. At least I hope she's watching
with admiration. It turned out better than I expected. I have dipped some
white roses in special florist dye to turn them deep lilac and I have used
steampunk decoration elements such as small washers and gears and I have
finished it off by gluing a small pocket watch to the leather strip that ties the
bouquet.
—Steampunk ?
—It's very fashionable. It is a literary subgenre, but it has jumped to
other areas: music, art... —I turn around, with a smile on my face—. And
now also the florist.
Allysa takes the bouquet from me and holds it up.
-It's so weird. I love it. —Hugs the bouquet—. Can I keep it?
I'm taking over the bouquet again.
—No, it is part of the decoration to celebrate that we have passed the
trial period. Its not for sale.
I take the vase that I finished preparing yesterday. Last week I found a
pair of old women's boots at a flea market, the kind that lace up with
buttons. They have a steampunk aesthetic and that's where I got the
inspiration for the
bouquet. I washed the boots, dried them well, and then adorned them with
metal accessories. I varnished them and put narrow vases inside the boots to
place the flowers.
"Allysa?" —I call her while I place the flowers on the central counter
—. I'm almost sure I was born for this. —For
steampunk ?
-To create! —I respond, laughing, and I'm going to turn the sign over.
CLOSED , although there are still fifteen minutes until opening time.
We spent the day busier than we thought. Between the orders that we
receive by phone, the online orders and the customers that come into the
store, we don't even have time to stop to eat.
“You need more employees,” Allysa says, passing me with a bouquet in
each hand, at one in the afternoon. "You need more employees," he repeats
at both of them, with the phone to his ear and writing something down with
one hand while charging a customer with the other.
When Marshall drops by the store at three and asks how things are
going, Allysa says:
—You need more employees.
I help a client load a bouquet into her car at four o'clock. As I enter, I
pass Allysa, who is walking out with another bouquet.
"You need more employees," she tells me exasperated.
At six o'clock, he closes the door and turns the sign over. She leans
against the door and lets herself fall until she is sitting on the floor. From
there, he raises his gaze until he meets mine.
"I know," I tell him. I need more employees.
She nods silently and we start laughing. I walk over and sit next to him.
We bowed our heads until they were together and looked around the store.
The steampunk bouquet continues in the center, presiding over the space.
Although I have refused to sell this specific bouquet, we have had eight
orders for similar ones.
 "I'm proud of you, Lily," she tells me.
"I couldn't have done it without you, Issa," I admit, smiling.
We sit there for several minutes, finally enjoying the rest our feet have
earned. Frankly, it has been one of the best days of my life, but I still feel a
certain sadness, because Ryle has not stopped by the store at any time, nor
has he sent me a message.
—Do you know anything about your brother? —I ask him.
She shakes her head.
—No, he's probably very busy.
I agree with him, nodding my head. I know it is.
We both raise our heads at the same time when we hear someone knock
on the door. I smile when I see it's him. He has put his hands around his
eyes and is looking for us throughout the store. When he finally looks
down, he sees us sitting on the floor.
“Speaking of the king of Rome,” Allysa comments.
I jump up and open the door for him. As soon as he sees the gap, he
sneaks inside, pushing.
—Have I missed the first official day? Yes, I see. I've missed it. - Hugs
me-. Sorry, I came as soon as possible.
I hug him back.
-No problem. You're here and everything has been great. It is perfect. —
It makes me very happy that you were able to come, even though it was
late.
"You're perfect," he replies, kissing me.
"You're perfect," Allysa imitates, walking past us. Hey, Ryle. Did you
know?
He lets go.
-That?
She picks up the trash can and places it on the counter.
—Lily needs more employees.
 His insistence makes me laugh. Ryle squeezes my hand and says:
—It seems that the business is working.
I shrug.
-I dont complain. I mean... I know I'm not a neurosurgeon, but I'm good
at what I do.
Ryle bursts out laughing.
—Do you need me to give you a hand?
Allysa and I don't make him repeat it. We give him work and between
the three of us we clean up the premises after the brilliant opening day and
leave everything ready for tomorrow. Marshall arrives as we are finishing.
He carries a bag that he leaves on the counter and begins to take out bundles
of clothes, which he throws to the three of us. I take mine and unfold it. It's
a one-piece pajama... with a kitten print!
—There's a Bruins game. Free beer, team! Everyone get changed!
Allysa growls and protests:
—Marshall, you made six million dollars this year. Do we really need
free beer?
He puts a finger on her lips to silence her.
—Don't talk like a rich girl, Issa. Blasphemy!
Allysa laughs and he takes the pajamas out of her hands. He unzips the
zipper and helps her put it on. When the four of us are equipped, we close
the door and go to the bar.
I've never seen so many men in one-piece pajamas. Allysa and I are the
only women who wear it, but I'm not upset. The place is very noisy; So
much so that every time the Bruins make a good play, Allysa and I have to
cover our ears.
About half an hour later, a table on the first floor becomes free and we
all run for it.
 “Much better this way,” says Allysa, as we sit on the benches. There is
still a lot of noise, but much less than below.
A waitress comes to serve us. I order red wine and Marshall jumps in his
seat when he hears me.
—What did he come for? -shouts-. You're wearing pajamas! They won't
bring you free wine. You have to order beer!
He tells the waitress to bring me beer, but Ryle tells him I prefer wine.
Allysa wants water, which makes Marshall even more upset. He asks the
waitress to bring four beers, but Ryle ends the argument by saying:
—Two beers, a red wine and a water.
The waitress walks away, quite confused.
Marshall puts an arm around Allysa's shoulders and kisses her.
"How am I supposed to get you pregnant tonight if I don't get you even
the slightest bit drunk?"
Allysa's face changes and I feel bad for her. I know Marshall said it as a
joke, but it must have hurt him. Just a few days ago, she confessed to me
how sad she feels about not being able to have children.
—I can't drink beer, Marshall.
—Well, at least have wine. You like me better when you're tipsy.
He laughs at his own comment, but Allysa doesn't.
—I can't drink wine either. No alcohol at all, in fact.
Marshall suddenly stops laughing.
My heart skips a beat.
Marshall turns to her and grabs her shoulders.
"Allysa?"
She nods and I don't know who starts crying first, her, Marshall or me.
—Am I going to be a father?
Allysa hasn't stopped nodding and I'm still crying like an idiot.
Marshall stands up on the bench and shouts:
 —I'm going to be a father!
I am not able to describe the moment. An adult dressed in one-piece
pajamas, standing on a bar stool, shouting at the top of his lungs to anyone
who will listen that he is going to be a father.
He lifts Allysa up and now they are both standing on the bench. He
kisses her and it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
Until I turn to Ryle and catch him biting his bottom lip like he's holding
back tears. He looks at me and when he sees that I'm watching him, he
looks away.
"Shut up," he warns me. Is my sister.
Smiling, I lean towards him and kiss him on the cheek.
—Congratulations, Uncle Ryle.
When the parents-to-be stop smooching on the bench, Ryle and I stand
up and congratulate them. Allysa says she had been a little dizzy for a few
days, but she didn't take the test until that morning, just before the store
officially opened. He planned to wait until he got home to tell Marshall
alone, but he couldn't hold out any longer.
When they bring us the drinks, we order the food. As the waitress walks
away, I ask Marshall:
—How did you meet?
But he ignores the problem.
—Allysa tells it better than I can.
She leans forward, eyes shining.
"I hated it," he admits. He was Ryle's best friend and was always around
the house. It seemed most annoying to me. He had just moved to Ohio and
couldn't stand his Boston accent. He was sure his accent was the best, but I
wanted to slap him every time he opened his mouth.
"It's love," Marshall interrupts, with an ironic grimace.
 —And you were an idiot. Allysa rolls her eyes. Anyway. The thing is,
one day Ryle and I invited some friends over. Nothing exaggerated, but my
parents were out of town and we took the opportunity to put together
something improvised.
"There were thirty of us," Ryle points out. It was a full-fledged party.
“Okay, a party,” Allysa continues. I went into the kitchen and
I found Marshall banging a fresh girl.
—It wasn't a fresh one; she was a good girl. It tasted like Cheetos,
but…” He trails off when Allysa glares at him.
She turns to me before continuing to speak.
“I lost my temper,” he admits. I started screaming like crazy, telling him
to take his whores home. The girl was so scared that she ran away and
never came back.
“You screwed up my plan,” Marshall says, and Allysa punches him in
the shoulder.
-Of course. And, after ruining his plan, I ran to my room, embarrassed. It
was a fit of jealousy, but, at the time, I didn't even know that I liked him. I
didn't realize until I saw him with his hands on someone else's ass. I lay
down on the bed and started crying. Shortly after, he came in and asked me
if I was okay. I turned around and screamed:
"I like you, you useless ass-face!"
"And the rest is history," Marshall concludes.
I can't hold back my laughter.
—Useless ass face. Adorable.
Ryle raises his hand.
—You left the best.
Allysa shrugs.
-OK right. Marshall approached me, lifted me out of bed, kissed me with
the same mouth he had been kissing the girl with, and we continued.
riding it for about half an hour. Ryle came in and when he saw us, he
started yelling at Marshall, but Marshall shoved him out of the room,
locked the door, and we continued having sex for another hour.
Ryle shakes his head.
—Betrayed by my best friend.
Marshall pulls Allysa towards him.
—I like it, you useless ass face.
I start to laugh once again, but Ryle looks at me very seriously.
"I was so angry that I didn't speak to him for a month, but I got over it."
We were eighteen; she, seventeen. There wasn't much he could do to stop it.
—Wow, sometimes I forget how little time you guys have together.
Allysa smiles and comments:
—Three children in three years, I feel bad for my parents.
Suddenly there is silence at the table and I see Allysa give Ryle an
apologetic look.
-Three? -asked them-. Do you have another brother?
Ryle sits up straight and takes a sip of his beer. He leaves it on the table
and answers:
—We had an older brother. He died when we were children.
A fantastic night spoiled by a simple question. Luckily, Marshall
masterfully changes the subject and I spend the rest of the night listening to
anecdotes about his childhood and youth. I don't think I've ever laughed as
much as I did tonight.
When the game is over, we walk back to the flower shop, where we have
parked our cars. Ryle says he's taken an Uber before, and he'll go with me.
Before Marshall and Allysa leave, I tell them to wait a moment. I enter the
store, pick up the steampunk bouquet and take it to the car. Her face lights
up.
 —I'm glad you're pregnant, but that's not why I'm giving them to you. I
give them to you because I want you to have them, because you are my best
friend.
Allysa hugs me and whispers in my ear:
—I hope you get married one day, because we will be the best sisters. She gets
into the car and I watch them drive away, thinking this is the first time in my
life I've had a friend like her. Maybe it's because of the wine, I don't know, but
I love today. All. Above all, I like to see
Ryle leaning on my car, watching me.
"You look really beautiful when you're happy," she tells me.
Ah! It's a perfect day!

We're climbing the stairs to my apartment when Ryle grabs me by the

waist, pins me against the wall and starts kissing me, right there.
“Impatient,” I murmur.
He laughs, grabbing my ass with both hands.
-It's not my fault. It's one-piece pajamas. I think you should consider
making it your work uniform.
He kisses me again and doesn't stop until someone coming down passes
by us.
“Nice pajamas,” the guy murmurs. Have the Bruins won? "Yes,
three to one," Ryle answers, without raising his head. "Good," the
guy replies.
When he walks away, I move away from Ryle.
—What's up with the pajamas? Do all the men in Boston know what this
is about?
Ryle responds, laughing.
—Free beer, Lily. We're talking about free beer.
He pulls me upstairs and when we enter the house we find Lucy, who is
sealing a box with her things on the kitchen table.
There is another unclosed box and I could swear I see a bowl that I bought
peeking out. He told me he'd finish taking his things next week, but I
suspect he's going to take some of mine too.
-Who are you? —he asks Ryle, examining him up and down.
—Ryle Kincaid. Lily's boyfriend.
"Lily's boyfriend."
You've heard?
"Boyfriend."
It's the first time he's confirmed it and I didn't expect him to say it like
that, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
—So my boyfriend, huh? —I go into the kitchen and grab a bottle of
wine and two glasses.
Ryle comes up behind me as I pour the wine and hugs me around the
waist.
—Well yes, your boyfriend.
I give him a drink.
—Does that mean I'm officially a girlfriend?
He raises his glass and toasts me.
—For the end of the trial period and the beginning of certainties.
We both smiled as we put the wine in our mouths.
Lucy places one box on top of the other and heads to the entrance.
"Just in time, I'm leaving," he comments by way of farewell.
When he closes the door, Ryle raises an eyebrow.
—It seems to me that your roommate doesn't like me.
-Do not believe; I also thought he didn't like me, and yesterday he asked
me to be a bridesmaid at his wedding. Although I think he hopes he gets the
flowers for free. She is an opportunist.
Ryle leans against the refrigerator, laughing, and notices a magnet that
says B OSTON . He takes it, raising an eyebrow.
 —You will never get out of Boston purgatory if you have souvenirs from
the city in the refrigerator.
I like that he remembers what we talked about the night we met.
Laughing, I remove the magnet and stick it back on the fridge.
—It's a gift, so it doesn't count as a souvenir.
He approaches me, takes my glass and leaves it, next to his, on the
counter. Leaning over me he gives me a deep, passionate and slightly tipsy
kiss. I love noticing the acidic and fruity touch of the wine on your tongue.
He raises his hands looking for the zipper of his pajamas.
"These clothes are too much," he says, taking me to the bed and
continuing to kiss me while we both fight over the clothes.
When we get to the bedroom, I only have my panties and bra left on.
He pushes me against the door and I hold my breath because it catches
me by surprise.
"Don't move," he tells me.
He kisses me on the chest and from there he slowly descends down
my body. "My God. I can't believe the day can still get better.
I dig my hands into his hair, but he grabs my wrists and presses them
against the door. He kisses his way back up my body while keeping my
wrists firmly held.
—I told you not to move.
I try not to smile, but it's not easy. He moves down my body again and
this time he slowly pulls my panties down to my ankles. Since he told me
not to move, I don't kick them away.
His mouth ascends again, thigh up, until...
Yeah.
The best...
Day...
Of my life.
 13

Ryle: Are you at home or are you still at work?

I work. I have one left

hour or so.

Ryle: Can I come see you?

Me: Have you heard that there are no such things

as stupid questions? Well, they are wrong. You
just asked a stupid question.

Ryle:

Thirty minutes later, he knocks on the flower shop's door. I closed to the
public almost three hours ago, but I'm still here, trying to bring order to the
chaos of this first month. It is still early to make an adjusted business
projection. Some days are fantastic; others there is so little movement that I
end up sending Allysa home; But, overall, I'm happy with how things are
going.
I'm also worried about how things are going with Ryle.
I open the door for him to enter.
He is dressed again in light blue surgical pajamas and has his
stethoscope hanging around his neck. Fresh out of the hospital, I love it. I
admit that, every time I see him arrive from a guard, I can't hide a goofy
smile. I give him a quick kiss and return to my office.
—I have to finish some things; Then we can go to my house.
 He follows me and closes the office door.
—Have you put a sofa?
This week I still placed some details that were missing in my office. I
bought a couple of lamps that provide soft light so I don't always have to
use the overwhelming fluorescents. I have also put in several plants. It's not
a garden, but it's something. Not long ago, this room was used to store
boxes of vegetables. The change has been spectacular.
Ryle walks over to the couch and falls onto it, face down.
"Don't worry, don't be in a hurry," he murmurs, his face buried in a
cushion. I'll take a nap until you're done.
Sometimes I worry that he works so hard, but I don't tell him anything. I
just spent twelve hours in the store, so I am no one to reproach him for his
ambition and his dedication to work.
I spend the next quarter of an hour finalizing some orders. When I'm
done, I turn off the laptop and look at Ryle. I thought he would have fallen
asleep, but no. He is on his side, with his head resting on his hand. He's
been watching me this whole time and the smile he gives me makes me
blush. I push the chair and stand up.
"Lily, I think I like you too much," he tells me as I approach. I wrinkle
my nose as he sits on the couch and pulls me down.
put on your lap.
-Too much? That doesn't sound like a compliment.
—I'm not sure it's a compliment. —He rearranges my legs from side to
side, and hugs me around the waist—. This is my first serious relationship. I
don't know if I should like you that much at this point; I don't want to scare
you.
I start laughing.
—It is impossible for you to overwhelm me; you work too much.
He caresses my back.
 —Does it bother you that I work so much?
I shake my head.
-No. Sometimes I worry about you, because I don't want you to exhaust
yourself, but I don't mind having to share you with your passion. I like that
you are an ambitious person; I find it sexy. I think that's what I like most
about you.
—Do you know what I like most about you?
“I know this one,” I reply, smiling. My mouth.
He leans back on the couch.
-Oh yeah. Your mouth occupies first position, without a doubt. But do
you know what comes next?
I shake my head.
—I like that you don't pressure me to become someone I can't be. You
accept me as I am.
I smile.
—Well, to be honest, you seem a little different to me than when I first
saw you. You're not so anti-girlfriend anymore.
“Because you make it so easy for me,” he replies, slipping a hand under
my shirt to caress my back. Being with you is very easy. I'm still able to
pursue my career the way I've always wanted, but your support makes it ten
times better. When I'm with you I feel like I don't need to give up anything.
He hugs me with both hands, pulling me towards him to kiss me.
Smiling with my mouth glued to his lips, I whisper:
—Am I the most delicious thing you've ever tasted?
One of his hands slides to my bra, which he unclasps with ease.
—I think so, but it would be better to take another bite to be completely
sure.
He pulls my shirt and bra over my head. I try to get up to take off my
jeans, but he sits me down again.
He takes the stethoscope, adjusts the headphones over his ears, and rests the
diaphragm on my chest, just above my heart.
"What upsets your heart so much, Lily?"
I shrug, the picture of innocence.
"Maybe it has something to do with you, Dr. Kincaid."
He drops his midriff, picks me up, and lets me fall back onto the couch.
He spreads my legs and kneels on the couch between my thighs before
placing the stethoscope back on my chest. With his other hand, he leans on
the couch while he checks my pulse.
—I'd say you have ninety beats per minute.
-And is it good or bad?
Smiling, he lets himself fall on top of me.
—I'll be satisfied when you reach one hundred and forty per minute.
Yes, if I get to one hundred and forty per minute, I think I'll be quite
satisfied too.
He kisses my torso and I close my eyes as I notice his tongue on one of
my breasts. Suck hard, without moving the diaphragm away from the chest.
"You've gone up to a hundred," he informs me.
With the stethoscope around his neck, he stands up to unbutton my jeans.
He takes them off and turns me over until I'm face down, arms hanging over
the armrest.
"Get on your knees," he orders me.
I do what he tells me, and I barely have time to stabilize myself when I
once again notice the stethoscope pressed to my chest and his arm around
me from behind. I remain still while he listens to me and slides his other
hand between my legs until he gets inside my panties and then inside me. I
hold on to the couch and try not to make noise while he remains attentive to
my heart.
"One hundred and ten," he says dissatisfied.
 He pushes my hips back until they collide with his crotch and I notice
him lowering his pants. He grabs my hip with one hand and pushes my
panties aside with the other. He pushes and digs into me all the way.
I hold on to the couch desperately with both hands as he stops to listen to
me again.
“Lily,” he says, pretending to be very disappointed in me. Only one
hundred and twenty. This is not useful for me.
The stethoscope disappears again and he holds me tightly by the waist.
He lowers his hand down my belly and settles between my legs. I can't keep
up with him. I can barely stay upright without falling onto the couch. With
one hand he holds me and with the other he destroys me in a delicious way.
When I start to shake he lifts me up until my back is pressed against his
chest. He's still inside me, but now he puts the stethoscope on my chest
again to pay attention to my heart.
I moan and he silences me, whispering in my ear:
-Be quiet.
I don't know how I manage to last thirty seconds without gasping. He
continues to hold me with the same arm that holds the stethoscope while he
listens to me. With the other hand he works magic between my legs. It's still
stuck deep inside me. I try not to move, but he is hard as a rock as the
tremors take over me. My legs and hands tremble, with which I hold on to
his thighs as best I can, while I make a superhuman effort not to scream his
name.
I'm still shaking when he reaches up and rests his diaphragm on my
wrist. After several seconds, he rips off the stethoscope and throws it on the
floor.
"One hundred and fifty," he declares satisfied.
He withdraws to turn me around and, when he has me lying on my back
on the sofa, he kisses me and penetrates me again.
 I have no strength left to move; I can't even open my eyes to look at him.
He thrusts into me several times and then goes very still, grunting into my
mouth. He falls on top of me, tense and trembling.
He kisses my neck and his lips caress the heart-shaped tattoo on my
collarbone. With his face buried in the crook of my shoulder, he sighs.
"Have I mentioned how much I like you?"
I start laughing.
-Once or twice.
—Well, with this one, that's three. I like you. I like everything about
you, Lily. I like to be inside you, outside you, close to you. I like
everything.
I smile, noticing that his words caress my skin and my heart. I open my
mouth to tell him that I like him too, but his phone interrupts me.
Growling, he pulls out of me and grabs the phone. Putting on his pants,
look who it is.
“She's my mother,” he says, leaning over me and kissing my knee
resting on the back of the couch.
He puts down his phone, gets up and goes to look for a box of tissues on
my desk.
Cleaning up after sex is always a little awkward, but knowing that it's
your mother calling increases the level of awkwardness.
I get dressed and Ryle pulls me towards him. He has lain down on the
sofa and I lie on top of him, with my head resting on his chest.
It's already past ten and I'm so comfortable and at ease that I'm
considering staying the night here. Ryle's cell phone rings again, this time
with the announcement of a voice message. Watching him interact with his
mother makes me smile. Allysa talks about her parents from time to time,
but Ryle has never mentioned anything about them to me.
 -You get along with your parents?
He is caressing my arm lovingly.
—Yes, we get along well; they are good people. We went through a
difficult period in my adolescence, but we got through it. Now I talk to my
mother almost every day.
I fold my arms over his chest and rest my chin on them. "Tell me more
about your mother," I ask, looking him in the eyes.
—. Allysa told me that your parents had moved to England a few years ago
and were on vacation in Australia... That was a few weeks ago, though.
He starts laughing.
-My mother? Well... My mother is very controlling..., and very critical,
especially with the people she loves the most. He never misses mass and
always addresses my father as Dr. Kincaid. —Despite what he says, he
doesn't stop smiling while talking about her.
—Is your father also a doctor?
He nods.
-Psychiatrist. He chose a specialty that allows him to have a normal life,
with normal hours. Smart guy.
—Do they come to see you from time to time?
—Not much, really. My mom hates airplanes, so Allysa and I go to
England a couple of times a year. He wants to know you, so you know, so
maybe you'll come with us on the next trip.
—Have you told your mother about me? —I ask him, smiling.
-Of course. It's a family event that he has a girlfriend. He calls me every
day to make sure he hasn't screwed up something.
When I start laughing, he picks up his phone.
—Do you think I'm joking? What do you bet he mentions you in the
voicemail he just left?
Press a few keys and play the message:
 "Hello darling. I am your mother. We haven't spoken since yesterday and
I miss you. Give Lily a hug for me. You still see each other, right? Allysa
says you spend the day talking about her. She's still your girlfriend, right?
OK. Gretchen just arrived. Let's go to dinner. I love you. Kisses Kisses".
I let my face fall onto his chest and laugh.
—We've only been dating for a few months. Do you talk so
much about me? He reaches for my hand and brings it to
his lips. —Very much, Lily. Too much.
"I can't wait to meet you," I say, smiling. Not only did they raise an
incredible daughter; but they also made you. Awesome.
He hugs me tighter and kisses me on the top of my head.
—What was your brother's name? —I ask him.
I feel him tense and I regret bringing it up, but it's too late.
—Emerson.
I notice in his tone of voice that he doesn't want to talk about it, so
instead of insisting I find his mouth and kiss him. Like I don't know what
happens when Ryle and I start kissing. Moments later, he's inside me again,
but this time it's nothing like the last.
This time we make love.
 14

When the phone rings, I look to see who it is and am surprised to see that
it's Ryle. It's the first time he called me. Until now we have always
communicated by messages. I know it's strange, but during these three
months I have never heard his voice on the phone.
-Hello.
"Hello, girlfriend," he says to me.
A goofy smile comes to my face when I hear his voice.
-Hello boyfriend.
-Did you know?
-That?
—Tomorrow I have the day off. On Sundays you don't open the flower
shop until one o'clock. I'm on my way to your house with two bottles of
wine. Do you want your boyfriend to sleep over at your house, get drunk
with him, get drunk on sex and sleep late?
I am ashamed of the effect his words have on me. Smiling, I answer:
-Did you know?
-That?
—I'm going to prepare you something special for dinner. I'll put on
an apron. -Oh yeah?
"And nothing more," I reply before hanging up.
A few moments later I receive a text message.
 Ryle: Photo, please.

Me: Come soon and do it yourself.

I'm finishing preparing the stew that I'm going to finish cooking in the
oven when the door opens. I pour the already mixed ingredients into a glass
bowl and don't turn around when I hear him enter the kitchen. I said I would
just put on an apron and I wasn't going to bluff; I'm not even wearing
panties. I hear him catch his breath as I bend over to put the pan in the oven.
I may have leaned in too far, but since I'm on it, I'll give it my all. I close
the oven door, but I still don't turn around. I grab a rag and clean the oven
door, moving my hips enthusiastically, and let out a scream when I feel a
sting in my right buttock. I turn around to find Ryle smiling, a bottle of
wine in each hand.
—Did you bite me?
He gives me an innocent look.
—Don't tempt the scorpion if you don't want it to sting you. —He looks
me up and down while opening a bottle. Before pouring the wine, he picks
it up and shows it to me. It's vintage .
" Vintage, " I repeat, in a mocking tone. What are we celebrating?
He offers me a drink and answers:
—That I'm going to be an uncle. I have a girlfriend who is very hot. And
that probably on Monday he will participate in a separation of craniopagus
conjoined twins; one of those operations that you only see once in a
lifetime.
—Skull-what?
He downs the wine in one gulp and pours himself another glass.
"Craniopagus: united by the skull," he answers. He points to the top of
his head and taps. Right over here. We have been studying them since they
were born. It is an unusual surgery, you see very little.
 I don't deny it, it makes me very excited to see him in his role as a doctor. I
admire his motivation and dedication, but seeing him so enthusiastic about
what is still his job is the sexiest thing to me. —How long do you think the
operation will last?
He shrinks his shoulders.
—I can't tell you exactly. They are small, so it is not advisable for them
to spend too much time under general anesthesia. He raises his hand and
shakes his fingers. But this hand is very special. She has received an
education worth almost half a million dollars, I have a lot of faith in her.
I approach him and kiss him on the palm.
—I also love this hand.
He caresses my neck and then turns me around, leaving me leaning
against the counter. The surprise makes me hold my breath.
He charges me from behind and slowly caresses my side. I rest my hands
on the granite countertop and close my eyes, already noticing the effects of
the wine.
"This hand," he whispers, "is the firmest in all of Boston."
He pushes me by the back of my neck, leaning me further over the
counter. He caresses the inside of my leg, at knee height, and moves
upward. Slowly. Holy God.
He spreads my legs and slips his fingers inside me. I groan and look for
something to hold on to. I have to settle for the faucet, the only thing I can
find when he starts doing magic with his fingers. And then, as if he were
really a magician, he makes his hand disappear. I hear him walk away and
see him pass in front of me, on the other side of the island. He winks at me,
empties the remaining wine in his glass and says:
—I'm going to take a quick shower.
«And you leave me like this, with the oven
preheated?» -Cocoon! -shouted him.
 “I'm not an asshole,” he screams from my room. I am a surgeon with
extraordinary training.
Laughing, I pour myself another glass of wine.
I'll show him what it means to warm someone up.

When he leaves the room, I'm already on my third glass of wine. I'm on the
phone with my mother, watching him from the couch as he heads to the
kitchen and pours himself another drink.
"This wine is to die for."
-What are you going to do tonight? —my mother asks. I have my phone
on speakerphone, so Ryle can hear us talking, leaning against the wall.
-Little thing. I'm going to help Ryle study.
"That doesn't sound too interesting," she replies.
Ryle winks at me.
—Actually, it is. I help him often, especially to practice fine motor skills
with his hands. We may spend the night practicing.
I'm frisky because of the three glasses of wine. I can't believe I'm flirting
with him while I'm talking to my mom.
"Gross!"
"I have to hang up," I tell him. Tomorrow we're going out to dinner with
Allysa and Marshall, so I'll call you on Monday.
"Oh, where are you going?"
I put my eye white. This woman doesn't know how to take hints. -
Don't know. Ryle, where are we going?
—To the place we went with your mother. The Bib's, I think it's called. I
have reserved a table for six.
I feel my heart trying to escape from my chest as my mother exclaims:
 —Oh, good choice!
—Yes, if you like tempered bread. Bye, Mom. —I hang up and look at
Ryle.
—. I don't want to go back to that restaurant. I didn't like it, let's try
somewhere else. I won't tell you the real reason why I don't want to go,
but how do you tell him?
Tell a new boyfriend that you're trying to avoid your first love?
Ryle moves away from the wall.
-It will like you. Allysa really wants to eat there; I told him how good we
ate.
"Maybe I'll get lucky and Atlas won't work tomorrow."
"Speaking of food," Ryle adds, "I'm starving." "The stew!"
-Oh shit! —I exclaim laughing.
Ryle runs to the kitchen and I follow him. I walk in just as he opens the
oven door and waves his hand to clear the smoke.
"Insurmountable."
I got up so quickly that my head is spinning. The three glasses of wine don't
help either. I hold myself on the counter next to him and he reaches into the
oven to remove the stew. —Ryle, you have to take it out with...

-Shit! -shouts.
—A mitten.
He drops the glass fountain, which falls to the ground and shatters into a
thousand pieces. I raise my feet to avoid cutting myself on the glass and
getting burned by the splatters of chicken and mushrooms. I start to laugh,
because I find it very funny that he didn't remember to use the mitten. It has
to be the wine.
"This wine hits harder than it looks."
Ryle slams the oven door, turns on the cold water, and reaches under the
faucet, still swearing. I try not to laugh, but the wine and the absurdity of
the situation we just experienced make it difficult for me. To the
I look at the ground, I see the mess we are going to have to pick up and I
laugh again. I continue to laugh as I lean over the sink to take a look at
Ryle's hand. I hope he hasn't done too much damage.
Suddenly, I stop laughing. I'm on the ground, with my hand resting on
the corner of my eye.
Abruptly, Ryle hit me with his arm, making me fall backwards. He
pushed me away with such force that I ended up on the floor. And when I
fell, I hit my face on the handle of one of the cabinets.
I feel intense pain in my eye, near my temple.
And then I feel the weight; a weight that presses me from all sides.
Gravity is so strong that it crushes even my emotions. And everything
shatters.
The tears, the heart, the laughter, my soul. Everything broken like pieces
of glass falling around me.
I cover my head with my arms and wish the last ten seconds of my life
would reverse and disappear.
"Fuck, Lily," I hear him say. It's not funny; This hand is my fucking
career.
I don't raise my face to him. His voice does not caress me, on the
contrary; I feel like each of his words is a sharp sword stabbing into me.
And then he sits down next to me, and puts his fucking hand on my back.
And he rubs it on me.
—Lily. Oh my god, Lily.
He tries to push my arms away from my head, but I resist.
I shake my head, still wishing with all my might that the last fifteen
seconds would go away. Fifteen seconds. Enough time to change a person's
life completely. Fifteen seconds that will never come back.
He hugs me and kisses the top of my head.
 -I'm sorry. I... I burned my hand and I panicked. You couldn't stop
laughing and... I'm so sorry; everything has happened very quickly. I didn't
want to push you, Lily. I'm sorry.
But I don't hear Ryle's voice this time; I am hearing my father's voice.
«I'm sorry, Jenny. It was an accident. Very sorry." "I'm sorry, Lily." It
was an accident. Very sorry.
All I want is for him to fucking go away. Using all my strength, I push
him with my arms and legs to push him away as far as I can.
He falls back and uses his hands to stop the blow. At first, his gaze
conveys pain, but then it changes and he looks at me with... concern?
Panic?
Slowly raise your right hand. She is covered in blood, which runs down
her palm and runs down her wrist and arm. I look down and see the floor
covered in pieces of broken glass.
"His hand."
I just pushed him onto a floor covered in broken glass.
He turns his back on me and stands up. Put your hand under cold water
again, this time to clean the blood. As I stand up, I see him tear a small
piece of glass from his palm and throw it on the counter.
I'm furious, but I still worry about his injury. I grab a kitchen towel and
put it in his hand. The right hand. There is blood everywhere.
"And the operation is on Monday."
I try to help him stop the bleeding, but I shake too much.
—Ryle, your hand.
He draws his injured hand back and lifts my chin with the other.
"Fuck the hand, Lily." I don't care about the hand. Are you OK?
He looks me in the eyes, examining the bruise and looking to see if
there are more.
My shoulders shake uncontrollably, as uncontrollably as the tears
streaming down my cheeks.
 -No. —I'm still a little in shock, but I know he can hear how my heart
breaks when he pronounces that simple word, because I hear it echo in
every corner of my body—. Oh God. You pushed me, Ryle. You... —
Becoming aware of what just happened is much more painful than the blow.
Ryle hugs me by the neck and hugs me to his chest desperately. "I'm so
sorry, Lily." God, how I feel it. -Bury your face in me
hair, squeezing me and transmitting to me all the emotions that flood it -.
Please do not hate me. Please.
His voice sounds like always again. I can't hear my father anymore. And
in that moment I realize something. His career depends on that hand, and
yet he's more worried about me than her. That has to mean something,
right? I'm very confused.
A lot of things have happened in a moment: the smoke, the wine, the
broken glass, the splashes of food everywhere, the blood, the fury, the
apologies. It's too much.
"I'm so sorry," he repeats. I pull away to look him in the eyes. They are
red. I had never seen him so sad. I have let myself be carried away by panic.
I didn't want to push you. It was panic. All I could think about was the hand
and the operation on Monday and... I'm so sorry.
He joins his mouth to mine and our breaths merge.
«He is not like my father. It can't be. He's nothing like that insensitive
bastard.
We kissed, upset, confused, sad. I had never felt something like this... so
ugly and painful. But in some difficult way to understand, the only one who
can fix the pain he has caused me is himself. His pain mitigates my tears,
and my emotions calm when I feel his mouth on mine and his hand holding
me as if he never wanted to let go.
He hugs me around the waist and lifts me into his arms. Carefully, he
makes his way and leaves the kitchen. I don't know if I'm more upset with
him or with me.
same. With him for losing his temper or with me for allowing myself to be
comforted by his apology.
While he takes me to the bedroom he never stops kissing me.
He continues doing it when he leaves me on the bed and whispers:
"I'm sorry, Lily."
He brings his lips to the place where I hit myself with the shooter and
kisses it.
-Very sorry.
He searches for my lips again with his mouth, wet and hot, and I don't
even know where the air is coming from. My soul cries, but my body longs
for the apology that he gives me with his hands and his mouth. I want to
scream at him and react the way I always wanted my mother to react when
my father hurt her, but deep down in my soul I want to believe that it was
an accident, that Ryle is not like my father, that they are nothing alike.
I need to feel his pain, his regret, and he gives them to me in the form of
kisses. When I spread my legs, he gives me his pain in another way. With
each thrust, slow and careful, he gives me an apology with his entire body.
Every time he enters me he whispers an apology. And in an almost
miraculous way, every time he leaves me, part of my anger goes with him.

He's kissing my shoulder, my cheek, my eye. He continues on top of me,

caressing me gently. I had never been touched like this, with such
tenderness. I try to forget about what just happened in the kitchen, but I
can't get it out of my head.
He pushed me away.
"Ryle pushed me."
For fifteen seconds, I saw a part of him that wasn't him. Although I wasn't
me either. I laughed at him when I should have looked worried. He
He pushed me, even though he shouldn't have touched me. I pushed him too
and he cut his hand.
It was horrible. All. The fifteen seconds were absolutely horrible.
I don't want to think about it anymore.
He still has the rag in his hand, completely soaked in blood.
I push his chest to let me get up.
"I'll be back now," I tell him.
He kisses me before pulling away. I go to the bathroom and close the
door. When I look in the mirror, I gasp.
There is blood. I have blood in my hair, on my cheeks, on my body. And
it's all yours. I wipe it off a little with a towel and then look for the
medicine cabinet under the sink. I have no idea what I'm going to find. First
he burned his hand and then he made a deep cut. Right after telling me how
important this operation was to him.
"The wine. Never more. "We're not going to taste good wine anymore."
With the first aid kit in hand, I return to the bedroom. He arrives at the
same
time that I. He has gone to the kitchen to get a bag of ice.
"For the eye," he says, lifting the ice.
"Hold your hand," I say, lifting the first aid kit.
Smiling, we sat on the bed. He leans back against the headboard as I
bring his hand to my lap. And while I heal his hand, he rests the ice pack on
my eye with his other hand.
I put some antiseptic ointment on my fingers and apply it to the burns.
They don't look as bad as I feared, which is a big relief.
—Can you avoid getting blisters? —I ask him.
he denies with the head.
—No, if the burn is second degree.
I want to ask him if he can operate with blisters on his fingers, but I don't
bring it up. I'm sure he doesn't think about anything else.
 —Shall I put ointment on the cut?
He nods. He has stopped bleeding. I know that if you need points, they
will give them to you, but I don't think they will be necessary. I take an
elastic bandage from the medicine cabinet and wrap it around his hand.
“Lily,” he whispers, and I look at him. He has his head resting on the
headboard and looks like he's about to cry. I feel very bad. If I could erase
everything...
"I know," I interrupt. I know, Ryle. It's been horrible. By pushing me,
you've made me rethink everything I thought I knew about you, but I know
you're sorry. We can't make it go away, so I'd rather we not talk about it
again.
I adjust the bandage and when I'm done I look him in the eyes.
—But I tell you one thing, Ryle. If something like this ever happens
again, I'll know that today wasn't an accident. And I will leave you without
a moment's hesitation.
He stares at me in silence for a long time, his brow furrowed in a
grimace of regret. He leans forward and kisses me.
"It won't happen again, Lily." I swear. I'm not like him. I know that's
what you're thinking, but I swear...
I shake my head, to make him stop. I can't stand the pain that comes
from his voice.
—I know you're not like my father, but... please don't make me doubt
you ever again. I ask you please.
He brushes the hair from my forehead.
—You are the most important thing in my life, Lily. I want to be the
person who makes you happy, not the one who makes you suffer. —He
kisses me and gets up, applying the ice to my face—. Hold it like this for
about ten minutes. It will prevent it from becoming inflamed.
I do what he tells me and ask him:
-Where are you going?
He kisses me on the forehead before answering:
 —To pick up the mess out there.
He spends the next twenty minutes cleaning the kitchen. I hear him
empty the wine bottles down the sink and throw the glass into the trash.
I go back to the bathroom and take a quick shower to wash the blood off
me. Then I change the sheets. When he finishes cleaning up the kitchen, he
returns to the bedroom with a glass in his hand.
"It's cola," he tells me. Caffeine will do you good.
I take a sip and feel the bubbles bursting on my neck. Just what I needed.
I take another sip and put the glass on the table.
—What exactly does it help? To get rid of the hangover?
Ryle gets into bed and covers us with the covers. Shaking his head, he
answers:
—No, I don't think it has any effect on a hangover, but my mother
always gave me a cola drink when I had a bad day; It made me feel a little
better.
I smile.
-It's true. Works.
He caresses my cheek. The way he looks at me and the way he touches
me convinces me that he deserves another chance. I feel that if I don't
forgive him, I will be making him pay for my father's sins.
"He is not my father."
Ryle loves me. He has never told me exactly, but I know he loves me the
same as I love him. I am sure that what happened tonight in the kitchen will
not happen again; You just need to see how upset he is for having hurt me.
We all make mistakes. What determines a person's character is not the
mistakes they make, but how they take advantage of those mistakes to
transform them into lessons instead of excuses.
His gaze becomes more intense and more sincere. He leans over to kiss
my hand and then lies on his side. Sharing a pillow, we remain
in silence, contemplating each other and feeling how this energy floods us,
filling all the gaps that the night has caused us.
A few minutes later, he squeezes my hand.
"Lily," he says, stroking my thumb with his, "I'm in love with you."
I feel his words in every cell of my body.
“I love you too,” I whisper, and it is the purest truth that has ever left my
lips.
 fifteen

I arrive at the restaurant a quarter of an hour late. When I was about to close
the store, a customer came in who wanted to order flowers for a funeral. I
haven't told him to come back another time because, sadly, funerals are a
big part of the business.
Ryle waves at me and I head towards the table, careful not to look
around. I don't want to meet Atlas. I suggested changing the restaurant a
couple more times, but Allysa was determined to try it after Ryle told her
how good the food was here.
I sit next to Ryle and he leans over and kisses me on the cheek.
-Hi girlfriend.
Allysa growls.
—Guys, you are so cute it's disgusting.
I smile at him and see him look at the bump in his eye. It's not as bad as I
originally feared; probably because of the ice Ryle made me wear.
-Oh my God! Allysa exclaims. Ryle told me what had happened, but I
didn't think it hit that big.
I turn to him, wondering what he told him.
"The truth?"
Smiling, he clarifies it for me.
—There was olive oil everywhere. When she slipped, she did so with
such grace that she looked like a ballet dancer.
"A lie."
 I understand; I would have done the same.
"It was pathetic," he confirmed his story with a smile on his face. We
managed to have dinner quietly. I don't see Atlas nor do we take out the
theme from the night before, although neither Ryle nor I tried the wine.
When we finish eating, the waiter approaches the table.
—Would you like a dessert? -asks us.
I shake my head, but Allysa immediately perks up.
-That have?
Marshall joins in their enthusiasm.
—We have to eat for two, so we'll take anything that has chocolate.
The waiter nods, and as he leaves, Allysa turns to Marshall.
—The baby is currently the size of a bedbug. You better not push me
into a bad life for a few months.
The waiter returns with the dessert cart.
"The chef invites all pregnant clients to dessert," he tells us.
Congratulations.
-Oh really? —Allysa seems delighted.
—I guess that's why the restaurant is called Bib's; It must be a
diminutive of baby bottles —Marshall comments.
“No, it means bibs,” Allysa corrects him.
Marshall waves his hand.
—Whatever, but it's clear that the chef likes babies.
-My God! —I exclaim looking at the options.
“It's my new favorite restaurant,” Allysa declares.
We choose three desserts and while they are being plated we discuss
baby names.
"No," Allysa says very seriously to Marshall. I'm not going to name it
after a state.
 "But I love Nebraska," he protests. And Idaho? She covers her
face with her hands.
—This is going to be the death of our marriage.
"Death," Marshall repeats. Well, it's not a bad name.
Marshall's murder is postponed by the arrival of desserts. The waiter
serves Allysa the chocolate cake and steps aside to let another waiter pass,
carrying a plate in each hand. The first one points it out and says:
—The chef extends his congratulations.
—Did you like the food? —he asks Allysa and Marshall. When our eyes
meet, my anxiety levels have
exceeded the controllable. He continues to stare at me and, without thinking,
I blurt out:
—Are you the chef?
The waiter points it out and informs us:
—The chef and the owner, but if necessary he is also a waiter or
dishwasher. To say he's involved in the business is an understatement.
The next five seconds go unnoticed by others, but for me they pass in
slow motion. Atlas notices the cut in my eye. Then on to the bandage on
Ryle's hand. And he looks at me in the eye again.
“We love your restaurant,” says Allysa. Is incredible.
But Atlas doesn't look at her. I see him swallow and clench his teeth
tightly before walking away silently.
"Shit."
The waiter tries to compensate for Atlas's rudeness by showing us all his
teeth in a forced smile.
“Enjoy your dessert,” he wishes us, and hastily leaves. “Wow,” Allysa
says. We found a new favorite restaurant
and it turns out that the chef is a dick.
—Yeah, the cocoons are usually the best. Look at Gordon Ramsay.
—You are right.
 I put my hand on Ryle's arm.
“Lavatory,” I whisper.
He nods as I move along the bench. Marshall keeps talking.
—Do you think Wolfgang Puck is a dick?
I cross the restaurant with my head down, at full speed. When I get to the
hallway, I don't stop. I push the door to the ladies' room, enter and lock it.
“Shit, shit, shit, shit.”
I can't get his expression, his gaze, his clenched jaw out of my head.
I'm glad he's retired, but I suspect he'll be waiting outside when we come
out to beat up Ryle.
I inhale through my nose and release it through my mouth. I wash my
hands and repeat the slow breaths. When I'm calmer, I dry my hands with a
towel.
I'm going out. I'll tell Ryle I'm not feeling well. We will leave and we
will not return again. Now that everyone thinks the chef is a jerk, I'll use
that as an excuse not to come back.
I open the latch, but not the door because someone is pushing it from
outside. Atlas enters the bathroom and locks us inside. He leans his back
against the door and stares at me.
-What happened? —He points to the cut in the eye.
-Nothing. —I shake my head.
He narrows his eyes, which are still blue as ice, but an ice that burns.
"You're lying, Lily."
Making a great effort, I smile.
-It was an accident.
 Atlas starts to laugh, but it is a short laugh. Immediately, he regains his
expression from a moment ago.
—Break up with him. Leave it alone.
“Leave it?”
Oh my God. You have gotten the totally wrong idea. I take a step
towards him, shaking my head.
—No, Atlas. He is not like that. It wasn't that. Ryle is a good person.
He tilts his head and leans forward a little.
-It's curious. You sound exactly like your mother.
His words hurt me. I try to get around him to open the door, but he grabs
my wrist.
—Leave it, Lily.
I remove my hand and turn my back on him. I take a deep breath once
more before turning to him.
—In case you're interested, I'm more scared of you than him right now.
My words surprise him. He nods slowly and then more decisively as he
steps away from the door.
—I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I just wanted to be nice to
you like you were nice to me.
I stare at him, not knowing how to take his words. I notice that he is still
furious, he is not fooling me, although he has adopted a calm appearance...
so that I can leave calmly. I unlatch the latch and open the door.
I gasp when I see Ryle. I look over my shoulder and there's Atlas, taking
up a good part of the bathroom, next to me.
Ryle looks at us as if he doesn't understand anything.
—But what the hell, Lily?
—Ryle. —My voice shakes.
God, this looks really bad, much worse than it really is.
Atlas walks past me and heads toward the kitchen door, ignoring Ryle,
who stares at his back.
 "Keep walking, Atlas."
When he reaches the kitchen door, he stops.
"No no no. Keep walking."
And, suddenly, the worst of my nightmares comes true. Atlas turns
around, walks towards Ryle and grabs him by the collar of his shirt. He
reacts by getting rid of Atlas with a blow that pushes him against the
opposite wall. Atlas attacks Ryle again, and this time he blocks him with his
arm against his neck while slamming him against the wall.
"If you touch her again, I'll cut off your hand and make you swallow it,
you piece of shit."
—Atlas, stop! -shout.
Atlas lets go of him angrily and takes a step back.
Ryle breathes heavily, not taking his eyes off his attacker. Then he looks
at me.
-Atlas? —he repeats his name familiarly.
«Why did you pronounce his name like that, as if I had spoken to you
about him? I have never told him anything about Atlas.
One moment.
Yes I did.
The first night, on the roof, was one of my confidences.
Ryle laughs and points at Atlas, but looking at me.
—Is this Atlas? The homeless guy you slept with because you felt sorry
for him?
"Oh no. "My God, no."
A moment later, the hallway is once again a whirlwind of fists and
elbows and shouts, my own, for them to stay still.
Two waiters enter the hallway and separate them. They remain pinned
against the wall, facing each other, giving each other murderous looks and
breathing heavily. I don't dare look at either of them.
 I don't dare look at Atlas after what Ryle has told him. And I don't dare
look at Ryle either, because he must be imagining horrible things.
-Out! —Atlas shouts, pointing to the door—. Get out of my restaurant!
Ryle looks at me as he passes me. I'm afraid to see fury in his eyes,
but there is no trace.
I only see pain.
Much pain.
He stops, as if he wanted to tell me something, but makes a face of
disappointment and continues walking.
When I finally turn to Atlas, I read an equal or greater disappointment on
his face. Without giving me time to explain Ryle's words, he turns around
and walks into the kitchen.
I run after Ryle. He grabs his jacket and leaves for the exit without
saying goodbye to Allysa and Marshall.
She looks at me raising her hands, not understanding anything.
“It's a long story,” I say, picking up my bag and shaking my head. Let's
talk tomorrow.
I follow Ryle out onto the street and watch him head toward the parking
lot. I run to catch up with him and see him punch the air.
—I didn't bring my car, damn it! —he shouts frustrated.
I take the keys out of my bag. He walks over to me and snatches them
out of my hand. I follow him again, this time towards my car. I don't know
what to do; I don't even know if he wants to talk to me right now. He just
found me locked in a bathroom with a guy I was in love with. And,
suddenly, for good measure, the guy attacks him.
"Oh, mother, how bad this looks."
When we get to the car, he heads to the driver's seat.
Pointing to the passenger side, he tells me:
—Come in, Lily.
 He doesn't speak to me during the entire trip. I try once, but he shakes
his head, as if to say that he is not ready to listen to my explanations.
When we park in my parking space, he gets out of the car as soon as he turns
off the engine, as if he doesn't have time to get away from me. I get out of the
vehicle and see him walking up and down. "It's not what it seems, Ryle, I
swear."
He stops walking and when he looks at me, my heart skips a beat. You
can tell that he is suffering a lot, and there is no need. It was all a silly
misunderstanding.
"I didn't want this to happen, Lily," he tells me. That's why I didn't want
a relationship! I don't have to carry this stress in my life!
Even though I know he's having a hard time because of what he thinks
happened, his words piss me off.
—Then get out!
-That?
I raise my hands.
"I don't want to be a burden to you, Ryle!" I'm sorry that my presence in
your life is so unbearable!
He steps forward.
—Lily, that's not what I'm saying.
He throws his hands up in frustration, walks past me and leans against
the car. He crosses his arms in front of his chest and remains silent for a
long moment while I wait for him to say whatever he wants to say. His head
is lowered, but he raises it just enough to look me in the eyes.
—The truth, Lily. The pure truth, without detours. That's what I want
right now. Are you able to give me that?
I nod.
—Did you know he worked there?
 Pursing my lips, I cross one arm in front of my chest, holding my elbow.
-Yeah. That's why I didn't want to go back, Ryle. I didn't want to find
him.
It seems that my answer relaxes him a little. He runs a hand over his face
before continuing to ask.
—Have you told him what happened last night? Have you told him we
argued? I approach him, shaking my head insistently.
-No. He drew his own conclusions. He saw my eye and your hand, and
connected the dots.
He lets out his breath, overwhelmed. He throws his head back and stares
at the ceiling, as if it's too painful to ask the next question.
—Why were you with him in the bathroom?
I take another step in his direction.
—He followed me. I'm not in contact with him, Ryle. I didn't even know
he owned the restaurant; I thought he was a waiter. It's no longer part of my
life, I swear. “He…” I cross my arms and lower my voice. We both grew up
with abuse and mistreatment at home. Seeing my face and your blindfold...
he got worried. That's all.
Ryle raises his hands and covers his mouth. I hear the air coming out
between his fingers as he exhales. He straightens his back, taking a moment
to take in what I just said.
-It's my turn. —He steps away from the car and takes the three steps that
separate him from me. He rests his hands on my cheeks and looks me
straight in the eyes. If you don't want to be with me, tell me now, Lily,
please. Because when I saw you with him... it hurt me. I never want to feel
that feeling again. And if it hurts so much now, I'm horrified to think how I
could do it in a year.
I notice the tears falling down my cheeks. I rest my hands on top of his
and shake my head.
"I don't want anyone else, Ryle." Only you.
He smiles, but it's the saddest smile I've ever seen. He hugs me and holds
me in his arms. I hug him back, squeezing with all my might as he kisses
my head. "I love you, Lily." God, how I love you.
I hug him even tighter and kiss him on the shoulder.
-I love you too.
I close my eyes, wishing I could erase the last two days of my life.
Atlas is wrong about Ryle.
I wish Atlas knew he was wrong.
 16

—I don't want to be selfish, but you didn't try the dessert, Lily. Allysa
growls. Oh, it was soooo good.
"No, we'll never go back," I tell him.
She stamps her foot on the ground as if she were a little girl.
-But...
-No. We have to respect your brother's feelings.
She crosses her arms.
-I know, I know. Oh, why did you have to be a hormonal teenager and
fall in love with the best chef in Boston?
—When I met him he was not a chef.
—Now, now. —Leave my office and close the door.
The phone notifies me that a text message has arrived.
Ryle: We've been here for five hours. Five more
to go. For now, the hand holds well.

I breathe a sigh of relief. I wasn't sure if I could operate today. Knowing

how excited he was, I am very happy for him.
Me: The firmest hands
from all over Boston.

I open my laptop and check my email. The first thing I come across is a
query from The Boston Globe . Reading the email I see that it is from a
journalist interested in writing an article about the florist. With a smile of
Ear to ear, I start to compose the answer, but Allysa knocks on the door. He
opens it and sticks his head out.
-Hello.
-Hello.
Allysa drums her fingers on the doorjamb.
"Didn't you just tell me I can't go back to Bib's because the owner was
your teenage sweetheart and it's not fair to Ryle?"
I lean back in my chair.
"What do you want, Allysa?"
She wrinkles her nose before answering.
—I just don't understand why we can't go there, but nothing happens if
the owner comes here.
"That?"
I close the laptop and get up.
-Why do you say that? Is here?
Nodding, he sneaks into my office and closes the door.
-Yeah. He asked about you. And I know you're dating my brother and
I'm pregnant, but can we take a few moments to quietly admire how perfect
this man is? —he asks with a goofy smile, which makes me roll my eyes.
—Allysa.
—Have you seen those eyes? —Open the door and go back out.
I follow her and see Atlas.
"Here it is," Allysa tells him. Shall I save your coat?
"Since when do we keep coats?"
Atlas sees me leave the office. Looking at Allysa, she shakes her head.
-No, thanks. I won't be there long.
Allysa rests her arms on the counter and her chin in her hands. —Stay as
long as you want. In fact, wouldn't you be interested in a
extra work? Lily needs more staff. We are looking for someone who
can move heavy things. And make it very flexible. He has to bend down a
lot.
I glare at Allysa to stop, and she shrugs, the picture of innocence.
I hold the door open for Atlas to enter my office, but I avoid meeting his
eyes as he walks past me. I feel guilty about what happened yesterday, but
I'm also very angry.
I walk around the desk and sit in my chair, preparing for an argument,
but when I look up, I snap my mouth shut.
Atlas is smiling and points around as he sits before me.
—It's incredible, Lily.
Surprised, it took me a few seconds to reply:
-Thank you.
He keeps smiling, like he's proud of me. He sets a bag on the table and
pushes it in my direction.
-It's a gift. You can open it later.
Why are you bringing me a gift? Do you have a girlfriend. I have a
boyfriend. Our common past has already caused enough problems in the
present; I don't need gifts that complicate my life more.
-A gift? Why, Atlas?
He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms.
—I bought it three years ago. I kept it in case one day I found you by
chance.
"As thoughtful as ever."
That's Atlas, he hasn't changed. Damn.
I take the gift and leave it on the floor next to me. I try to relax, but it's
not easy when everything about him makes me tense.
"I've come to apologize," he tells me.
I make a gesture with my hand, indicating that it is not necessary.
-No problem. It was a misunderstanding. Ryle is fine.
 His laughter escapes through his nose.
—I don't apologize for that. I will never apologize for defending you.
—You weren't defending me; there was nothing to defend.
He tilts his head and looks at me the same as last night. It's a look of
disappointment that stabs me in the gut.
I clear my throat.
"So why are you apologizing?"
He remains silent for a few moments, as if reflecting.
—I wanted to apologize for saying that you reminded me of your mother.
It was a cruel comment; I'm sorry.
I don't know why I always feel like crying when I'm with him. Or when I
think of him. Or when I read about him. It's like my emotions are still tied
to him with a rope that I don't know how to cut.
He scans my desk and leans forward. Grab a pen, a post-it note and my
cell phone. He writes something on the note and starts taking apart my
phone. He removes the case and clips the Post-it to the back before putting
the case back on. Then he pushes the phone across the table to give it back
to me. I look at the phone and look at him, who stands up and throws the
pen on the table.
-It's my number. Keep it there in case you need it one day.
I grimace as I realize what he just did and what it means.
"I won't need it."
-I hope so.
He goes to the door and rests his hand on the knob. And I know this is
my last chance to tell him what I need to tell him before he disappears from
my life forever.
—Atlas, wait. —I stand up with such force that the office chair is thrown
and hits the wall behind me. He turns around and looks at me. "What Ryle
said last night... I never..." I put my hand on my back.
neck and I feel the erratic beating of my heart. I never told him that. He was
hurt and angry and misinterpreted something I told him a long time ago.
Atlas raises the corner of his mouth slightly and I don't know if he's
trying to hold back his laughter or not frown. He turns completely towards
me before replying:
—Believe me, Lily. I already know it wasn't a pity fuck; I was there. He
leaves the office and his words make me fall on my butt on the chair..., with
the small inconvenience that the chair is not in its place and
Now I'm on the ground.
When Allysa comes back into the office, she finds me lying on the floor
behind the desk.
—Lily... —He goes around the table and looks at me from above
—. Are you OK? I show him the thumbs up.
-Perfectly. It's just that I haven't managed to sit in the chair.
She offers me her hand to help me up.
-What happened? What was that all about?
I look at the door as I go to find the chair. I sit down and look at my
phone.
-Nothing. He only came to apologize. Allysa
sighs and turns towards the door. —Does that
mean you're not interested in the job?
If there's one thing Allysa has, it's the ability to make me laugh, even if
I'm in the middle of an emotional crisis.
—Go back to work if you don't want me to deduct this time from your
salary. Laughing, he approaches the door. Tapping the pen on the
desk, I call her.
—Allysa, wait.
"I know," he interrupts me. Ryle doesn't need to know about this visit,
you don't have to ask me.
 I smile at him.
-Thank you.
She closes the door.
I reach out and pick up the gift that has been waiting for me for three
years. When I take it out of the bag I see that it is a book wrapped in tissue
paper. I tear up the paper and fall back into the chair.
There is a photo of Ellen DeGeneres on the cover. Laughing, I open the
book and gasp to see that it has a dedication and is autographed. I caress the
words as I read them.
Lily:
Atlas says keep swimming.
Ellen Degeneres

I caress the signature. Then I put the book on the desk, rest my forehead
on the cover, and moan loudly.
 17

I don't get home until after seven in the afternoon. Ryle called an hour ago
to tell me he wouldn't be coming home tonight. Separating the tortoiseshells
(or whatever the hell they're called) has been a success, but he's going to
stay in the hospital to make sure there are no complications.
When I arrive at the apartment, I am greeted by silence. I put on my
quiet pajamas and eat a quiet sandwich. And then I lie down in my quiet
bedroom and open my new book, hoping it will help me quiet my emotions.
Indeed, three hours later, with the book almost finished, I am much
calmer. I place a bookmark so I don't lose the point and close the book,
although I stare at it for a long time. I think about Ryle, I think about Atlas,
and I think about how sometimes, no matter how convinced you are that
things are going to flow a certain way, everything changes as drastically
and relentlessly as the tide.
I leave the book that Atlas gave me in the closet where I keep my
journals and pick up the notebook that is full of his memories. The time has
come to read the last entry in that diary. Only then can I say goodbye to him
forever.
Dear Ellen:
Normally I'm glad you don't know I exist. And I'm glad I never sent
you the things I write to you. But sometimes, like tonight, I wish I could
talk to you. I need to tell someone how I feel.
 It's been six months since I last saw Atlas; I don't know where he is
or how his life is going. A lot has happened since I last wrote to you,
when Atlas moved to Boston. I thought it was going to be the last time I
would see him for a long time, but it wasn't.
I met up with him once again several weeks after he moved out. It
was my birthday, I was turning sixteen, and when I saw him appear, I
thought it was the best day of my life.
But then it became the worst.
Exactly forty-two days had passed since Atlas left for Boston. He
counted the days, as if it would be of any use. I was so depressed, Ellen...
I still am. People say that the love of teenagers is not comparable to that
of adults. I partially believe it, but I'm not an adult and I can't compare.
I guess they are different loves. Surely there is more depth to the love of
two adults. There is probably more maturity, more respect, more
responsibility. But all this doesn't seem so important to me. I believe that
each love has a specific weight in a person's life, and that this weight
does not depend on age. It's something you feel in your shoulders, in
your stomach and in your heart, no matter how old you are. And what I
feel for Atlas weighs a lot. Every night I cry myself to sleep, and before I
go to sleep I whisper, "Keep swimming." But it's very difficult to swim
when you feel like you're anchored in the water.
Now that I think about it, I've probably been experiencing all the
phases of grief. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance.
The night of my birthday I was deep in the depressive phase. My mother
had done what she could to make it a good day. She bought me
gardening supplies, made my favorite cake, and the two of us went out to
dinner together. But when I got into bed that night I couldn't shake the
sadness.
 I was crying when I heard the tapping on the window. At first, I
thought it was starting to rain, but then I heard his voice. I jumped up
and ran towards him, my heart pounding. He was there, in the dark,
smiling at me. I raised the window and helped him get in. He put his
arms around me and didn't let go while I cried.
He smelled so good... As I hugged him I realized that he had gained
some of the weight he needed so much during the six weeks I hadn't seen
him. He leaned back and wiped away the tears that fell from my cheeks.
"Why are you crying, Lily?"
I felt ashamed for crying. During that month I had cried a lot, it was
probably the month in which I had done so the most in my entire life. It
was probably my teenage hormones, mixed with the stress of seeing how
my father treated my mother. Having to say goodbye to Atlas was the
final straw.
I grabbed a T-shirt off the floor and wiped my eyes. Then we sat on
the bed. He pulled me into his chest and leaned against the headboard.
-What are you doing here? -asked.
-It's your birthday. You are still my favorite person... and I missed
you.
He must have arrived around ten at night, but we chatted so much
that when I looked at the time again it was already after twelve. I don't
remember what we talked about, but I remember perfectly how I felt.
Atlas seemed very happy. I had never seen his eyes so bright. It was as if
he had finally found his home.
He told me he wanted to tell me something and became very serious.
He placed me on his lap, because he wanted to look me in the eyes while
he told me what he wanted to tell me. I thought he would tell me that he
had a girlfriend or that he had
decided to enlist in the army earlier than planned, but what he told me
surprised me even more.
He said that when he entered the neighbors' abandoned house, he
did not do so looking for a place to sleep.
He went in to commit suicide.
I covered my mouth with my hands, because I didn't know that I had
had such a bad time, to the point of not wanting to continue living.
—I hope you never know what it's like to feel so alone in the world,
Lily.
He told me that, during the first night, sitting in the living room with
the knife near his wrist, he saw the light in my bedroom turn on.
"You appeared like an angel illuminated by the light of heaven," he
told me. I couldn't stop looking at you.
He watched me move around the room. He watched me lie on the
bed and write in my diary. And he dropped the blade. He said he hadn't
felt anything for a month, and that seeing me awakened feelings in him.
Just enough to get out of the apathy he had fallen into, just enough to not
kill himself that night. A couple of days later I left food at his door and
you already know the rest more or less.
"You saved my life, Lily," he told me. And you weren't even aware of
what you had just done.
He leaned forward and kissed me in his favorite place, between my
neck and shoulder. I liked that he kissed me there again. In general, I
don't like my body very much, but that particular spot has become my
favorite part.
He took my hands and confirmed that he was going into the army
ahead of schedule, but said he couldn't leave without stopping by to
thank me. He told me that he would be gone four years, and that the last
thing he wanted was to think that there was a sixteen-year-old girl who
was not there.
living his life to the fullest because of someone he wouldn't be able to
see.
Excitedly, he added:
—Lily, life is something very strange and curious. We only have a
few years to live it, so we must do everything possible to fill them to the
fullest. We should not waste time on things that may happen one day or
that may never happen.
I understood what he was telling me. That he was joining the army
and that he didn't want me to cling to his memory in his absence. He
wasn't breaking up with me because we weren't even together. We were
just two people who had helped each other when they needed each other
and whose hearts had merged along the way.
It was hard to feel him let go before he had fully grabbed me.
Throughout the time we shared, I think we both knew that ours was not
going to be a forever story. And I don't know why, because it wouldn't be
difficult for me to continue loving him the way I do. Probably, if our
circumstances were normal, we could still be together like the typical
teenage couple living a normal life, in a normal home. We could be a
couple who doesn't experience how cruel life can be when it comes
between two people.
I didn't even try to change his mind. I feel like we have that kind of
connection that not even the fires of hell would be able to break. I feel
like it doesn't matter if he joins the army. I, meanwhile, will live my
teenage life and then everything will fall into place when the time is
right.
"I'm going to promise you something," he told me. When my life is
good enough for you to be a part of it, I will come find you. But I don't
want you to wait for me because that day might never come.
 I didn't like his promise. Atlas thought that he might not come back
from the army alive, or that maybe his life would never be good enough
for me. And even though his life was good enough for me, I nodded and
forced myself to smile.
—If you don't come, I'll be the one to go look for you. And that day
you're going to find out, Atlas Corrigan.
He laughed at my threat.
—Well, it won't take you too long to find me. You know where I'll
be.
My smile grew wider.
—Where everything is better.
He smiled back at me.
-Exact. In Boston.
And then he kissed me.
Ellen, I know you're an adult and you know what came next, but
still, I don't feel comfortable going into the details, so let's just leave it at
the fact that we kissed a lot. And we laughed a lot. We love a lot and we
breathe a lot. A lot. And we both had to cover our mouths and keep quiet
so they wouldn't catch us.
When he finished, he hugged me and we remained united, skin to skin,
heart to heart. He kissed me and, looking me straight in the eyes, said:
"I love you, Lily." I love everything you are. I love you.
I know that these are words that teenagers say often, often
prematurely and without much justification. But when he said them I
knew he wasn't making a declaration. He wasn't telling me that he was
in love with me; It wasn't that kind of "I love you."
Imagine all the people you meet throughout your life. There are
many. They appear in the form of waves; some come and others go with
the tides. Some waves are bigger and hit harder.
strength than others. Some of these waves are accompanied by things
that they drag from the depths of the sea and throw on your shore,
leaving a mark that shows that those people have been there, even if the
tide receded a long time ago.
And that was what Atlas was conveying to me when he said "I love
you." He was telling me that I was the biggest wave he had ever
encountered. And that I had left so many things on its shore that my
mark would always remain on its beach, even if the tide receded.
Then he told me he had a birthday gift for me and showed me a little
brown bag.
—It's not a big deal, but it's all I could afford.
I opened the bag and took out the best gift they have ever given me.
It was a magnet with the letters BOSTON on top. At the bottom, in tiny
letters, it said: WHERE EVERYTHING IS BEST . I told him that I would always
keep it and that every time I saw it I would remember him.
At the beginning of this letter I told you that the day I turned sixteen
was one of the best days of my life. And, until that precise moment, it
was. But the next few minutes were not.
Atlas appeared by surprise. I wasn't expecting your visit and that's
why I didn't lock the door. My father heard me talking to someone in the
room and opened the door. Seeing Atlas in my bed, he became angry like
never before. And Atlas was at a disadvantage, because he was not
prepared for what came next.
No matter how many years I live, I will never forget what I felt when
my father lunged at Atlas with a baseball bat. The sound of his bones
breaking was the only thing I could hear beyond my screams.
I still don't know who called the police. I'm sure it was my mother,
but it's been six months and we still haven't talked about what happened
that night. When the police came into my room and took my father away
from Atlas, he was so covered in blood that I didn't recognize him.
 I was hysterical.
Hysterical.
Not only did they have to take Atlas away by ambulance, another
had to come look for me because I couldn't breathe. It was the first and
only panic attack I have ever had in my life.
Nobody told me where Atlas was; They didn't even tell me if I was
okay. And of course nothing happened to my father. Not only was he not
arrested, but he ended up becoming a hero. Word spread that Atlas was
a homeless man who had stayed in the abandoned house, and my father
was showered with praise for saving his little girl from the clutches of
the unscrupulous homeless man who had abused her.
My father told me that I was the shame of the family for giving
people something to criticize us with. And the worst thing is that he is
right, he continues to be a source of gossip. Just today I heard Katie tell
someone on the bus that she tried to warn me about Atlas. She said that
she knew that boy was problematic from the first time she saw him,
which is bullshit. If Atlas had been by my side, I probably would have
kept quiet and acted maturely, like he taught me. But she wasn't by my
side, so I turned to her and told her to fuck off. I've told her that Atlas is
a better person than she will ever be and that if I ever hear her say
anything bad about him again, she'll be sorry.
She rolled her eyes and told me:
"Jesus Christ, Lily, were you brainwashed?" He was a homeless
boy, a dirty little thief who probably took drugs. He used you to get food
and sex... and you still defend him?
He was lucky that the bus stopped in front of my house at that
moment. I grabbed my backpack, went into my room and spent three
hours crying. Now my head hurts, but I knew
 that the only way to feel a little better was going to be to pour it all out
on paper. I had been resisting writing this letter for six months.
Don't take this the wrong way, Ellen, but I still have a headache.
And the heart. Maybe more than before. This letter hasn't helped me one
bit.
I think I'm going to stop writing to you for a while. Writing to you
makes me think about him, and it hurts me too much. Until he comes
back for me, I'm going to keep pretending I'm okay. I will continue to
pretend that I swim, when in reality what I do is float, and I have a
terrible time keeping my head above water.
Lily

I turn the page, but it's blank. That was the last time I wrote to Ellen.
I also never heard anything from Atlas again and it didn't surprise me.
My father was about to kill him; I wouldn't have wanted to go back either.
I knew he was alive and well because from time to time my curiosity got
the better of me and I looked for him on the internet. There wasn't much
information, but at least I knew he was alive and still in the army.
I never managed to completely get it out of my head. Time smoothed
things out, but every once in a while, I would come across something that
reminded me of him and it would upset me greatly. One day, when I was
two years into college and dating someone, I realized that maybe Atlas
wasn't meant to play a big role in my life. Maybe it was just a phase.
Maybe love doesn't always have a closed ending. Maybe it's like the
tides, like the people who come in and out of our lives.
During one night when loneliness was particularly hard for me to bear, I
went alone to a studio and had a heart tattooed where he
He used to kiss me. It's a small heart, like a thumbprint, that looks like the
one he carved out of oak wood. It's not completely closed at the top and I
wonder if Atlas would do it that way on purpose, because that's how my
heart feels every time I think about it. As if it had a hole that lets all the air
escape.
When I finished college I moved to Boston and not exclusively because I
expected to find it, but because I wanted to see with my own eyes if
everything was really better there. Plethora no longer had any incentive for
me and I wanted to get as far away from my father as possible. Even though
he was sick and no longer a threat to my mother, his mere presence made
me want to flee the state of Maine, and that's what I did.
Seeing Atlas in his restaurant for the first time awakened such intense
emotions in me that I didn't know how to process them. I was glad to see
that he was okay and very happy to see that he looked very healthy, but I'd
be lying if I said it didn't break my heart a little to realize that he hadn't tried
to find me like he promised.
I want him. Even today, and I know I will always love him. It was a
giant wave that left a lot of marks on my life, and I will feel the weight of
that love until I die; I have assumed it.
But things have changed a lot. After you left my office a while ago, I've
been thinking a lot about us and I think our lives are where they need to be.
I have Ryle, and Atlas has his girlfriend. We have both achieved our dream
jobs. And just because we haven't ended up being part of the same wave
doesn't mean we're not part of the same ocean.
The relationship with Ryle is still quite new, but the feelings are just as
deep as those he had with Atlas. I notice that he loves me like Atlas loved
me and I know that, if Atlas got to know him, he would also realize it and
would be happy for me.
 Sometimes a wave comes unexpectedly, swallows you and refuses to
spit you back onto the beach. Ryle is my unexpected tsunami and I'm
surfing his pretty crest right now.
Second part
 18

-Oh my God. I think I'm going to vomit.

Ryle puts his thumb under my chin and lifts my face. He is smiling.
-Everything will be fine; stop worrying.
I shake my hands vigorously as I jump inside the elevator. —I can't help
it. Everything you and Allysa have told me about
Your mother makes me very nervous. —I open my eyes wide and put my
hands to my mouth—. Oh my God! What if he asks me questions about
Jesus? I do not go to church. I read the Bible when I was younger, but I
don't know things by heart.
Ryle laughs out loud. He pulls me towards him and kisses my head.
—He's not going to ask you anything about Jesus. He already loves you,
Lily, just because of the things I've told him about you. The only thing you
have to do is be yourself.
I nod.
—Okay, be myself. I think I'll be able to pretend to be myself for one
night.
The doors open and Ryle motions for me to exit first. We go to Allysa's
house and I'm amused to see Ryle knocking on the door, but I guess
technically he doesn't live here anymore. Over the last few months he has
been gradually moving into my house. All his clothes are already in my
apartment, and his bathroom supplies. Last week he posted the absurd
blurry photo of the first day in the bedroom and, after that, I felt like ours
was official.
 —Do you know that we are living together? —I ask him—. It looks
good? I mean...do you mind that we're not married? He goes to mass every
Sunday. Oh my God! Ryle! What if your mother thinks I'm a blasphemous
whore?
He nods toward the door. When I turn there, I find his mother looking at
us in surprise.
—Mother, meet Lily, my blasphemous whore.
"Oh, dear God."
His mother wraps me in a hug. When I hear her laugh, I calm down
enough to start enjoying the night.
—Lily! —he exclaims, moving away and holding me by the shoulders to
look me over from head to toe—. Honey, I don't think you're a blasphemous
whore, I think you're the angel I've been praying for ten years to land in
Ryle's lap!
He makes us enter the apartment. Ryle's father also greets me with a hug.
"No, of course you're not a blasphemous whore," he confirms. “Not like
Marshall, who sunk his teeth into my little girl when she was only
seventeen,” he adds, giving Marshall, who is sitting on the couch, a dirty
look.
He starts laughing.
"You're wrong, Dr. Kincaid." Allysa was the one who sunk her teeth into
me. I had them in another girl's mouth that tasted like Cheetos and...
Marshall flinches as Allysa elbows him in the side.
And, with a few sentences, all my fears vanish. Ryle's parents are
perfect, they are normal. They say bitch and laugh at Marshall's jokes.
"I couldn't wish for anything better."
Three hours later, I'm lying in bed with Allysa. His parents have gone to
bed early, complaining about jet-lag. Ryle and Marshall are in the living
room, watching sports, and I have my hand on Allysa's belly, waiting for
the baby to kick.
"Your feet are here," he says, moving his hand a few centimeters. Give it
a moment. She's very active tonight.
We remain silent, waiting for the next kick to come.
When he finally does, I scream and start laughing.
-Oh my God! It's like that extraterrestrial from the movie Alien !
Allysa keeps my hand resting on her belly.
"These last two months are going to be hell," he admits, but adds:
I so want to meet her...
-Me too. I'm dying to be an aunt.
—And I can't wait for you and Ryle to have a baby. I lie on my back on
the bed and put my hands behind my neck. —I don't know if Ryle wants
to have children; We have never talked about the subject. —It doesn't
matter if you don't want them now. You will want them. I also didn't
want to have
a serious relationship with anyone before meeting you or getting married,
but now I sense that he will propose to you at any time.
I rest my face on one hand and look at her.
—We've only been together for six months. I'm sure you'll want to wait a
lot longer.
I never push Ryle into anything when it comes to the relationship. Our
lives are perfect the way they are. Plus, we're both too busy to prepare for a
wedding, so I don't mind if you want to wait.
—And what about you? Allysa insists. Would you say yes if he
asked you? I start laughing.
—Are you kidding me? Clear; I would marry him tonight.
 Allysa looks over my shoulder at the door, pursing her lips to hold back
her laughter.
—It's at the door, right?
She nods.
"You heard me say that, right?"
Allysa nods again.
I roll around and look at Ryle, who is leaning against the doorjamb, his
arms crossed over his chest. I couldn't tell what he was thinking after
hearing what I said. His jaw is clenched and his eyes are narrowed.
“Lily,” he says stoically, without raising his voice. I'd fucking marry you
right now.
His words make me smile impossible to hide, so I choose to cover my
face with a pillow.
—Wow, how beautiful. “Thank you, Ryle,” I reply, my voice muffled by
the pillow.
“Well, yeah, it's very nice,” Allysa admits. It turns out that my brother is
a sweetheart when he wants to be.
Ryle rips the pillow away from my face and looks down at me.
-Come on.
My heart starts beating wildly.
-Now?
He nods his head in agreement.
—I took the weekend off because my parents were coming to see us.
You have employees who can take care of the florist. Let's go to Las Vegas
and get married.
Allysa sits on the bed.
"You can't do it like that," he chides. Lily is a girl. She wants a real
wedding, with flowers, bridesmaids and shit like that.
Ryle looks at me.
 —Do you want a real wedding with flowers, bridesmaids and shit like
that?
I think about it for a second.
-No.
The three of us are silent for a moment, and then Allysa kicks her legs in
the air in pure happiness.
-They marry! -shouts. He gets out of bed and runs into the living room.
Marshall, pack your bag! We're going to Las Vegas!
Ryle gives me his hand and helps me up. He's smiling, but I need him to
confirm that he really wants to get married.
"Are you sure, Ryle?"
He sinks his hands into my hair and pulls me close, brushing his lips
against my mouth.
-Do you want the truth? The pure truth? —he whispers—. I'm so excited
to be your husband that I'm about to pee my pants.
 19

—It's been six weeks, mom. Get over it once and for all.
My mother sighs on the other end of the phone.
—You are my only daughter. I can't help it; I had been dreaming about
your wedding all my life.
He still hasn't forgiven me, even though he attended. We called her right
before Allysa bought the plane tickets. We got her out of bed, as well as
Ryle's parents, and put them all on a midnight flight to Las Vegas. He didn't
try to change my mind, because he realized that Ryle and I were convinced,
but he doesn't pass up an opportunity to remind me. She's been dreaming of
a big wedding, of trying on dresses with me, and of choosing the cake
together since I was born.
I put my feet up on the couch.
—What if I make it up to you? —I ask him—. What do you think if, when
decide to have a baby, we do it the traditional way and do not
Do we order in Las Vegas?
My mother starts laughing.
—As long as you give me grandchildren one day, I'll get over it.
Ryle and I brought it up during the flight to Las Vegas. I wanted to make
sure it wasn't a taboo subject before I made the commitment to spend the
rest of my life with him. He said, of course, we could think about it later.
And then we talked about a lot more issues that could be problematic in the
future. I told him I wanted us to have separate accounts, but since he makes
more money than
I was going to have to give myself a lot of gifts to keep me happy. He
agreed. He made me promise him I would never go vegan. It was an easy
promise to make; I like cheese too much to give it up. I told him we would
have to start a charity or at least donate to Marshall and Allysa's favorites.
He told me that he was already donating, and that made me want to marry
him even more. He made me promise to vote. He said I could vote for
Democrats, Republicans or independent candidates, but to vote. I promised
him with a handshake. When the plane landed in Las Vegas, we agreed on
everything.
I hear someone open the door and I lie down on my back.
“I have to hang up,” I tell my mother. Ryle just arrived. He closes the
door and, smiling, I say, “Wait a minute, let me rephrase that sentence,
Mom.” My husband just got home.
My mother bursts out laughing before saying goodbye and hanging up. I
put the phone aside, raise one arm and rest it languidly on the armrest. Then
I prop my leg up on the back of the couch, allowing the skirt to slide down
my thighs and pool around my waist. Ryle looks me up and down and
smiles as he approaches me. He drops to his knees on the couch and slowly
climbs on top of me.
—How is my wife? —he whispers, kissing me around the mouth. When
I feel him pressing between my legs, I throw my head back.
and he kisses my neck.
"This is life."
We both work almost every day. He works twice as many hours as I do
and only gets home before I go to bed two or three nights a week. But on
the nights we're together, I make sure he spends as much time as possible
buried deep inside me.
And he doesn't complain.
He chooses a spot on my neck and kisses it so hard it hurts.
 —Ow!
He falls on top of me and murmurs, his face buried in my neck:
—I'm going to give you a hickey; do not move.
Laughing, I let him do it. I have long hair, so I can cover it if necessary.
Plus, I've never had a hickey before.
His lips stay on the same spot, sucking and kissing me until it stops
hurting. He's pressed against me, and I feel his erection pressing against his
pants. I lower them just enough so he can slide inside me. Without stopping
kissing my neck, we do it right here, on the couch.

He showered first and as soon as he finished, I took his place. I told him we
had to get the smell of sex out of our bodies before we went to dinner with
Allysa and Marshall.
Allysa is due in a few weeks; That's why he insists that we have couples'
dinners often, to take advantage of the time. She's afraid that when the baby
is born we'll stop visiting them, which is absurd. I know that the meetings
will be even more frequent. I already love my niece more than them. Well,
maybe not quite, but almost.
I try not to get my hair wet, because we're already late. I grab the razor
and am about to shave my armpits when I hear the sound of something
breaking.
—Ryle...
Nothing.
I just shaved and rinsed off the soap.
Another noise.
“What the hell is he doing?”
I turn off the water, grab the towel and dry myself quickly.
"Ryle!"
 Still no response. I hurriedly put on my jeans and open the door while
putting on my t-shirt.
—Ryle...
The nightstand next to the bed is lying down. I go to the living room.
He's sitting on the edge of the couch, his head resting on one hand, looking
at something he's holding in his other hand.
-What are you doing?
He looks at me, but I'm not able to decipher his expression. I don't
understand what's happening. I don't know if he just received bad news or...
"Oh my God. "Allysa."
"Ryle, you're scaring me." What's happening?
He shows me my phone and looks at me like that explains everything.
When I shake my head, not understanding anything, he shows me a piece of
paper.
“How curious,” he says, leaving his cell phone on the low table. I
accidentally dropped your phone. The casing came off and I found this
number hidden inside.
"Oh no. No no no."
He clenches his fist, crumpling the paper.
—I thought: “How strange. "Lily doesn't hide anything from me." —He
gets up and picks up the phone—. So I called the number. —He squeezes
his cell phone angrily—. Luckily for him, he went to fucking voicemail.
Throw the cell phone with all your strength. It collides with the wall and
falls in pieces to the floor.
For a few seconds, I think that things can take two directions:
It's going to leave me.
Or it's going to hurt me.
He runs a hand through his hair and heads for the door.
"It's going to leave me."
"Ryle!" -shout.
"Why the hell didn't I throw out the number?"
 I open the door and run after him, who takes the steps two at a time. I
catch up with him on the second floor landing. I stand in front of him and
grab his shirt with both hands.
—Ryle, please let me explain it to you.
He grabs my wrists and gives me a push.

-Be still.
I feel his hands on me, firm but delicate.
I'm crying and for some reason the tears sting me.
"Lily, please don't move," he tells me in a reassuring tone.
My head hurts.
"Ryle?"
I try to open my eyes, but the light is too bright. I feel a sting in the
corner of my eye and wince in pain. I try to sit up, but he stops me with a
hand on my shoulder.
"You have to stay still until I'm done, Lily."
I open my eyes and recognize the ceiling of our bedroom.
—Until you finish what? —My mouth hurts when I talk. I raise a hand
and cover it with it.
"You fell down the stairs," he answers. You have hurt yourself.
I look into his eyes and read concern in them, but also pain. And anger.
He feels all those things at once, but I just feel confused.
I close my eyes again, trying to remember why he's angry, why he feels
hurt.
My phone.
The Atlas number.
Stairs.
I grabbed him by the shirt.
 He pushed me.
"You fell down the stairs," he told me.
But it's not true, I haven't fallen.
He pushed me. Again.
And there are two.
"You pushed me, Ryle."
Sobs attack me and I begin to shake violently. I don't know if the injuries
I have are serious, but I don't care. There is no physical pain that can
compare to what my heart is feeling right now. I slap his hands to get him to
get away from me. He gets out of bed and I curl up into a ball.
I hope he comforts me like the last time he hurt me, but that's not what
happens. I hear him pacing around the bedroom. I don't know what it does.
I'm still crying when he finally kneels in front of me.
"You might have a concussion," he says, matter-of-factly. You have a
small cut on your lip and I have bandaged the cut on your eye. “You don't
need points,” he adds in a distant tone. Does it hurt anywhere else? The
arms? The legs?
He sounds like a doctor, not a husband.
"You pushed me," I accuse him, crying.
I can't think of anything else.
"You fell," he calmly refutes me. About five minutes ago, right after I
found out I married a fucking liar. "Leave something on the pillow next to
me." If you need anything else, you can always call this number.
I look at the crumpled paper where Atlas's number is written down.
“Ryle,” I sob.
"What's going on?"
I hear him leave the house slamming the door.
The world is collapsing around me.
 “Ryle,” I whisper, even though no one is there.
I cover my face with my hands and cry like I have never cried. I'm
devastated.
"Five minutes."
It only takes five minutes to completely destroy a person.

A few minutes pass. I don't know how many, maybe ten.

I can not stop crying. I haven't moved from the bed.
I'm afraid to look at myself in the mirror. I... I'm very scared.
I hear the front door open and slam shut again.
Ryle shows up at the door and I don't know if I should hate him.
Or feel terrified.
Or feel sorry for him.
How can I be feeling all three things at the same time?
Ryle leans his forehead against the door and I watch him hit his head,
once, twice, three times.
He turns abruptly, runs over, and drops to his knees next to the bed. He
takes my hands and squeezes them.
"Lily," he tells me, his face twisted in a grimace of pain. Please tell me
nothing has happened. —He caresses my head and I notice how his hand
shakes—. I can't stand it, I can't. —He leans over me and kisses my
forehead, pressing hard. Then he rests his forehead on mine. Please tell me
you're not seeing each other. Please.
I don't know if I'll be able to tell him, because I can't even speak.
He remains glued to me, his hand tightly tangled in my hair.
—It hurts so much, Lily... I love you so much...
I shake my head, forcing myself to tell him the truth because I want him
to realize what a huge mistake he's made.
 “I forgot it was there,” I say, quietly. The day after the fight at the
restaurant... he came to the store. You can ask Allysa. He was only there for
five minutes. She took her cell phone and put the number in the case
because she thought she wasn't safe with you. I forgot it was there, Ryle. I
haven't looked at it once.
He tremblingly releases his breath and nods in relief.
"Do you swear to me, Lily?" Do you swear on our marriage and our
lives and everything you are that you haven't spoken to him since that day?
He pulls away a little so he can look me in the eyes.
"I swear, Ryle." “You have reacted disproportionately without giving me
the opportunity to explain,” I respond. And now go, get out of my house
right now.
My words have left him breathless. I see it up close and in detail. He lets
himself fall back until the wall stops him and he looks at me in silence;
shocked.
“Lily,” he whispers. You have fallen down the stairs.
I don't know if he's trying to convince me or himself.
"Get out of my house," I repeat calmly.
He remains motionless. I sit on the bed and put my hand to my eye,
where I feel a sharp pain. He pushes himself up off the floor, and when he
steps forward, I lean back on the bed.
"You're hurt, Lily." I'm not going to leave you alone.
I grab a pillow and throw it at him, as if I could hurt him with it. -Long!
—I shout as he catches the pillow. I take the other one,
I get up from the bed and shoo him away with blows of the pillow,
shouting: "Long, long, long!"
When I hear the front door close, I throw the pillow on the floor. I run to the
entrance and, after locking and latching it, I return to the bedroom and fall
on the bed; the bed that I share with myself
husband, the bed in which he makes love to me.
 The bed he lays me on when he has to bring order to the chaos he leaves
behind.
 twenty

I tried to fix the phone before going to bed last night, but I couldn't. It was
broken into two pieces. I set my alarm clock to get up early this morning
and buy a new one on the way to work.
My face isn't as bad as I feared. Of course, it's not something I can hide
from Allysa, but I'm not even going to try. I parted my hair on the side to
hide the eye injury, so the only thing left visible is the cut on my lip... and
the hickey on my neck.
"What fucking irony."
I grab the bag and open the door, but stop dead when I see the bundle at
my feet.
Does it move.
It takes me a few seconds to realize that the lump is Ryle.
"Have you slept out here?"
He gets up as soon as he notices that I have opened the door and stands
before me, his eyes pleading. He rests his hands on my cheeks and, with his
lips pressed to mine, he murmurs:
-Sorry, sorry, sorry.
I lean back and look him up and down.
"Have you slept out here?"
I go out and close the door. I walk around him calmly and go down the
stairs. He follows me to the car, all the while begging me to talk to him.
I do not do it.
Leave.
An hour later I have a new cell phone in my hands. I turn it on in the
parking lot of the cell phone store and watch as messages begin to come in,
seventeen in total. They're all Allysa's.
I guess Ryle didn't send me one because he knew what state my phone
was in. I'm about to open the first message when my phone rings. It's
Allysa.
-Hello...
She lets out a deep sigh and then begins to scold me:
—Lily! What the hell is going on? You can't do this to me, huh? I'm
pregnant!
I put the car in drive and connect the bluetooth as I head to the store.
Allysa has a party today. She only has a few days left before she takes early
maternity leave.
-No problem; I'm fine, and so is Ryle. We discuss. I'm sorry I couldn't
call you sooner, but my phone broke.
She is silent for a few moments before continuing to speak. —
Did you break it? Are you sure you're okay? Where are you?
—Yes, I feel fine; I'm on my way to work. —Well, I'm
arriving.
I go to protest, but she hangs up before I can.
When I get to the flower shop, she is already inside. I open the door,
preparing to answer her questions and justify my decision to kick her
brother out of the house, but I change my mind when I see Ryle standing
with her at the counter. Ryle is leaning against him and Allysa has covered
his hands with hers and is saying something to him that I can't hear. They
both turn to me as I close the door.
“Ryle,” Allysa whispers when she sees me. What have you done to him?
—He approaches me and gives me a hug—. Oh, Lily.
 He caresses my back up and down. When he pulls away, I see that he has
tears in his eyes.
His reaction surprises me. He obviously knows that Ryle is responsible
for my injuries, but then shouldn't I be yelling at him instead of crying?
Allysa turns to Ryle, who is looking at me with a regretful expression.
He looks at me as if he wants to hug me but is afraid to touch me. Does
well.
"You have to tell him," Allysa tells him.
He drops his head into his hands.
"Tell him," she orders, angrier this time. You have a right to know, Ryle.
It's your wife. If you don't tell him, I will.
Ryle has collapsed on the counter. I don't know what Allysa wants her to
tell me, but she's having such a hard time that she doesn't even dare look at
me.
My stomach closes and I feel anger take over my soul.
Allysa turns to me and puts her hands on my shoulders.
"Listen to him," he asks me. I'm not asking you to forgive him because I
have no idea what happened last night, but please, as a sister-in-law and
best friend, I'm begging you to give my brother a chance to talk to you.

Allysa offered to take care of the store until the employee who started his
shift an hour later arrived. I was still so angry with Ryle that I didn't want to
share a car with him. That's why he ordered an Uber and we met at my
house.
During the journey, I can't stop thinking about it. What could Ryle have
to tell me that Allysa already knows?
I consider a thousand situations. Is he dying? He has deceived me? Have
you lost your job? Allysa didn't seem to be aware of what happened last
night, so I don't understand her insistence.
 Ryle enters the apartment ten minutes after I do. I'm sitting on the couch,
biting my nails, nervous.
I get up and start walking around the room while he sits in a chair. He
leans forward and clasps his hands.
"Please sit down, Lily," he begs, as if he can't bear to see me worried.
I go back to the couch, but this time I press myself against the armrest,
put my feet up on the couch, and put my hands over my mouth.
-You are dying?
His eyes widen and he shakes his head.
-No no. It's not that.
-So what is it?
I need you to let it go once and for all. My hands are starting to shake.
Seeing me so worried, he leans forward, takes my hands away from my
face and takes them in his, squeezing them.
Part of me doesn't want him to touch me after what he did to me
yesterday, but another part needs the strength his touch gives me. Whatever
he's about to tell me makes me so nervous I'm getting dizzy.
—No one is going to die, nor am I cheating on you. What I have to tell
you is not going to hurt you, okay? It's a thing of the past, but Allysa thinks
I should tell you and... well, yeah, I guess I do too.
I nod and he releases my hands. This time he is the one who gets up and
starts pacing up and down behind the low table. Seeing how hard he has to
find the words is making me even more nervous.
—Lily, do you remember the night we met?
I nod in silence.
—Do you remember how angry I was when I went out to the roof? I nod
again. He started kicking a lounge chair without knowing that the
Boat polymer is virtually indestructible.
 —Do you remember my pure truth? What I told you that night, what had
made me angry?
I hang my head, trying to remember that night and everything he told
me. He said that marriage disgusted him, that he was only interested in one-
night stands, that he didn't want to have children. And he was furious
because he had lost a patient that night.
“The little boy,” I reply, nodding my head. You were angry because a
little boy had died.
He, relieved, releases his breath abruptly.
—Yes, exactly, that's why. —He gets up and I have the sensation of
seeing his soul crumble. He covers his eyes with his hands and squeezes
them, as if fighting back tears. And when I told you, do you remember what
you told me?
I feel like crying and I still don't know why.
—Yes, I told you that I couldn't imagine how that was going to affect the
brother who accidentally shot. —My lip is starting to tremble—. And that's
when you said I was going to destroy his life.
Oh my God.
"Where are you going with this?"
Ryle walks over and drops to his knees in front of me.
—Lily. I knew it would destroy him. I knew exactly what that other kid
was feeling... because that's what happened to me. And to Allysa and my
older brother...
I can't keep holding back the tears. As I cry, Ryle hugs me around the
waist and rests his head on my lap.
"I shot him, Lily." To my best friend, my older brother. I was six years
old; He didn't even know that the gun in his hand was real.
He hugs me tighter when he starts shaking uncontrollably. I kiss him on
the head because it seems to me that he is about to collapse..., like the night
on the roof. And although I am
Furious with him, I'm still in love, and what he's telling me destroys me,
about his family, about Allysa.
We sit in silence for a long time, with his head in my lap, his arms
around my waist, and my lips in his hair.
—She was only five years old when it happened. Emerson had seven.
We were in the garage and no one heard us scream. I was there, sitting,
and...
He turns away from me, stands up and looks in the opposite direction.
After a while, he sits down on the couch and leans forward.
“I tried to…” Ryle grimaces in agony and hangs his head, covering it
with his hands and shaking his head from side to side. I tried to put it all
back inside his head. I thought that way I could fix it, Lily.
I put my hand to my mouth, but I've held my breath so hard there's no
way to hide it.
I get up to catch my breath.
It's no use.
I still can't breathe.
Ryle walks over to me, takes my hands, and pulls me towards him. We
hug for a minute or more and then he says to me:
—I would never use this as an excuse to justify my behavior. —He pulls
away to look me in the eyes—. You have to believe me. Allysa wanted me
to tell you because since it happened, there are things I can't control. I lose
control of my actions and then I have blackouts. I've been going to therapy
since I was six years old, but it's not an excuse, it's my reality. —He wipes
away my tears, cradling my head against his shoulder—. When you ran
after me last night, I swear I didn't mean to hurt you. I was hurt and angry,
and when I'm like that, sometimes something goes wrong with me, like a
switch flips. I don't remember pushing you. I know I did. I did it. While you
were chasing me, all I thought was that I needed to get away from you. I
wanted to get away from you and I didn't process anything else: not that
there were steps, not that I have more strength than you..., nothing. I
screwed up, Lily. I fucked it.
 He lowers his face and speaks in my ear. His voice breaks when he says:
-You are my woman. I'm supposed to protect you from monsters; not be
one of them.
He hugs me so desperately that he starts to shake. I had never seen a
human being radiating so much pain. It destroys me to see him like this, it
tears me to pieces, I want to wrap his heart with mine, but even then it is not
easy for me to forgive him. I swore I wouldn't let it happen again. I swore to
him and to myself that if he hurt me again, I would leave him.
I pull away from him, unable to look him in the eyes. I head to the
bedroom to recover. I lock myself in the bathroom and hold on to the sink,
but I'm not able to stay upright and I end up sitting on the floor, in a puddle
of tears.
This wasn't how things were supposed to go. I've spent my life telling
myself what I would do if a man ever dared to treat me the way my father
treated my mother. It was easy. I would quit and it would never happen to
me again.
But it happened and I didn't kick him out of the house and now I'm once
again covered in cuts and bruises from the man who supposedly loves me:
my husband.
And not only that: I'm trying to justify it.
"It was an accident. He thought he had been unfaithful. "I was hurt and
angry and I crossed his path."
I cover my face with my hands and sob, because I feel more sorry for
what happened to the man out there when I was a child than I do for myself.
And that doesn't make me feel generous or strong; It makes me feel pathetic
and weak. I was supposed to be the brave woman my mother never got to
be.
But, if I'm emulating my mother's behavior, Ryle should be emulating
my father's. But that's not true; I have to stop constantly comparing
ourselves to my parents. We are different individuals
in different situations. My father never had a reason to excuse his anger, nor
did he apologize to my mother, and he treated her much worse.
Ryle just opened up to me in a way he probably hasn't opened up to
anyone. He's trying to be a better person... for me.
Yes, he screwed up yesterday. But he's here, trying to make me
understand his past and why he reacted the way he did. Humans aren't
perfect, and I can't let the only model of marriage I know weigh down mine.
I dry my eyes and stand up. When I look in the mirror I don't see my
mother; I see myself. I see a girl who loves her husband and wants to help
him more than anything in the world. I know Ryle and I are strong enough
to get over this hump. Our love can handle this and more.
I leave the bathroom and return to the living room. Ryle stands up and
looks at me. I read the fear in his eyes. He's afraid that I won't forgive him
and I still don't know if I can, but it's not necessary to forgive an act to be
able to learn from it.
I approach him and take his hands. When I speak, what comes out of my
mouth is the pure truth.
—Do you remember what you told me on the roof the first night? You
said: “There are no good guys and bad guys. "We are all people who
sometimes do bad things."
He nods, squeezing my hands.
—You're not a bad person, Ryle. I know. And you can protect me. When
you notice that you get upset, stay away from me. I will do the same. We'll
wait until you calm down to talk things out, okay? You're not a monster,
Ryle. You are human and humans cannot bear the pain alone. Sometimes
we have to share it with our loved ones so that the weight doesn't crush us.
But I won't be able to help you if you don't tell me you need it. Ask me for
help. Together we will get through this, we can do it.
He releases the breath he seems to have been holding since last night. He
hugs me tightly and buries his face in my hair.
 "Help me, Lily," he whispers. I need you to help me.
As he wraps me in his arms, my heart tells me I've made the right
decision. I know there is more good than bad inside him, and I will do
whatever it takes to convince him, until he is able to see it too.
 twenty-one

-I'm going to go. Do you need me to do anything

else? I look up from the paperwork and shake my
head. —Thank you, Serena. See you tomorrow.
She nods and leaves, leaving the office door open.
Allysa stopped working two weeks ago. She will go into labor at any
moment. I now have two full-time employees, Serena and Lucy. Yes, that
Lucy.
He got married a couple of months ago and came one day to look for
work. The truth is that it has been integrated well. She tries very hard and,
when I agree with her, I close the office door so as not to hear her sing.
It's been almost a month since the ladder incident, and despite what Ryle
told me about his childhood, I had a hard time forgiving him.
I know Ryle has an explosive temper; I saw it from the first moment,
from before we exchanged the first words. I saw him that awful night in the
kitchen and I saw him again when he found the phone number in his cell
phone case.
But I also see the differences between Ryle and my father. Ryle is
generous and does things my father would never have done, like donating to
charity. He cares about others and puts me first. Ryle wouldn't think of
making me park on the street while he leaves the car under cover.
I have to remind myself of those things. Sometimes the little girl in me—
my father's daughter—is very stubborn. He scolds me and tells me I
shouldn't
forgiven him. He tells me I should have gotten away from him at the first
opportunity. And sometimes I listen to it. But other times I hear the voice
that tells me that no marriage is perfect. I know it and Ryle knows it. There
are moments that both members of the couple regret. And I wonder how I
would feel now if I had broken up with him after the first incident. He
shouldn't have pushed me, but I also did things that I'm not proud of. And
abandoning him, wouldn't that have been going against the marriage vows?
We swore to love each other through the good and the bad, and I refuse to
give up so easily.
I am a strong woman, who has lived in an environment where abuse was
commonplace. I'm not going to end up like my mother, I'm very clear about
that. And I know Ryle won't become my father. I think that what happened
on the stairs was necessary, since, thanks to that, he decided to tell me what
had happened to him as a child and so now we can face it together.
Last week we argued again. I was scared, since the previous two times
ended badly and I knew that this was going to be the litmus test that would
show whether or not I was going to be able to help him control his anger.
We were talking about his professional career. He has just finished his
residency, and there is a three-month course in Cambridge, England. You
have submitted your application and you will soon be informed if you have
been admitted. But this wasn't what bothered me. It's a good opportunity for
him and I would never ask him to resign. We are so busy that three months
fly by. What bothered me were his plans for later, when he returned from
Cambridge.
He's been offered a position in Minnesota, at the Mayo Clinic, and he
wants us to move there. He told me that Massachusetts General Hospital is
ranked second in the world for neurology. The Mayo Clinic is in first place.
He told me that his plan had never been to stay in Boston. I replied that
it would have been nice if he had told me about it during the flight to Las
Vegas,
when we talk about our life plans. I can't leave Boston. My mother lives
here. Allysa lives here. He told me that it's only a five-hour flight and that
we could visit them whenever we wanted. I responded that it was difficult
to run a florist business several states away.
The discussion was gaining intensity; We were both getting angrier and
angrier. At one point, he hit a vase full of flowers, which ended up on the
floor. We both stared at him in silence for a few moments. Then I was
afraid and told myself that I was wrong to think that I could help him
control his anger attacks. He took a deep breath and said:
-Leave. I'll be gone for an hour or two. I think it will be good for me.
We'll continue talking when I get back.
He left and, as he had said, returned after an hour, much calmer. He left
the keys on the table and approached me. Taking my face in his hands, he
began to speak:
—I told you I wanted to be the best at what I did, Lily. I told you the first
time I saw you, on the roof; It was one of my truths. But if I have to choose
between working in the best hospital in the world or making my wife
happy..., I choose you. You are my greatest success. As long as you are
happy, I don't mind working in one place or another. We will stay in
Boston.
At that moment I knew I had chosen well. We all deserve another chance;
especially the people who are important to us.
Since that day a week has passed and the topic of moving has not come
up again. I feel bad, like I've thwarted his plans, but marriage is about
giving in and compromising; to do what is best for the couple together, not
separately. And staying in Boston is best for your family and mine.
Speaking of family, I check my phone because I just got a message from
Allysa.
 Allysa: Are you done working? I need your opinion on
some furniture.

Me: I'll be there in fifteen minutes.

I don't know if it's because of the impending delivery or because she's no

longer working, but I think I've spent more time at her house than mine this
week.
I close the store and head to his apartment.

When I get out of the elevator, I find a note taped to its door. I read my
name on the note, so I peel it off the door.
Lily:
On the seventh floor, apartment 749.

TO.

Do you have an apartment just to store your excess furniture? I know

they're rich, but even then it seems a bit excessive to me.
I go back to the elevator and press the button for the seventh floor. When
the doors open I walk down the hallway until I find apartment 749. I don't
know if I'm supposed to knock or go in directly. Maybe someone lives here;
probably one of the people at your service.
I knock and hear footsteps on the other side.
I'm stunned when the door opens and it's Ryle.
"Hello," I greet him, confused. What are you doing
here? He leans against the doorjamb, smiling. -I live
here. And you? What are you doing here?
I look at the number next to the door and back at him. -What do you
mean? I thought you lived with me. Have you had your
own apartment all this time?
Having an apartment is one of those things that one usually discusses
with his wife at some point. I find it unnerving.
 No, to be honest, I find it outrageous. I feel deceived. I think I'm
downright angry with him right now.
Ryle backs away from the door, laughing. With his hand on the frame,
above his head, he fills the gap in the door completely.
—The truth is that I haven't had time to mention it to you considering
that I signed the papers this morning.
I take a step back.
—Wait... What?
He takes my hand and pulls me onto the floor.
—Welcome home, Lily.
I stop in the hall.
Yes, I didn't say hall, I said hall; There is a lobby. —Have you
bought an apartment?
He nods slowly, waiting for my reaction.
"You bought an apartment," I repeat.
He continues to nod.
-Yes I do. Do you think it's OK? I thought that since we now live
together, we could use more space.
I turn around on myself, slowly. When I see the kitchen, I stop. It's not as
big as Allysa's, but it's just as white and almost as pretty. There is a wine
cooler and a dishwasher, two things we don't have in my house. I enter the
kitchen and look at everything without daring to touch anything.
«Is it my kitchen? It can't be my kitchen..."
I move to the living room, which has high cathedral ceilings and huge
windows with views of Boston Harbor.
"Lily..." I hear his voice behind me. You're not angry, are you?
I turn around and, looking at him, I realize that he has been waiting for
my reaction for several minutes, but I am speechless.
Shaking my head, I bring my hand to my lips.
 "I don't think so," I whisper.
He walks over to me, takes my hands and lifts them up.
—Do you just believe it? —He seems worried and confused—. Please
tell me the honest truth, because I'm starting to think that it wasn't a good
idea to surprise you.
I look down at the hardwood floor. It is hardwood, no laminates.
-OK. -He looked into her eyes-. It seems crazy to me that you bought an
apartment like that, without entrusting it to anyone. The truth is that I think
we should have made the decision together.
He nods. He seems about to apologize, but I haven't finished speaking.
—But the honest truth is... it's perfect. I don't know what to say, Ryle.
Everything is so clean... that I'm afraid to even move. I don't want to dirty
anything.
He exhales sharply and hugs me.
—You can get dirty whatever you want, baby. It's yours. You can get it
dirty as much as you want.
He kisses me on the head and I still can't thank him. It seems like an
insignificant response to such a great gesture.
—When do we move?
He shrinks his shoulders.
-Tomorrow? It's my day off. And it's not like we have a lot of junk. We
can buy new furniture.
I nod, trying to remember what I had to do tomorrow. Nothing. He knew
Ryle had the day off, so he hadn't made any plans.
I suddenly feel the need to sit down. There are no chairs, but luckily the
floor is clean.
—I need to sit down.
 Ryle helps me sit on the floor and then stands in front of me, still holding
my hands.
—Does Allysa know? —I ask him, and he nods, smiling.
—She's so happy, Lily... I'd been thinking about buying an apartment on
the block for a while, and when we decided to stay in Boston, I pulled out
all the stops to surprise you. She helped me, but I was afraid she might miss
something before I could show it to you.
I still don't get the idea. I live here? Are Allysa and I going to be
neighbors? For some reason, I feel like the idea should worry me, but the
truth is, I'm delighted.
He smiles and tells me:
—I know you need time to process it, but you haven't seen the best yet,
and I can't wait to show it to you.
-Do it!
Smiling, he helps me up. We cross the living room and walk down a
hallway. He opens doors and shows me what's behind each of them, but he
doesn't give me time to take a look. When we got to the master bedroom, I
counted that there are three bedrooms and two bathrooms. And an office.
I don't even have time to appreciate the beauty of the bedroom because
he pulls me to the other end. He reaches a wall covered by a curtain and
turns to look at me.
—It's not a garden, but if you put a few pots, it will be something
similar.
Close the curtain, revealing a large terrace. I follow it outside and begin
to visualize all the plants I can fit in there.
—It has the same views as the roof. We will be able to enjoy the same
landscape as the night we met.
It took me a while, but I finally react and start crying.
Ryle pulls me into his chest and hugs me tightly.
 “Lily,” he whispers, stroking my hair. I didn't want to make you cry.
I start laughing without stopping sobbing.
—I can't believe I'm going to live here. —I pull away just enough to look
him in the eyes—. We're rich? How can you afford this apartment?
He starts laughing.
—You married a neurosurgeon, Lily. We're not exactly strapped for
money.
His comment makes me laugh and then I start crying again.
And then we have the first visit, because someone starts banging on the
door.
“It's Allysa,” Ryle says. He's waiting on the landing.
I run to the door and, as soon as I open it, we embrace each other.
We scream and then I cry even harder.
We spent the rest of the day in the new apartment. Ryle orders Chinese
takeout and Marshall comes down to dinner with us. We don't have tables
or chairs yet, so the four of us sit on the living room floor and eat straight
from the boxes. We chatted about the decor, about the neighborly things
we'll do together, about Allysa's impending birth.
That last!
I can't wait to tell my mother!
 22

Allysa is three days late.

It's been a week since we moved to the new apartment. We moved all of
our belongings during Ryle's day off and on the second day Allysa and I
went furniture shopping. By the third we were practically installed.
Yesterday we received the first letter to the new address. It was a supply
bill, so now it finally feels official.
I'm married, I have a great husband, an incredible apartment and I live
next door to my best friend, who also happens to be my sister-in-law. And,
if that weren't enough, I'm about to be an aunt. I don't dare say it too loudly,
but I think my life can't get any better.
I turn off my laptop and prepare to close the store. Lately I leave earlier
because I want to get to my new apartment. As I'm closing my office door,
Ryle unlocks the store with his key and approaches me. It's loaded. He has a
newspaper under his arm and two coffees in his hand. Although he is
speeding, as usual, he is smiling.
“Lily,” he greets me, without stopping walking. He puts a coffee in my
hand and takes the newspaper out from under his arm. Three things. One:
have you seen the newspaper? —He gives it to me. He is folded and points
to one of the articles. You did it, Lily! You've made it!
Trying not to get too excited, I look at the newspaper. Maybe he's
referring to something different than what I'm imagining. But no, just by
reading the headline, I see that it refers to exactly what I expected.
-I have done it?
 I had been notified that the flower shop was nominated for the Best of
Boston awards. They are awards that are awarded by popular vote of the
newspaper's readers. They are held annually and Lily Bloom's was
nominated in the category of "new businesses", those that have been open
for less than two years. I suspected I might have been chosen because a
journalist called me on the phone last week and asked me several questions.
The headline reads: "Boston's best new stores. "Voting begins among the
ten favorites."
I smile and almost spill my coffee when Ryle picks me up and spins me
around in the air.
He said he brought three pieces of news. If you've chosen to share this
one first, I can't imagine what the others are like.
—What is the second thing?
He leaves me on the ground while saying:
—I have started with the best. I couldn't hold back. —He takes a sip of
coffee before continuing talking—. I have been selected for the Cambridge
course.
I give him a huge smile.
-Oh really? —He nods, hugs me and spins me around in the air again.
—. "I'm so proud of you," I tell him, kissing him. We're both so successful
it's disgusting.
He starts laughing.
-And the third? —I ask him.
He takes a step back.
-Oh yeah. Third. He leans against the counter, nonchalantly, and takes a
long, slow sip of coffee before putting down the glass. Allysa is in labor.
-That?! -shout.
 -Yeah. —He points to the cafes—. That's why I brought you caffeine. I
don't think we'll sleep a wink tonight.
I start clapping and jumping, and then I panic because I can't find
anything, not my bag, not my jacket, not my keys, not my cell phone, not
the light switch. Just before we leave, Ryle returns to the counter and
retrieves the newspaper. Finally I close the store with trembling hands.
—We're going to be aunts! —I exclaim, as I run towards the car.
“Dudes, Lily,” Ryle corrects me, laughing. We're going to be uncles.

Marshall walks out into the hallway, quiet and calm. Ryle and I have been
waiting for news for an hour and a half, listening for Allysa's agonizing
screams—a sign that labor was coming to an end—but we haven't heard
anything, not even the cries of a newborn. I cover my mouth with my
hands. Marshall is too quiet and that makes me fear the worst.
With shaking shoulders, he begins to cry.
“I'm a father,” he says, and then punches the air. I am a FATHER! —He
hugs Ryle and then me—. Give us a quarter of an hour and you can come
see it.
When he closes the door, Ryle and I breathe huge sighs of relief.
We look at each other and smile.
—Were you also imagining the worst? -asks me.
Nodding, I hug him.
"You're a guy," I tell him, smiling.
He kisses my head.
-You too.
—No, I'm an aunt.
He smiles.
 Half an hour later, Ryle and I are standing by the bed, watching Allysa
hold the baby. She's a girl and she's absolutely perfect. She is still too young
to be able to tell who she looks like; In any case, it's gorgeous.
—Do you want to take it? —Allysa asks Ryle.
He tenses nervously, but quickly nods. Allysa leans forward and places
the baby in her uncle's arms, teaching him how to hold her. He looks at her
for a few moments and then walks to the couch and sits down.
—Have you already agreed on the name? -ask.
"Yes," Allysa answers.
Ryle and I look at her and she smiles, her eyes watering.
—We wanted it to be named after a person we both adore. That's why
we added an "e" to your name. Her name will be Rylee.
I turn to Ryle and see him exhale sharply, surprised.
He looks down at Rylee and smiles.
“Wow,” he whispers. I don't know what to say.
I squeeze Allysa's hand before walking over to the couch and sitting next
to Ryle. More than once I have thought that I couldn't love him more, but
life insists on proving me wrong. Seeing how he looks at his newborn niece
makes my heart expand in my chest.
Marshall sits on the bed, next to Allysa.
—Have you noticed how quiet Issa has been the whole time? He hasn't
said a word. And without anesthesia. —He lies down next to her and hugs
her—. I feel like I'm in that Will Smith movie, Hancock , and I'm about to
discover that my wife is a superhero.
Ryle bursts out laughing.
—When we were little, he always kicked my ass, so I wouldn't be too
surprised.
“Speak nicely in front of Rylee,” Marshall chides.
“Ass,” Ryle whispers.
 We start laughing and Ryle offers me the little girl. I make a gesture of
greed, because the wait was killing me. When I finally have her in my arms,
I am surprised by the great love I already feel for her.
—When are mom and dad arriving? —Ryle asks Allysa.
—Tomorrow at noon.
"I should get some sleep, then." I just left the hospital and the shift has
been long. —He looks at me—. You come with me?
I shake my head.
—I want to stay a little longer. Take my car; I will return by taxi. He
kisses me on the head and then presses his forehead to mine. While
We both look at Rylee, he tells me:
—I think we should order one of these.
I raise my face, because I don't know if I heard him correctly, and he
winks at me.
—If I'm asleep when you arrive, wake me up and we'll get to work
today.
He says goodbye to Marshall and Allysa, and then Marshall walks him
out.
I look at Allysa, who is smiling.
—I already told you that, if it was with you, I would want to have babies.
Smiling, I approach the bed. She leaves me space. I give Rylee back and
lie down with them. We both watched the little girl sleep, as if it were the
greatest sight we had ever seen.
 23

Three hours later, shortly after ten, I arrive home. I spent another hour with
Allysa and then stopped by the store to get some things ready so I could
take a couple of days off. When Ryle goes off duty I try to meet him to
enjoy some day together.
When I enter the house, the lights are off, which means Ryle is already
in bed.
During the trip back I was thinking about what he proposed to me. I
didn't expect him to bring it up already. I'll soon be twenty-five, but I had
figured we'd wait at least two years before considering starting a family. I
don't know if I feel ready to get into it right away, but knowing that he's
considering it makes me very happy.
I decide to eat something before waking him up. I haven't had dinner and
I'm starving. When I turn on the kitchen light, I let out a scream. I put my
hand on my chest and lean on the counter.
"My God, Ryle!" What are you doing there in the dark?
It's leaning against the wall, next to the refrigerator. His feet are crossed
at the ankles and he's looking at me with half-closed eyes as he plays with
something in his fingers.
Next to him, on the counter, I see an empty glass that looks like it was
filled with whiskey a while ago. He takes one from time to time, he says it
helps him sleep.
 When I look back at him, he gives me a wicked smile. I immediately get
turned on because I know what's coming next. The floor is about to become
a whirlwind of clothes and kisses. We have baptized practically all the
rooms since we moved in, but we still have the kitchen to do.
I smile back, my heart still pounding from the shock of finding him here
in the dark. When I look down at his hand, I notice that he is holding the
Boston magnet. I brought it from my old apartment and stuck it on this
fridge when we moved.
He sticks it back on the fridge and taps it a couple of times.
—Where did you get this from?
I look at the magnet and back at him. I don't feel like telling you that
Atlas gave it to me when I turned sixteen. It's a delicate topic between us,
and I don't want to cloud what's about to happen with a session of pure
truths.
-I don't remember. -I shrug-. I've had it for centuries.
He watches me silently before straightening up and taking two steps
towards me. I back up until I hit the counter, holding my breath. He puts his
hands on my waist and then slides them inside my jeans, pulling me close to
him. He takes hold of my mouth and kisses me while he pulls down my
pants.
"OK. Let's do it right now."
He runs his lips down my neck as I take off my shoes so I can get rid of
my jeans.
«I'll eat later. Opening the kitchen has just become my priority. »
Kissing me again, he lifts me up and sits me on the counter. As he stands
between my legs, I smell whiskey on his breath. I do not dislike it.
When his lips brush against me again, I'm starting to gasp. He grabs a
strand of my hair and pulls it so I look into his eyes.
—The pure truth? —he whispers, looking at my mouth as if he were
about to devour me.
I nod and he runs his other hand down my thigh until he has nowhere
else to go. He slides two warm fingers inside me, keeping me trapped in his
gaze.
I take a sharp breath and wrap my legs around his waist, moving slowly
and moaning weakly as he continues to burn me with his gaze.
—Where did the magnet come from, Lily?
"That?"
I feel like my heart has started beating backwards.
"Why do you insist so much?"
His fingers continue moving inside me as he looks at me longingly, but
his other hand... The hand holding my hair pulls hard, and I wince in pain.
“Ryle,” I whisper, even though I'm starting to shake. You hurt me.
He stops moving his fingers, but doesn't look away. He slowly removes
his fingers from inside me, brings his hand to my neck and squeezes gently.
He searches for my mouth and sinks his tongue into it. I humor him,
because I have no idea what's going on in his head. I hope I'm exaggerating.
I can feel his erection on the other side of his jeans as he pushes between
my legs, but he suddenly lets go of me, leans back and leans his back
against the refrigerator, looking me up and down as if he can't wait to have
it with me right here in the kitchen. kitchen.
My heart calms down a little. I'm exaggerating.
 Ryle reaches into the kitchen and grabs a newspaper. I see that it is the
same as before, where the article that you showed me was. He picks it up
and throws it to me.
—Have you read it yet?
I let out a breath of relief.
-No not yet. —I look down at the article.
—Read it out loud.
I look at him and smile, but my stomach is in knots. There's something
about him, I can't say what, but something about the way he acts makes me
very nervous.
—Do you want me to read the newspaper? Now?
I feel strange, sitting on the kitchen counter, half naked, with a
newspaper in my hand.
He nods.
—Yes, but first take off your shirt. Then read aloud.
I stare at it, trying to understand it. Maybe the whiskey has made him
frisky. Many times, when we make love, we just make love. But other
times, the sex gets wild and a little dangerous, like the look he's giving me.
I put down the newspaper, take off my shirt, and retrieve the newspaper.
As I start to read, he takes a step and interrupts me.
-Not all. —He snatches the newspaper from me and points to a sentence
at the bottom—. Just the last paragraphs.
I look down, increasingly confused, but willing to do whatever it takes to
get this off my chest so I can move on to the bed part.
—The businesses with the most votes have not been a surprise.
Marketson's iconic Bib's restaurant opened in April of last year and quickly
became one of the city's highest-rated restaurants according to TripAdvisor.
I stop reading and look at Ryle, who has poured himself more whiskey
and is drinking.
“Keep reading,” he orders me, nodding toward the newspaper.
 I swallow, although it's getting harder and harder for me. Trying not to
let it show that my hands are shaking, I continue reading.
—Owner Atlas Corrigan is a two-time award-winning chef and was
previously in the United States Marine Corps. It's no secret that the name of
his famous restaurant is an acronym for Better in Boston, which means
"best in Boston."
I hold my breath.
"Everything is better in Boston."
With a knot in my stomach and trying to keep my emotions under
control, I continue reading.
—When we interviewed him on the occasion of his latest award, the chef
finally revealed the true meaning behind that name. “It's a long story,”
declared Chef Corrigan. «It is a tribute to someone who had a huge impact
on my life. Someone who meant a lot to me; which still means a lot."
I put the newspaper on the counter.
“I don't want to continue reading,” I say, although my voice breaks mid-
sentence.
Ryle takes two quick steps and grabs the newspaper. Picking up where I
left off, he continues reading, loudly and in an angry tone.
—When we asked him if the girl was aware that he had named the
restaurant in her honor, the chef smiled mischievously and replied: "Next
question."
The rage in Ryle's voice makes me nauseous.
“Ryle, stop,” I ask him, in a calm tone. You've had too much to drink.
I push him to let me out of the kitchen and head towards the hallway that
leads to the bedroom. A lot of things are happening in a short time and I
don't quite understand anything.
The article does not say who Atlas is referring to. He knows it's me, and
I know it too, but I don't know where Ryle gets it from.
 Because of the magnet? How were you able to connect the dots just
by reading the article? «It is happening; "His reaction is
exaggerated."
I hear him behind me as I walk towards the bedroom. Opening the door,
I stop in my tracks.
The bed is full of things. I see one of the large boxes I used in the move,
which has LILY 'S THINGS written on it , and all the contents scattered around
it: letters, diaries, empty shoe boxes. I close my eyes and breathe in slowly.
He has read my diary.
"No."
"Ha. Read. My. Diary."
He is behind my back. I notice how he wraps his arm around my waist
and grabs my chest tightly. With his other hand, he gently brushes my hair
off my shoulder.
I close my eyes and shudder when he caresses the heart tattooed on my
shoulder. His lips take the place of his fingers and, a moment later, he sinks
his teeth into me viciously; so loud that I scream.
I try to free myself, but he holds me so tightly that I can't even move him
from the spot. The pain caused by sinking my teeth into my collarbone
spreads through my shoulder and arm, making me sob.
"Ryle, let me go," I beg, crying. Please. Go away.
He continues to hold me in his arms. He turns around, but I don't look at
him. I have my eyes closed because I'm afraid to look at him. Grabbing my
shoulders, he pushes me onto the bed. I start to resist, but it's no use. He is
much stronger than me, he is angry, he is hurt; It's not Ryle.
When I fall onto the bed, I slide scared towards the headboard, trying to
escape from him.
"Why are you still here, Lily?" —he asks me, and his tone of voice is no
longer calm, like in the kitchen. He is getting more and more angry. It's
everywhere. On the refrigerator magnet; in the diary that you kept in our
closet... On the fucking tattoo that used to be my favorite part of your body!
He climbs into bed.
“Ryle, I can explain,” I beg, tears running down my temples and into my
hair. You are furious. Please do not hurt me. Go, and when you come back I
will explain everything to you.
He grabs me by the ankle and pulls me under his body. "I'm not angry,
Lily," he replies, his voice so calm that it makes me
terrifies— But I don't think I have shown you how much I love you.
He collapses on top of me, grabbing my wrists and pinning them above
my head, using only one hand.
"Ryle, please." —I cry and try to get rid of him using all parts of my
body—. Let go. Please.
"No no no no."
"I love you, Lily," he says, his mouth pressed to my cheek. More than
ever. Don't you see it?
Fear dissolves into a sea of emotions, mixing with rage. When I close
my eyes, I see my mother, crying on the living room couch, and my father
on top of her, forcing her. Driven by hatred, I begin to scream with all my
might.
Ryle tries to silence my screams with his mouth, but I bite his tongue. He
hits my head with his forehead and, instantly, the pain disappears as a
blanket of darkness covers my eyes and everything goes away.

I can hear his breath in my ear as he murmurs something I can't make out.
My heart is beating wildly and my body is shaking uncontrollably. The
tears haven't stopped falling and I'm trying to breathe.
He continues speaking in my ear, but the hammering that hits my head is
too intense and I can't decipher his words.
 I try to open my eyes, but it hurts. I notice something getting in my eye
and I know it's blood.
"My blood."
I'm starting to understand what he's saying.
-I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
He continues to hold my hand against the mattress and he continues to
lie on top of me, but he no longer tries to force me.
—Lily, I love you. Very sorry.
I hear the panic in his voice. He is kissing me, and his lips caress my
cheek and mouth gently.
He is aware of what he has done. He's Ryle again and he knows what he
just did to me, to us, to our future.
I decide to take advantage of his panic to get out of this situation.
Shaking my head, I whisper:
—It's okay, Ryle. No problem. You were angry. No problem. When he
gives me a desperate kiss, the taste of whiskey in his mouth no longer
I find it attractive; On the contrary: it makes me want to vomit. He keeps
apologizing non-stop and the room fades away again.

I have my eyes closed. We're still in bed, but he's no longer lying on top of
me. He is on his side, although he still holds me tightly by the waist and has
his head resting on my chest. I remain still, very rigid, as I examine my
surroundings.
It does not move. I hear his breathing, heavy and rhythmic, which tells
me he is sleeping. Or perhaps he has lost consciousness. The last thing I
remember is noticing the taste of my tears in my mouth.
I remain motionless for several minutes. The headache becomes
increasingly intense. I close my eyes and try to think.
"Where do I have my bag?"
 "Where do I have the keys?"
"Where do I have my cell phone?"
It takes me five minutes to get rid of him. I'm afraid I'll move too suddenly
and he'll wake up, so I move inch by inch to the edge of the bed and let myself
fall to the floor. When I no longer feel his hands on me, I can't control a sob.
Covering my mouth with my hand, I get up and run out of the bedroom.
I locate my purse and cell phone, but I have no idea where Ryle left my
keys. I anxiously look for them in the living room and kitchen, but I can
hardly see anything. When he hit me with his head he must have cut my
forehead, because there is blood in my eyes and my vision is blurry.
Near the door I get dizzy, and I fall to the floor, sliding down the wall.
My hands shake so much that I guess the cell phone password right on the
third try.
When it unlocks, I'm left wondering. My first instinct has been to call
Allysa and Marshall, but I can't get them involved in this right now. Allysa
just gave birth. I can't do this to them.
I could call the police, but my mind can't process all that would entail. I
don't want to give a statement. I don't know if I want to file a complaint,
knowing how that would affect his career. I don't want Allysa to be mad at
me. Right now I don't know anything. I don't rule out reporting it later, but
right now I don't have the strength to do so.
I press my phone and try to think.
"My mother."
I'm about to call her, but when I think about how upset she'll be when I
tell her, I start crying again. I can't involve her in this; He has already
suffered too much. Plus, I know Ryle will look for me and the first place
he'll go is my mom's house. Then to Allysa and Marshall's house, and then
try the rest of my acquaintances.
I wipe away my tears and dial Atlas's number.
 Right now, I hate myself more than I have ever hated myself in my
entire life.
I hate myself, because the day Ryle found Atlas's number hidden in his
cell phone I told him I'd forgotten it was there.
I hate myself, because, the day Atlas left his number there, I opened the
case and looked at the number.
I hate myself, because deep in my soul I knew there was a possibility
that one day I would need him. And that's why I memorized it.
-Hello? —he asks cautiously, curiously. He doesn't recognize the
number. Hearing his voice, I immediately start crying. Covering my mouth,
I try to calm myself. Lily? —His voice is much stronger now—. Lily,
where are you?
I hate myself because he knows these tears are mine.
“Atlas,” I whisper. I need help.
-Where are you? —he repeats, and I hear the panic in his voice.
I hear him walking, moving things around him. I hear a door close.
"I'm sending it to you in a message," I whisper.
I'm afraid to speak; I'm afraid Ryle will wake up. I hang up and with
trembling hands I manage to send him my address. I add the entry code so
you can access. Then I send another message that says:
Me: Please let me know with a message when
you arrive. Don't knock on the door.

I crawl into the kitchen, locate my jeans, and put them on. Also the shirt,
which was on the counter. Once dressed, I go to the living room. I consider
going out and meeting Atlas downstairs, but I'm afraid I won't get there
alone. I'm still bleeding from my head and I feel too weak to wait standing
by the door.
I slide back to the floor, clutching the phone with a trembling hand,
without taking my eyes off the screen, waiting for his message.
 Twenty-four agonizing minutes later, the screen lights up.
Atlas: Here.

I get up with difficulty and open the door. Arms wrap around me and
suddenly my face is pressed against a soft surface. I start to cry again.
Weeping and wailing. I cry and tremble.
"Lily," he whispers.
I have never heard anyone pronounce my name with such sadness. He
lifts my face so I can look at him. He examines me with his blue eyes and I
notice the right moment when he sees the wound. The worry fades away,
giving way to another emotion. Looking inside the apartment, he asks:
—Is he still here?
Gonna.
I feel the anger emanating from him and his intention to enter the
apartment. I grab him by his jacket to stop him.
—No, Atlas, please. I just want to get out of here.
I witness the internal struggle he is immersed in as he hesitates whether
to listen to me or go in search of Ryle. Finally, he puts his arm around me
and walks away from the door. He helps me walk to the elevator and, once
down, I lean on him to cross the lobby. Miraculously, we only met one
other person, who was also talking on the phone and not looking at us.
When we reach the parking lot, I get dizzy again. I ask him to walk
slower and instead he picks me up in his arms. I close my eyes until we
reach the car and, shortly after, I notice that we are moving.
I know they're going to have to give me points. I know he's going to take
me to the hospital, but the next thing that comes out of my mouth surprises
even me.
—Don't take me to the General; Take me to any other hospital.
I don't want to meet any of Ryle's colleagues. I hate it. Right now I hate
him more than I ever hated my father, but apparently,
In the midst of all this hate, I still worry about his career. And, when I
realize it, I hate myself as much as I hate him.
 24

Atlas is at the other end of the room. He hasn't taken his eyes off me during
the entire visit. A nurse took blood from me and then treated the cut on my
forehead. So far he hasn't asked me too many questions, although it is
obvious that the wounds I have are the result of an attack. I can't miss the
compassionate look he gives me as he disinfects the bite on my shoulder.
When he finishes, he looks over his shoulder at Atlas. She positions
herself so that he can't see me and says to me:
—I have to ask you a few personal questions. I'm going to ask him to
come out for a moment, okay?
Then I realize he thinks Atlas is the aggressor. Shaking my head, I
respond:
—It wasn't him. Please don't ask him to go out.
The nurse nods in relief and sits down next to me.
—Do you have wounds anywhere else?
I shake my head again, because the parts of me that Ryle has broken
can't be fixed in a hospital.
"Lily?" —he asks, in a low and delicate voice—. Have you been raped?
With tear-filled eyes, I see Atlas turn around and lean his forehead
against the wall.
The nurse waits until I regain eye contact with her to continue speaking.
 —We have a kit for these cases. It's a forensic exam. It's optional, of
course, but in your case it seems advisable.
"They haven't raped me," I repeat. He does not...
"Are you sure, Lily?" —the nurse asks me.
I nod.
—I don't want the kit.
When Atlas turns around, I see the pain clouding his expression. "Lily,
it's necessary," he begs, looking at me, but I deny again.
with the head.
—Atlas, I swear... —I close my eyes tightly and bow my head—. “I’m
not trying to protect him this time,” I whisper. He was about to, but
stopped.
—If you decide to file a complaint, you will need...
"I don't want them to take the test," I repeat, firmly.
There is a knock on the door and a doctor enters, saving me from any
more pleading looks from Atlas.
He and the nurse briefly discuss my injuries, and she stands aside while
the doctor examines my head and shoulder. He shines a flashlight at me to
examine my eyes, checks the medical history and says:
—I would like to rule out a concussion, but, given your situation, I don't
want to ask you for a CT scan. What we will do is keep her under
observation.
—Why don't you want to ask me for a CT scan? —I ask him.
The doctor stands up while answering:
—It is not advisable to perform this type of test on pregnant women
unless it is vital. We will keep her under observation in case of
complications and, if all goes well, we will discharge her.
I don't know if it adds anything because I don't hear anything else from
that moment on.
Nothing.
An enormous pressure takes over my head.
 From my heart.
From the stomach.
Holding the edge of the gurney I'm sitting on, I watch the floor until the
doctor and nurse leave the room.
When the door closes, I remain seated, enveloped in freezing silence. I
see Atlas come closer until his feet are almost touching mine and I feel the
delicate caress of his fingers on my back.
-Did you know?
I release the air sharply and inhale strongly. I shake my head and, when
he hugs me, I cry desperately. I didn't imagine my body was capable of
crying like that.
He never lets go of me while I cry, hating myself.
Because I have done this to myself.
I have allowed it to happen.
"I have become my mother."
"I want to leave," I whisper.
Atlas moves away a little.
—They want you under observation, Lily. I think you should stay.
I look up at him and shake my head.
-I need to get out of here. Please; I want to leave.
He nods and helps me put on my shoes. He takes off his jacket, covers
me with it and we leave the hospital without anyone noticing.
He remains silent as we ride in the car. I look out the window, too
exhausted to cry; too shocked to speak. I feel like I'm underwater.
"Keep swimming."
Atlas does not live in an apartment, but in a house in a small neighborhood
on the outskirts of Boston called Wellesley, where everyone lives in large,
beautiful, well-kept and very expensive chalets.
As we stop in front of the gate, I wonder if he ever married that girl. Her
name was Cassie, I think. I wonder what she thinks of her husband bringing
into their house a girl he was in love with and who has just been attacked.
He will feel sorry for me. You may wonder why I allowed it. You may
wonder why I let things get to this point. You will ask yourself all the
questions that I asked myself when I saw my mother in this situation.
People spend a lot of time wondering why women don't leave their abusers,
but why doesn't anyone think about why men abuse them? Shouldn't we
blame them?
Atlas opens the gate and parks in the garage of the house. I notice that
there are no more cars. Without waiting for him to come help me, I open the
door, get out of the vehicle and follow him to the house. Dial the code to
deactivate the alarm and turn on the lights. I look around me: the kitchen,
the dining room, the living room. Everything is decorated with fine woods
and stainless steel. The kitchen is painted a teal color, the color of the
ocean. If I wasn't having such a hard time, I would have smiled.
«Atlas had continued swimming. Look it now. "He swam to the fucking
Caribbean Sea."
He goes to the fridge, pulls out a bottle of water and walks over to me.
He removes the cap and hands it to me. While I drink, he turns on the light
in the living room and the one in the hallway.
-Do you live alone? —I ask him.
He nods as he returns to the kitchen.
-Are you hungry?
I shake my head. Even if I were hungry, I wouldn't be able to eat right
now.
 "I'll walk you to your room," he tells me. It has a bathroom if you want
to shower.
"Yeah. I want to get the taste of whiskey out of my mouth. I want to get
rid of the hospital smells. I want to rub myself so that the last four hours of
my life go down the drain.
I follow him down the hallway until I reach a guest room. When he turns
on the light I see that there are two boxes on top of a bed and more boxes
stacked against the walls. There is a huge armchair at the other end of the
bedroom, facing the door. Atlas removes the boxes from the bed and stacks
them on the wall with the others.
—I moved a few months ago. I haven't had much time to decorate.
—He goes to one of the closets and opens a drawer—. I'll make the bed.
She takes out sheets and a pillowcase, and starts preparing the bed while
I go into the bathroom and close the door.
Between looking in the mirror, showering, and worrying about what just
happened, I spend half an hour in the bathroom.
I finally open the door, wrapped in a towel. Atlas is no longer in the
bedroom, but he has left me folded clothes on the freshly made bed. There
are some men's pajama pants that are huge on me and a t-shirt that falls
below my knees. I tie my pants and go to bed. I turn off the light and cover
myself over my head.
I cry so hard I don't even make a sound.
 25

It smells like toast.

I stretch out on the bed and smile because Ryle knows toast is my
favorite breakfast.
I open my eyes and the clarity overwhelms me with the force of a head-
on collision. I squeeze my eyelids as I realize where I am and why. The
smell of toast is not because my sweet, loving husband is preparing
breakfast to bring me in bed.
I immediately feel like crying again, but I force myself to get out of bed.
I force myself to focus on the emptiness I feel in my stomach and tell
myself that I will have plenty of time to cry after I have eaten something. I
have to eat if I want to regain my strength.
As I leave the bathroom I notice that someone has changed the position
of the chair. She is no longer facing the door, but towards the bed. In
addition, there is a blanket over the back of the chair. It's obvious that Atlas
spent part of the night here while I was sleeping.
He was probably afraid I would have a concussion.
As I enter the kitchen, I see him move between the refrigerator, the
stove, the counter... For the first time in twelve hours I feel a pang of
something that is not agony, because I remember that he is a chef, one of
the good ones. ., and he is preparing breakfast for me.
He raises his face and sees me enter the kitchen.
“Good morning,” he greets me, trying to adopt a neutral tone.
I hope you're hungry.
 He slides a glass and a carton of orange juice over to me on the counter,
before turning back to the stove.
-Yes I'm hungry.
He looks over his shoulder and cracks a smile. I pour myself a glass of
juice and head to the other end of the kitchen, where there is an eating
corner. There is a newspaper on the table. Without thinking, I pick it up, but
when I see that it is the copy about the best businesses in Boston, my hands
start to shake so hard that I drop it. I close my eyes and sip the juice,
slowly.
Shortly after, Atlas places a plate in front of me and sits down across the
table from me. He brings his plate closer and begins to cut a crêpe.
I look down at my plate and see three crêpes, dipped in syrup and
garnished with whipped cream. On the right are slices of orange and
strawberry. It's so pretty that it tastes bad to eat it, but I pass on everything
because I'm starving.
I start eating with my eyes closed, trying not to let it be too noticeable
that it is the best breakfast I have ever enjoyed in my life. I finally give
myself permission to acknowledge that your restaurant deserves all the
awards it has received, as much as I would like to prevent Ryle and Allysa
from returning there. It is the best restaurant I know.
—Where did you learn to cook? —I ask him.
He takes a sip of coffee before answering:
"When I was in the Marine Corps," he replies, setting his cup down. I
did an internship during the first period and, when I re-enlisted, I already
did so as a cook. He taps his fork on the edge of his plate. Do you like it?
I nod.
—It's delicious, but you're wrong. You already knew how to cook before
you enlisted.
He smiles.
—Do you still remember the cookies?
 I nod again.
—The best I've ever tried.
He leans back in his chair.
—I learned the most basic things alone. My mother worked the
afternoon shift; If I wanted something to eat, I had to prepare it myself. I
didn't feel like starving, so I bought a cookbook at a second-hand flea
market and, over several months, I prepared all the recipes in the book. I
was thirteen years old.
I smile, surprising myself for being able to do it.
—The next time they ask you how you learned to cook, you should tell
them this story. It's much better.
he denies with the head.
—You are the only person who knows anything about my life before I
was nineteen, and I would prefer it to stay that way.
He tells me about his experience as a cook in the army and how he saved
all the money he could to open his own restaurant. He started with a small
coffee shop, which did very well, and then opened Bib's a year and a half
ago.
"It's not bad," he comments modestly.
I look around and look back at him.
—I'd say it's going better than good.
Shrugging, he continues eating. We remain silent until we finish
breakfast, but I can't stop thinking about it. I think about the name of the
restaurant, about what he said in the interview... And, of course, those
thoughts lead me directly to Ryle, and the fury in his voice as he read the
last sentence of the article.
I think Atlas notices my change in attitude, because he remains silent as
he clears the table.
When he's done, he returns to the table, but this time he sits next to me
and rests his hand on mine.
 "I have to go to work for a few hours," he tells me, "but I don't want you
to leave." Stay as long as you need, Lily. And... please don't come home
today.
I notice him so worried that I shake my head. -I
will not come back. I will stay here; I promise
you. "Do you need anything before I leave?" I
shake my head.
—No, I'll be fine.
He gets up and grabs the jacket.
—I'll be back as soon as possible, when the noon shift ends. I'll bring
you something to eat, okay?
I force myself to smile.
He opens a drawer and takes out a pen and paper to write something
down before leaving. When he's gone, I go to the counter to look at what
he's written down. These are instructions to connect the alarm. He also
wrote down his mobile number, although I know it by heart. And the one at
work, and the address of his home and the address of the restaurant.
And at the end, in smaller print, he added: "Keep swimming, Lily."

Dear Ellen:
Hello It's Me. Lily Bloom. Well, technically I'm Lily Kincaid now. I
know it's been a long time since I wrote to you. A lot. After what
happened with Atlas, I didn't dare open the diaries. I didn't even dare
watch your show after class, because it hurt too much to have to watch it
alone. To be honest, everything that had to do with you depressed me.
When I thought of you, I thought of Atlas. And, to be frank, I didn't want
to think about Atlas, and that's why I erased you from my life too.
I'm sorry. I'm sure you didn't miss me, but sometimes the things that
matter most to us are the ones that hurt us the most. AND
In order to overcome that pain you have to cut all the ties and extensions
that tie you to that pain. You were an extension of my pain, that's why I
eliminated you, to save myself some agony.
I'm sure your show is still as great as ever. I've heard that you keep
dancing at the beginning of some of them, but you know what? It doesn't
bother me anymore. On the contrary. I think it is a sign of maturity,
knowing how to appreciate things that are important to others, even if
they are not important to you.
I guess I should update you on my life. My father died. I am
twentyfour years old. I graduated college, worked in marketing for a
while, and now have my own business. It's a flower shop. Yes, one of my
life goals. I did it!
And I also have a husband, but it's not Atlas.
And I live in Boston.
Scary, I know.
The last time I wrote to you I was sixteen years old. I was very bad,
messed up, worried sick about Atlas. Now he doesn't worry me anymore,
but I'm also very bad. Worse than the last time I wrote to you.
I apologize because I never write to you when I'm well. You always
have to put up with my shit, but I guess that's what friends are for, right?
I don't even know where to start. I know you know nothing about my
current life or my husband, Ryle. We have a custom. From time to time
one demands that the other tell the honest truth and at that moment the
other has the obligation to respond with the pure and simple truth, and
say what he really thinks. No secrets.
So here goes... Pure truth.
Get ready.
 I have fallen in love with a man who physically abuses me. And I
can't understand how I could have ended up in this situation coming
from where I come from.
During my adolescence, I often wondered what must be going
through my mother's head after he abused her. I wondered how she
could love a man who had laid hands on her; that he hit her again and
again; that he always promised her that it would not happen again and
that, once again, he attacked her again.
Now I am able to put myself in his place. And I hate him.
I've been sitting on Atlas' couch for four hours, fighting my feelings.
I can't control them; I can't even understand them. I don't know how to
process them. And that's why I've gone back to the old ways, because I
thought it would be good for me to put everything in writing so I could
understand it better. I apologize, Ellen, but get ready, because I'm going
to throw a lot of words at you.
If I had to compare what I feel with something it would be death.
And not the death of just any person, but of that special person, the one
you feel closest to in the world. That person whose death you can't
imagine without crying. That's how I feel, like Ryle died.
It's an astronomical amount of pain. An immense mountain. I feel like
I have lost my best friend, my lover, my husband, my lifeline. But what
differentiates this feeling from death is another emotion that does not have
to accompany authentic death: hatred.
I'm so angry with him, Ellen, that I don't have the words to express
that amount of hate. And yet, in the midst of all the hatred, reasonings,
explanations, excuses emerge from within me. And I think things like, "I
shouldn't have kept the magnet," or "I should have told him about the
tattoo from the beginning," or "I shouldn't have kept the diaries."
 Those kinds of ideas are the worst. They leave me destroyed
because they steal the strength that hate gives me. These excuses force
me to imagine a future with him, a future in which I have taken steps to
prevent him from becoming angry again. I tell myself that I will never
betray him again, that I will never hide anything from him again, that I
will never give him reasons to react that way again. That we'll both have
to work harder from now on to make things work.
In the good and the bad, right?
And I'm sure these were the ideas that went through my mother's
head in the past. Although the difference between her and me was that
she had more worries. He didn't have the financial stability that I have.
She did not have the resources to leave home and provide me with what
she considered proper housing. I didn't want to separate myself from my
father, since I was used to living in a home with a father and mother. I'm
sure this type of reasoning was your worst enemy on more than one
occasion.
I can't get over the idea that I'm going to have a child with this man.
There is a human being that we created together and that is growing
inside of me. And it doesn't matter which option I choose—leave or stay
—I don't like either option for my son. What is better, growing up in a
broken home or one where there is abuse? I feel like I have already
failed my son in this life, and I have only known of his existence for a
day.
Ellen, I would love it if you could respond. I wish you could play a
joke on me right now because my heart needs it.
I have never felt so alone, so broken, so angry, so hurt.
Those who look at these situations from the outside often wonder
how it is possible for women to return to their abuser's home. I
remember reading somewhere that 85 percent
of women relapse. It was before I realized that my relationship was part
of the statistic. At the time, I thought women who acted like that were
stupid and weak. More than once I accused my mother of being one.
But many times, the reason women come back is simply because
they are in love. I love my husband, Ellen. I love many things about him.
I wish I could cleanly get rid of the feelings it awakens in me. I wish it
were as easy as I thought before. Preventing your heart from forgiving
someone who has hurt you is much more difficult than forgiving them.
Now I am a number, I am part of a statistic. What I thought before
about women like me is what other people would think about me now if
they knew my situation.
«How can you love him after what he has done to you? How can
you even consider going back to him?
How sad that this is the first thing that comes to mind when we
learn of a case of abuse. Shouldn't we be tougher on those who abuse
instead of criticizing those who continue to love their abusers?
I think about all the people who have found themselves in this
situation before me. And in those who will live it after me. Do we all
have the same thoughts after experiencing abuse at the hands of
someone we love? Do we always repeat the same phrases?
"In good and in bad, for richer and for poorer, in health and in
sickness, until death do us part."
Maybe those vows shouldn't be taken so literally.
In the good and in the bad?
TO...
The...
Shit.

Lily
 26

I'm lying on the bed in Atlas's guest room, staring at the ceiling. It's a
normal bed, quite comfortable, in fact. But I feel like I'm on a waterbed. Or
maybe on a raft, adrift on the high seas. And I have to overcome the
immense waves, each of which is different from the others. Some are sad;
others, of fury; others of tears; others, of sleep.
From time to time I put my hands on my belly and feel a tiny wave of
love. I don't understand how I can love something so small so much, but
that's how it is. I wonder if it will be a boy or a girl, and what name I will
give it. I wonder if he looks like me or if he looks like Ryle. But then a
wave of anger comes and floods the tiny wave of love.
I feel like it has robbed me of the happiness that every woman should
feel when finding out she is pregnant. I feel like Ryle took her from me last
night and it's one more reason I hate him.
Hating is exhausting.
I force myself to get up and get into the shower. I haven't left the room
for most of the day. Atlas returned several hours ago. He opened the door to
check on me, but I pretended to be asleep.
I feel uncomfortable here. Atlas is the reason Ryle lost his mind last
night and what did I do? Go to him for help. The situation makes me feel
very guilty. I know I shouldn't, but I'm even a little embarrassed, as if
calling Atlas justified Ryle's violent reaction. But I can't think of anywhere
else to go. Need
A couple of days to process things and if I go to a hotel, Ryle could track
me down on the credit card trail. He would also find me if he went to my
mother's house or Allysa's or Lucy's. He also knows Devin, so he'll most
likely try his house too.
And yet, I very much doubt that he dares to come to Atlas's house. At
least for now. If it takes a week to show signs of life, I don't rule it out, but
at the moment I don't think it dares to show itself here.
And that's probably why I haven't left. I feel safer here than anywhere
else. Additionally, Atlas has an alarm; better than better.
I look at the nightstand where the cell phone is. I leave all of Ryle's
messages unread and open Allysa's.
Allysa: Hello, Aunt Lily! Tonight they are sending us home.
Come see us tomorrow when you get off work.

Attached is a photo of her and Rylee that makes me smile. And then cry.
Fucking emotions.
I wait until my eyes are dry before going out to the living room. Atlas is
sitting at the kitchen table, working on his laptop. Seeing me, he smiles and
closes the computer.
-Hello.
Forcing myself to smile back, I glance around the kitchen.
-You have something to eat?
He gets up quickly.
—Yes, yes, sit down; I will prepare something for you.
I settle down on the couch while he gets organized in the kitchen. The
television is on, but it has no volume. I activate it and then connect the
DVR. I see that you have recorded several TV shows, but the only one that
catches my attention is The Ellen DeGeneres Show . Smiling, I look for the
last saved chapter and hit play.
 Atlas brings me a bowl of pasta and a glass of ice water. He glances at
the TV and sits next to me on the couch.
For the next three hours we polished off a week's worth of programs. I
laugh out loud six times, which makes me feel better, but after a break to go
to the bathroom, the weight of reality takes over again.
I sit back down on the couch, next to Atlas. He is leaning back, with his
feet resting on the table. I lean towards him, instinctively, and, just as he did
when we were teenagers, he pulls me to his chest and we watch TV like
that, in silence. He strokes my shoulder with his thumb and I know it's his
way of telling me he's there for whatever I need. What's happening to me
feels bad. And, for the first time since he came looking for me last night, I
feel able to talk about it. I have my head resting on his shoulder and my
hands in my lap. I fiddle with the string of my pajamas that are too big for
me.
"Atlas..." I whisper. I'm sorry I got so angry with you in the restaurant
the other night. You were right. Deep down, I knew you had it, but I didn't
want to believe it. —I raise my head and give him a pitiful smile—. You
can tell me: "I told you so."
He frowns, as if my words hurt him.
—Lily, the last thing I wanted was to be right about this. I prayed every
night that I was wrong.
I grimace, regretting having told him that. I know Atlas isn't like that.
He leans forward and kisses me on the head. I close my eyes, enjoying
the familiarity of the moment, its smell, its touch, the comfort it gives me. I
have never understood that someone can be hard as a rock and, at the same
time, so comforting. But I have always perceived him like this: as if he
could carry the weight of the world alone, but he did not despise the weight
that others carry; on the contrary. He's sorry.
 I was never able to let go of it completely and that makes me feel bad. I
remember the fight Ryle and I had when he found her phone number. I
remember the other fights: the magnet, the article, my diaries, the tattoo...
None of that would have happened if I had let go of the memories of Atlas.
Ryle would have had no reason to be angry.
I cover my face with my hands, realizing that part of me is trying to take
the blame for Ryle's reaction.
«And there is no excuse. None."
I know it's another wave I have to overcome. A wave of absolute
confusion.
Atlas notices my change in attitude.
-Are you OK?
No I'm not. And I'm not because I just realized how much it still hurts
me that Atlas didn't come back to look for me. If he had done it, as he
promised me, I wouldn't have met Ryle and I wouldn't be in this situation.
Yes, I'm definitely confused. How can I be accusing Atlas of what has
happened?
“I think I'm going to go to bed now,” I say quietly, moving away from
him.
I get up and he imitates me.
"I'll be gone most of the day tomorrow," he replies. Will you still be here
when I get back?
I grimace when I hear it. It makes sense that he wants me to get over it
once and for all and get out of here. What the hell am I still doing here?
-No no. I can go to a hotel, nothing happens.
I turn and walk away down the hallway, but he stops me, putting his
hand on my shoulder.
—Lily. —It makes me turn around—. I'm not asking you to leave. I just
wanted to make sure you'd be here. I want you to stay as long as you need.
 His look is so sincere that, if it weren't for the fact that he seems a little
out of place, I would throw my arms around his neck and hug him. Because
the truth is, I don't feel ready to leave yet. I need a couple more days before
making a decision about my life.
“I have to go to work for a while tomorrow,” I tell him, nodding. I need
to take care of some issues. But if you really don't mind, I'd like to stay a
few more days.
"It's not that I don't care, Lily; I prefer that you stay.
I force myself to smile and head to the guest room. I'm glad I have this
refuge to stay until I'm forced to face reality.
And although I admit that, at times, his presence in my life confuses me,
I am very happy to have him.
 27

When I reach for the handle, I feel it trembling. Entering my own business
had never made me afraid... until today.
The place is dark. I turn on the light, holding my breath. I slowly enter
my office, opening the door with caution.
He is nowhere and yet He fills everything.
As I sit behind my desk, I turn on my phone for the first time since I
went to bed last night. I wanted to rest, without having to worry about Ryle
trying to contact me.
When it turns on, I see that I have twenty-nine text messages from Ryle.
Twenty nine. Like the doors he had to knock on to find my apartment last
year.
I don't know whether to laugh or cry at the irony.
I spend the rest of the day looking over my shoulder and turning toward
the door every time it opens. I wonder if my life will be like this from now
on, if I will ever overcome the fear.
I spend half a day doing paperwork and Ryle shows no sign of life.
Allysa calls me after lunch, and I can tell from her tone that she has no idea
that Ryle and I are fighting again. I let her talk for a while about the baby
and then I pretend a customer has arrived and hang up.
My intention is to leave when Lucy returns from lunch; You have half an
hour left.
Ryle enters three minutes later.
I'm alone in the store.
 When I see it, I am paralyzed. I remain behind the counter, with my hand
on the register because from there I have access to the stapler. I know a
stapler isn't a great defensive weapon against a neurosurgeon's arms, but if I
have to use it, I'll use it.
He approaches the counter slowly. The last time I saw him was the other
night, when he was on top of me in our bed. My body reacts by returning to
that moment, and I feel the same emotions again. Fear and anger course
through my veins when he arrives before me.
He raises his hand and places a set of keys on the counter. I look down at
the keys.
"I'm going to England tonight," he tells me. I'll be gone three months. I
have left all the bills paid, so you don't have to worry about anything while
I'm there.
His voice is calm, but the bulging veins in his neck are proof that it's
taking him a lot of effort to maintain his composure.
-You need time. —Swallows hard—. And I want to give it to you. —
Making a face, he pushes the keys towards me —. Come home, Lily. I
won't be there, I promise.
He turns around and heads towards the door. I realize he hasn't even
apologized. I do not get mad; I understand. He knows that making excuses
won't erase what he did. He knows that the best thing for both of them right
now is to be separated.
He knows he made a big mistake, and yet something makes me twist the
dagger a little more.
—Ryle.
He turns to me and I notice him raising a shield between us. He doesn't turn
around completely and is tense as a board as he waits to hear what I have to
say. He knows my words will hurt him. —Do you know what the worst
thing about all this is? —I ask him.
 He does not say anything. He remains looking at me in silence, waiting
for the answer.
—The only thing you should have done when you found my diary was
ask me for the honest truth. I would have answered you honestly. But you
did not. You chose not to ask me for help, and now we will both have to
pay the consequences for the rest of our lives.
He reacts by wincing in pain.
—Lily.
He turns completely towards me.
I raise a hand to stop him from talking.
-No. You can go. Have a good time in England.
I see that there is a hard fight going on inside you. He knows he won't
get anything from me right now, no matter how much I beg for forgiveness.
He knows that his only option is to leave, even if it is what he least wants to
do.
When he finally comes out onto the street, I go to the door and lock it. I
let myself fall, sliding down the wall until I reached the floor. I hug my
knees and bury my face between my legs. I'm shaking so hard my teeth are
chattering. I can't assimilate that part of that man is growing inside me. And
I don't want to think that, one day, I'm going to have to confess it to him.
 28

After Ryle left me the keys, I was debating whether to go home or not. I
even went so far as to ask the taxi driver to take me there, but once at the
door of the building, I was not able to get out of the car. I knew that if I
went home, I'd probably run into Allysa at some point, and I don't feel
ready to talk about the stitches on my forehead. Nor am I ready to enter the
kitchen where Ryle hurt me so much with his words. And much less to
enter the bedroom where it completely destroyed me.
So, instead of going home, I gave the taxi driver the address of Atlas. It's
the only place I feel safe right now. While I'm there I don't have to deal
with the situation.
Atlas has already sent me two messages today to check on me, so when I
get a message shortly before seven, I assume it's from him, but it's not: it's
from Allysa.
Allysa: Are you home yet? Goes up
to pay us a visit. I'm getting bored.

My heart sinks when I read it. He has no idea what has happened. I
wonder if Ryle has told him he's going to England. I start to compose a
response, delete it, and try again, trying to find a good excuse for my
absence.
I can not. I'm in the emergency room.
I have hit my head with
 the happy shelf in the storage room. I
They are putting points.

I hate lying to you, but that will save me from having to explain the cut,
apart from using it as an excuse to justify that I'm not at home.
Allysa: Oh no! Have you gone alone?
Marshall can come over to keep you
company, since Ryle is away.

Okay, he knows Ryle has gone to England, that's something. And he

thinks things are going well between us. Better this way, because that gives
me at least three months before I have to face things.
Well yes, here I am, hiding the dirty rags under the rug, just like my
mother did.
I am not well. I'll be done before
Marshall arrives. I'll come see you tomorrow after
job. give it a kiss
to Rylee for me.

I leave my phone on the bed. It's already night, and I see lights
approaching and someone parking in the driveway to the house. I know it's
not Atlas, because he comes in from the other side and leaves the car in the
garage. My heart races with fear. Will it be Ryle? Has he finally discovered
where Atlas lives?
Moments later, someone knocks on the door with their fist. Repeatedly.
He also rings the doorbell.
I approach the window, on tiptoe, and part the curtain just enough to take
a look. I don't see who's at the door, but there's a truck on the road. It's not
Ryle's.
Could she be Atlas' girlfriend? Cassie?
With the phone in my hand, I walk down the hallway until I reach the
hall. The person outside keeps ringing the doorbell and banging on the
door.
Same time. Whoever it is is ridiculously impatient. If it's Cassie, I've
already started to dislike her.
-Atlas! —a male voice shouts—. Open the fucking door!
Another voice, also male, shouts:
—My balls are freezing! I have them like raisins, man. Open the door!
Before I open the door and tell them that the owner is not home, I send a
message to Atlas, expecting to see him appear at any moment to take care
of the matter personally.
Me: Where are you? There are two men
at the door and I have no idea
Whether I should let them pass or not.

I wait while the guys continue ringing the bell and banging on the door,
but Atlas doesn't answer me. In the end, I walk over and open it, but leave
the chain on.
One of the guys is tall, he must be six feet tall or taller. Despite his
youthful appearance, he has dark hair sprinkled with gray. The other is
somewhat shorter, has light brown hair and a child's face. They both appear
to be in their late twenties; maybe early thirties.
The tallest one makes a face when he sees me.
-And who are you? —he asks me, looking out the door.
—Lily. Who are you?
The shorter one pushes the other away.
—Is Atlas there? -ask.
I don't want to tell them that he's not here, because then they'll know that
I'm here alone. And this week in particular I don't especially trust the male
population.
My phone starts ringing and the three of us jump. It's Atlas. I hit the
"answer" button and put the phone to my ear.
-Hello.
 —It's okay, Lily. They are my friends. I forgot it was Friday. We play
poker every Friday. Now I'll call them and tell them to leave.
I look at the two men who are still there, watching me. I feel bad that
Atlas has to cancel his plans just because I'm occupying his house. I close
the door to release the chain and open it again. With a gesture, I indicate
that they come in.
—No need, Atlas. Don't change your plans. I was about to go to bed
anyway.
-No no. I am on my way. I'll tell them to go away.
With the phone to my ear, I see the two men enter the living room.
"Until now," I say goodbye to Atlas, and hang up the phone.
The next few moments are somewhat awkward: the guys examine me
and I examine them.
-What is your name?
"I'm Darin," the tall one answers.
“Brad,” says the shorter one.
“Lily,” I introduce myself, although I had already told them my name
before.
Atlas will be here soon.
I go to the door to close it and see them relax a little.
Darin heads to the kitchen and helps himself to whatever he wants from
the fridge.
Brad takes off his jacket and hangs it up.
—Do you know how to play poker, Lily?
I shrug.
—I haven't played in a long time, but I used to do it with my friends in
college.
The two head to the dining room table.
—What happened to your head? —Darin asks me, as he sits down.
 He asks me without giving it importance, as if it didn't even occur to him
that there could be a sordid story behind the wound.
I don't know why I feel the urge to answer you with the honest truth.
Maybe I'm curious to know how someone reacts when they find out that my
husband did it to me.
—What happened was... my husband. We argued two nights ago and he
hit me with his head. Atlas took me to the emergency room. They gave me
six stitches and told me I was pregnant. And now I'm here while I decide
what to do with my life.
Poor Darin has remained frozen, motionless, without finishing sitting
down. He has no idea how to respond. From the way he looks at me, I'd say
he thinks I'm crazy.
Brad pulls out a chair and sits down.
“You should wear Rodan and Fields,” he advises, pointing at me.
It is applied with a roller and works great for scars.
I start to laugh when I hear his completely unexpected advice.
“Jeez, Brad,” Darin exclaims, when he finally manages to sit up. You're
worse than your wife at this direct sales thing. You are an advertisement
with legs.
Brad raises his hands.
"Hey, I'm not trying to sell you anything," he defends in an innocent tone.
—. I'm being honest. Those things work. You would know it if you used it
to cure that damn acne.
-Damn you.
“It's like you want to stay a teenager forever,” Brad murmurs. Acne is
not cool when you reach thirty.
Brad pulls out the chair next to him as Darin shuffles the cards. "Sit
down, Lily." One of our friends decided to do the stupid thing
He got married last week, and now his wife won't let him come to poker
night. You can replace him until he gets divorced.
 I had come with the idea of hiding in the room, but these two are making
it difficult for me. I sit next to Brad and hold out my hand.
“Pass me the cards,” I ask Darin, who is shuffling them like a one-armed
baby.
He raises his eyebrows and pushes the cards across the table. I don't
know many games, but I can shuffle like a pro.
I separate the cards into two piles and shuffle them, pressing the tips
with my thumbs as I watch them intertwine, creating a nice effect. Darin
and Brad are staring at the cards when someone calls. This time the door
opens without waiting and a guy walks in wearing an expensive looking
tweed jacket. He also has a scarf around his neck, which he begins to unroll
as soon as he closes the door. He nods at me before walking into the
kitchen.
-Who are you? -asks me.
He is older than the other two, he must be about forty-five. The truth is
that Atlas' friends form an interesting assortment.
"It's Lily," Brad answers. She's married to a jerk and just found out she's
pregnant with the jerk. Lily, this is Jimmy, pompous and arrogant.
“ Pompous and arrogant are the same thing, idiot,” Jimmy corrects him.
He pulls out the chair next to Darin and nods at the deck of cards. Has Atlas
brought you here to fleece us? What kind of person knows how to shuffle
like that?
Smiling, I begin to distribute.
—I guess we'll have to play a game to check it out.

We are going for the third round when Atlas finally arrives. He closes the door
and stares at us. Brad said something funny right before Atlas walked in,
so when our eyes meet, I'm in the middle of a fit of laughter. He nods
toward the kitchen and heads toward it.
“I'm not going,” I say, leaving the cards on the table before getting up to
follow him.
When I get to the kitchen, I find it in a spot that is not visible from the
dining room table. I walk over to him and lean on the counter.
—Do you want me to ask them to leave? -asks me.
I shake my head.
-No, do not do it. I am having a good time. While I play, I don't think
about other things.
When he nods, I get the aroma of aromatic herbs he gives off,
specifically rosemary. The smell makes me want to see him in action at his
restaurant.
-Are you hungry? -asks me.
I shake my head again.
-The truth is, no. I ate a leftover pasta dish a couple of hours ago.
I have my hands resting on each side on the counter. He takes a step
towards me, rests a hand on mine and strokes it with his thumb. I know he
does it to cheer me up, but when he touches me, his skin transmits many
more things to me. A surge of heat rises through my chest as I look down at
our joined hands. Atlas stops caressing me, as if he felt it too. Remove your
hand and take a step back.
“I'm sorry,” he murmurs, turning toward the refrigerator, as if he were
going to look for something, although it's obvious that he's just trying to
spare me the discomfort of what just happened.
I return to the table and grab my cards for the next game. A couple of
minutes later, Atlas joins us and sits next to me. Jimmy shuffles and deals a
new round of cards to everyone.
—Tell us, Atlas. How do you and Lily know each other?
 Atlas takes his cards one by one.
"Lily saved my life when we were kids," he answers without hesitation. He
looks at me and winks, and a wave of guilt drowns me for everything that
gesture makes me feel, especially in these very moments.
complicated. Why is my heart doing this to me?
“Oh, how cute,” Brad comments. First Lily saved your life and now you
save hers.
Atlas puts down the cards and glares at Brad.
-Sorry?
“Relax,” Brad says. Lily and I are already close. She knows I'm joking.
—Brad looks at me—. Your life may suck right now, Lily, but it will get
better. Believe me, I've been there.
Darin bursts out laughing.
—Have you been beaten, gotten pregnant, and had to hide in another
man's house? —he asks Brad.
Atlas slaps the cards down on the table and leans back, dragging his
chair.
-What the hell is wrong with you? —he yells at Darin, but I grab his arm
and squeeze to calm him down.
"Calm down," I tell him. We have become friends before you arrived.
I really don't care if they laugh; It takes away the seriousness of the situation.
He runs a hand through his hair in frustration as he shakes his head.
-I do not understand. You met ten minutes ago.
I start laughing.
—You can discover a lot about another person in ten minutes. —I try to
redirect the conversation—. And you? How do you know each other?
Darin leans forward and points at himself.
—I'm the sous chef at Bib's. —He points to Brad—. He is the dishwasher.
"For now," Brad interrupts. I will move up in the company.
 -And you? —I ask Jimmy.
"Guess it," he answers, with an ironic smile.
From the way he dresses and from the comments of others, who have
called him pompous and arrogant , I suppose he must be the...
—Are you the maître?
Atlas starts laughing.
—It's the valet.
I look at Jimmy with a raised eyebrow. He bets three chips on the table
and says:
-It's true. I park cars in exchange for tips.
"Don't let him fool you," says Atlas. He works as a valet, but only
because he is so rich that he gets bored.
I smile because her story reminds me of Allysa's.
—I have an employee like you. She works because she is bored, and the
truth is that she is by far my best employee.
“Of course,” Jimmy murmurs.
I look at my cards because it's my turn and I throw three pieces on the
table. Atlas's cell phone starts ringing and he takes it out of his pocket. I'm
about to raise the bets with another chip when Atlas excuses himself and
gets up from the table to take the call.
“I'm out,” Brad says, placing his cards clattering on the table.
I look down the hallway where Atlas has hurriedly disappeared and
wonder if it's Cassie or if there's someone else in his life. I know what he
does, I know he has at least three friends, but I don't know anything about
his love life.
Darin lays out his cards. Poker. I show my straight flush and take all the
chips while Darin grunts in protest.
"Doesn't Cassie come to poker nights?" —I ask, trying to get information
out of them that I don't dare ask directly to them.
he.
"Cassie?" Brad asks.
I nod, as I pile my winnings before me.
—Isn't that your girlfriend's name?
Darin bursts out laughing.
—Atlas doesn't have a girlfriend. I've known him for two years and he's
never mentioned any Cassie.
He starts dealing new cards, but I'm trying to assimilate the information I
just received. I grab the first two cards when Atlas re-enters the dining
room.
“Hey, Atlas,” Jimmy calls him. Who the hell is Cassie and why have we
never heard of her?
"Oh shit!"
I'm dying of shame. I grip the cards tighter and try to avoid Atlas's gaze,
but the room falls into such an intense silence that it is impossible to stay
that way.
Atlas is watching Jimmy. He looks back at him. Brad and Darin are
watching me.
Atlas purses his lips for a moment and then admits:
"There's no Cassie."
Our eyes meet for a second, but it's long enough to see the truth in them.
There never was a Cassie.
She lied to me.
Atlas clears his throat before continuing to speak.
—Guys, I should have canceled the meeting. “This week has been… a
little…” He rubs his hand over his mouth and Jimmy stands up when he
sees it. He squeezes Atlas's shoulder and says goodbye saying, "Next week
at my house."
 Atlas nods gratefully. The three of them begin to collect the cards and
tokens. Brad snatches the letters from me, making an apologetic face
because I have frozen, clutching them with all my strength.
"It was nice meeting you, Lily," he tells me.
I don't know where I get the strength to smile and get up. I hug them
goodbye, and when they close the door, Atlas and I are alone.
"Without Cassie."
Cassie has never been in this dining room because Cassie
doesn't exist. "What the hell?"
Atlas hasn't moved from where he was, near the table. Me neither. He is
very stiff, with his arms crossed over his chest. His head is bowed a little,
but he stares at me from where he is, on the other side of the table.
"Why he lied to me?"
Ryle and I weren't even an official couple when I met Atlas at the
restaurant for the first time.
Hell, if Atlas had given me any clue that made me believe that ours had a
chance, I know I would have chosen him over Ryle. At that time, I barely
knew Ryle.
But Atlas didn't say anything. He lied to me when he told me that he had
been in a relationship with someone for a year. Because? Why would he do
something like that unless he didn't want me to think we had a chance?
Maybe I've been wrong all this time. Maybe he never loved me, and he
invented this Cassie to keep me out of his life.
And yet, here I am. Squatting in his house. Fraternizing with his friends.
Eating his food. Using your shower.
I feel tears starting to come to my eyes and the last thing I want right
now is to start crying in front of him. I go around the table and try to get
around him, but I don't get very far because he grabs my hand.
 -Wait.
I stop, but keep turning my back to him.
"Talk to me, Lily."
I notice him behind me, and he still doesn't let go of my hand. I pull her
free and walk to the other end of the dining room.
When I turn to look at him, the first tear falls down my cheek.
—Why didn't you come back to look for me?
He seemed to be prepared for anything except what just came out of my
mouth.
He runs a hand through his hair, walks over to the couch and sits down.
After slowly exhaling, he looks at me with a cautious expression.
"I did it, Lily."
The air remains still in my lungs, neither entering nor leaving, while I try
to process the answer.
"Did he come back for me?"
He crosses his hands between his knees.
—When I graduated from the Marines, the first time, I went to Maine
with the intention of looking for you. By asking around, I found out what
university you had gone to. I didn't know what I was going to find because,
by then, we were no longer the same. We hadn't seen each other for four
years and I knew that many things would have changed, both on your part
and mine.
My knees buckle, so I walk over to the chair next to him and sit down.
"Did he come back to look for me?"
—I spent a whole day walking around campus, looking for you. Finally,
late in the afternoon, I found you. You were on the grass, with a group of
friends. I was watching you for a while, building up the courage to
approach you. You were laughing, you looked happy. I have never seen you
so
vibrant. I have never been so happy to witness someone else's happiness.
Knowing that you were fine...
He pauses and I put my hands on my stomach because it hurts.
It hurts me to know that I was so close to him, without knowing it.
—When I finally started to walk towards you, someone appeared behind
you. One type. He dropped to his knees next to you, and when you saw him,
you smiled and threw your arms around his neck. And then you kissed him.
I close my eyes. He was a guy I dated for six months. He never made me
feel even a small part of the things I felt for Atlas. He exhales sharply and
continues speaking.
—After that, I left. When I found out that you were happy, I experienced
at the same time the worst and the best feeling a person can experience. At
that time, I still thought that my life was not good enough for you. The only
thing I had to offer you was my love, and I always thought you deserved
more than that. The next day, I re-enlisted in the Marines. And now... —He
makes a vague gesture with his arm, as if his life were not impressive.
I bury my face in my hands because I need time to process what he just
told me. I need a few moments of mourning to mourn what could have been
and was not. To accept how things are. How they will never be. I touch my
fingers to the tattoo on my collarbone and wonder if I'll ever be able to fill
the hole in the little heart.
I also wonder if Atlas has ever felt the way I felt when I decided to get
the tattoo: like all the air was leaving my heart.
I still don't understand why he lied to me when we met at the restaurant.
If he felt the same as me, why did he have to invent something like that?
—Why did you tell me you had a girlfriend?
He rubs his face and I read the regret on his face before he begins to
speak.
 —I said it because... you seemed very happy that night. When I saw you
say goodbye to him, it hurt like a stab, but at the same time I was relieved to
see you so well. I didn't want you to worry about me. And I dont know...
I guess I was a little jealous. I don't know, Lily. I regretted telling you from
the first moment.
I cover my mouth with my hand. My mind spins as fast as my heart
beats, presenting me with a ton of possibilities, wondering what would have
happened if he had been honest with me, if he had confessed his true
feelings to me.
"What would things be like now?"
I want to ask you why you did it; why didn't he fight for me, but I don't
need to because I already know the answer. He thought he was giving me
what I wanted, because he has always wanted my happiness above all else.
And, for some stupid reason, he's never believed he could get her on his
side.
«Atlas, always so considerate.»
The more I turn, the harder it is to breathe. I think of Atlas, of Ryle, of
this night, of two nights ago. It's too much.
I get up and head to the guest bedroom. I grab my phone and my bag,
and go back to the living room. Atlas hasn't moved.
“Ryle left for England today,” I tell him. I think I should go home. Could
you take me?
His eyes look at me sadly, and in that moment, I know I'm making the
right decision. Neither of us has gotten over ours; I don't know if we'll ever
make it. I'm starting to think that turning the page in a relationship is
nothing more than a myth. I'm confused, but I know that staying here while
I process everything that's happening in my life won't help me see things
any clearer. I need to eliminate as much confusion as possible, and right
now my feelings for Atlas are at the top of the list.
He purses his lips for a moment, nods, and grabs the keys.
Neither of us says anything as we head to the apartment. Once there, he
doesn't leave me at the door. Park and get out of the car.
"I'll be calmer if you let me accompany you," he tells me. I nod and we
take the elevator to the seventh floor, maintaining the
Same silence as in the car. He follows me to the door of the apartment. I
search for my keys and don't realize my hands are shaking until the third
failed attempt to open the door. Calm, Atlas takes the keys from me, while I
step aside so he can open the door.
"Do you want me to make sure no one is there?" -asks me.
I nod. I know Ryle isn't here because she's gone to England, but I admit
that the thought of going in alone scares me a little.
Atlas enters in front of me and turns on the light. Then explore the rest of
the floor, entering all the rooms and leaving all the lights on. When he
returns to the dining room, he puts his hands in the pockets of his jacket. He
takes a deep breath and tells me:
"I don't know what you want us to do now, Lily."
Yes, he knows it, but he doesn't want to admit it, because we both know
how much it hurts to say goodbye.
I'm not able to look him in the eyes because the look on his face breaks
my heart. I cross my arms over my chest and stare at the ground.
—I have a lot to process, Atlas. Many. And I'm afraid I wouldn't be able
to do it if you were in my life. -He looked into her eyes-. I hope you don't
take this the wrong way, because I assure you that I mean it in the best of
ways.
He looks at me without saying anything for a few seconds, but he doesn't
seem surprised. I notice that he wants to tell me many things. I would also
like to tell you a lot of things, but we are both aware that talking about our
affairs at this time would not be right. I am married. I'm
expecting a baby from another man. And we met in the dining room of an
apartment that that other man bought for me. They don't seem like the best
circumstances to tell each other the things that we should have said to each
other a long time ago.
He looks at the door for a moment, as if he were hesitating whether to
leave or speak. His jaw is so clenched that a muscle jumps. He looks at me
again to answer me:
—If you need me, call me, but only if it's an emergency. I'm not capable
of maintaining a casual relationship with you, Lily.
His words take me by surprise, but I immediately react. I didn't expect
him to admit it now, but he's absolutely right. Since the day we met, there
has been nothing casual about our relationship. We have gone with
everything or we have not gone. That's why he insisted on cutting when he
enlisted in the army. I knew that a casual friendship wouldn't work between
us; It would have been too painful.
And, it seems, everything remains the same.
—Goodbye, Atlas.
Saying those words hurts me almost as much as the first time I had to do
it. Grimacing, he turns around and hurries toward the door. When he comes
out, I lock the door and rest my head on the wood.
Two days ago I was telling myself that it was impossible for my life to
be better than it was. Today I wonder if it could be worse.
I startle when someone knocks on the door. It's only been ten seconds
since Atlas came out, so I know it's him. I turn the key, open the door, and
suddenly find myself stuck to a soft surface. Atlas hugs me tightly, almost
desperately, and kisses my head.
I close my eyes and let the tears I had been holding back fall. I've shed
so many tears for Ryle over the last two days that I don't understand how I
can have any left for Atlas, but the thing is, I
They remain, because they are falling down my cheeks like two waterfalls.
“Lily,” he whispers, still hugging me tightly. I know it's the last thing
you need to hear right now, but I have to because there are too many times
that I have parted ways with you without telling you what I really wanted to
tell you.
He pulls back a little to look at me and, when he sees the tears bathing
my cheeks, he caresses them.
—In the future, if by some miracle circumstances allow you to fall in
love with someone again..., fall in love with me. —He kisses me on the
forehead—. You're still my favorite person, Lily. You'll always be.
He lets go of me and walks away, without waiting for a response.
When I close the door again, I let myself slide to the floor. I feel like my
heart wants to give up, stop beating, and I don't blame it. He has suffered
two disappointments in two days.
I have a feeling it's going to be a long time before either of us starts to
heal.
 29

Allysa sits on the couch where Rylee and I are.

"I miss you so much, Lily, that I'm thinking about going back to work a
day or two a week."
I start laughing surprised by his comment.
—We live in the same building and I stop by to see you almost every
day. How are you going to miss me?
She grimaces and sits on her bent legs.
—Okay, I don't miss you, I miss work. And sometimes I just need to get
out of this house.
It's been six weeks since Rylee was born, so I guess she'd be cleared to
go back to work, but it weirds me out. I didn't think she'd want to go back
now that she has Rylee to entertain her.
—Would you bring the girl to work?
Allysa shakes her head.
—No, the flower shop is too absorbing. Let Marshall watch her while I
work.
"Don't you have people hired to take care of that?"
Marshall is passing by the room and hears me.
—Hush, Lily. Don't talk like a rich girl in front of my daughter.
Blasphemy!
I start laughing. For these things I go up to visit them several times a
week.
It's the only time of day I laugh. It's been six weeks since
Ryle went to England and they still don't know what happened between us.
Not Ryle.
He hasn't told anyone and neither have I. Everyone, including my mother,
thinks that he has gone to Cambridge to study and that things between us
are as usual.
I also haven't told anyone that I'm pregnant. I have been to the doctor
twice. Apparently I was already twelve weeks along when I found out I was
going to have a baby; Now I'm eighteen. I'm still trying to get the idea. I've
been taking the pill since I turned eighteen, but I forgot a few days and that
was enough.
I'm starting to notice it, but since it's cold, it's easy to hide with clothes.
No one notices when you wear a loose sweater and a jacket.
I know I'm going to have to make it public soon, but I feel like Ryle
should be the first to know and I don't want to tell him over the phone. He
will return in six weeks. If I can keep my mouth shut for that long, I'll
decide what to do when I get back.
I look down at Rylee, who is smiling at me. I make faces at him to make
him laugh more. When I'm with them, I can't wait to tell Allysa that I'm
pregnant, but I hold back, because it doesn't feel right to share with her
something that I'm hiding from her brother. I don't want to put her in such a
compromising situation, and that's why I keep silent, even though it costs
me horrors.
—How are you doing with Ryle? —Allysa asks me—. Do you want me
to come back?
I nod my head, but I don't say anything. I always try to divert the
conversation when she brings it up.
Allysa leans back on the couch and asks:
—Are you still comfortable in Cambridge?
“Yes,” I reply, sticking my tongue out at Rylee.
She smiles. I wonder if my baby will look like her. I hope so because I
think it's very cute, although I'm not impartial.
 —Is it clear now with the metro network? —Allysa bursts out laughing
—. Every time I talk to him, he's lost it. You never know if you have to take
line A or B.
"Yes," I answer. It has already been
clarified. Allysa sits bolt upright on the
couch. "Marshall!"
When he enters the room, Allysa takes the child from my arms and
hands her to her father.
—Can you change his diaper?
I don't understand why he asks for it if I just changed it.
Marshall wrinkles his nose and picks up the little girl.
—Are you a stinky baby?
They are both wearing matching one-piece pajamas.
Allysa grabs my hands and pulls me so hard that I scream as I stand up.
-Where are you taking me?
She doesn 't answer. He guides me to his bedroom and, when we are
both inside, he slams the door. He walks up and down the room a couple of
times, and then stops and stares at me.
"You better tell me what's happening right now, Lily!" I tense
up.
“What the hell do you mean?”
I instinctively put my hands on my belly, thinking maybe she noticed,
but she keeps looking into my eyes. He steps forward and jabs a finger into
my chest.
"There's no subway in Cambridge, you idiot!"
-That? -I don't understand anything.
—I made it up! You've been looking very strange for a long time. You
are my best friend, Lily. I know you and I know my brother. I talk to him
every
week and he is not the same either. Something happened between you and I
want to know what it is about. Right now!
"Shit. I'm afraid the truth will come to light sooner than expected. I put my
hands to my mouth slowly, not knowing what to say or, rather, whether to
go into details. Until this moment I had not realized how much it was
bothering me not to be able to talk about all this with
she. I feel a little relieved that he knows me so well.
I walk over to his bed and sit down.
“Allysa,” I whisper, “sit down.” —I know this is going to hurt you
almost as much as it hurts me. He approaches the bed, stands next to me
and takes my hands. I don't even know where to start.
She squeezes my hands, but doesn't say anything.
For the next fifteen minutes, I tell him everything. I tell him about the
fight, I tell him that Atlas came to look for me, that he took me to the
hospital, that I discovered that I was pregnant.
I confess that I have been crying in bed for six weeks until I fell asleep
because I have never felt so alone and scared.
When I finish telling her everything, we are both crying. She hasn't said
anything other than letting out an "oh, Lily" every now and then.
However, you don't need to tell me anything. Ryle is his brother. I know
you want me to consider your past just like last time. I know he will ask me
to fix things with him because he is his brother. We're all supposed to be
one big happy family. Although he remains silent for a long time,
assimilating what I have told him, it is clear to me what he is thinking.
Finally, he looks me in the eyes and squeezes my hands.
—My brother loves you, Lily. He loves you very much. You have changed
his life and turned him into a person that I find difficult to recognize. As your
sister, I wish with all my might that you would find a way to
forgive him. But as your best friend I must tell you that, if you open the
doors of your house to her again, I will withdraw my word from you.
It takes me a few moments to accept what he told me, but when I do, I
start to cry.
She cries with me.
She hugs me and we both cry because we both love Ryle, but, right now,
we both hate him too.
After several minutes of pathetic crying on her bed, Allysa gets up and
goes to get a box of tissues from her closet.
While we dry our eyes and blow our nose, I tell him:
—You are the best friend I have ever had.
She nods.
-I know. And now I'm going to be the best aunt.
He blows his nose again and sniffs, but he's smiling.
—Lily, you're going to have a baby. —She says it with enthusiasm and,
for the first time since I found out I was pregnant, I am able to be happy and
share the happiness with someone—. I didn't want to tell you, but I had
noticed that you had gained weight. I thought you were depressed about
Ryle's absence and that you were stuffing yourself with food.
He goes back to the closet and starts taking things out for me.
—I have a bunch of maternity clothes that I was saving for you.
And, yes, he has so many clothes that he ends up taking down a suitcase
to put the clothes inside. Soon there is no room for anything else.
"I'm never going to wear this," I tell him, showing him a shirt that still
has the label on it. It's designer clothes, it would stain everything.
She bursts out laughing and puts it in her suitcase anyway.
—You don't need to give me anything back. If I get pregnant again, I
will ask my people to buy me more. —He picks up a blouse and hands it to
me—. Here, try this on.
 I take off my shirt and put on my blouse. When I put it in its place, I look
in the mirror and... I look pregnant, like, there's no one to hide this.
Allysa puts her hand on my belly and watches me in the mirror next to
me.
—Do you know if it's a boy or a girl?
I shake my head.
—The truth is that I don't want to know.
—I hope it's a girl. Our daughters would become friends.
"Lily?"
We both turn towards the voice at the same time and see Marshall at the
door. With my eyes fixed on my belly or, more specifically, on the hand
that Allysa has placed on it. Tilting his head, he points at me.
-You...? Lily, have you realized you're pregnant? —he asks me
confused.
Allysa walks towards him slowly and rests her hand on the doorknob.
—There are some things you won't be able to tell anyone if you want her
to continue being your wife. This is one of them. Understood?
Marshall raises his eyebrows and takes a step back.
-Yeah. OK. I get it. Lily is not pregnant. —She gives Allysa a kiss on the
forehead and looks back at me—. I don't congratulate you, Lily, for
absolutely nothing.
Allysa gives him a shove and closes the door before turning to me.
"We have to start planning the baby shower, " he tells me.
-No. I have to tell Ryle first.
She waves her hand in the air, dismissing it.
—We don't need it to plan the party. It will be something between the
two of us and we won't say anything to anyone until he knows about it.
 He goes to get his laptop and, for the first time since I was notified of the
pregnancy, I feel happy to be expecting a baby.
 30

It's so convenient to live so close to Allysa. I just have to take the elevator
and I'm back home, although there are many times when I feel like going
somewhere else. It feels strange to me to live here. Ryle and I were only
here together for a week before we split up and he left for England. I
haven't even had time to feel at home and I already feel dirty, stained. I
haven't been able to sleep in our bedroom since that night; I've been doing it
in the guest room, in my usual bed.
Allysa and Marshall are the only ones who know I'm pregnant. It's been
two weeks since I told him, which means I'm already twenty. I know I
should tell my mother, but Ryle won't be back for several weeks and I still
think he should be the first to know. Although I don't know if I'll be able to
hide my belly from my mother much longer.
I should probably accept the fact that I'm going to have to tell Ryle over
a long distance call. I've been avoiding my mother for two weeks. We've
never gone this long without seeing each other since he moved to Boston. If
you don't tell him something soon, he's going to stand at the door at the
most inopportune moment.
I swear my belly has doubled in size in these last two weeks. If someone
who knows me well sees me, I won't be able to hide it from them. So far, no
one has told me anything at the flower shop. I think I'm at
end of the stage when people ask: "Are you pregnant or chubby?"
I start to turn the key in the front door, but someone has just opened it
from inside the apartment. Before I can close my jacket to hide my belly
from whoever is there, Ryle appears and looks me up and down. I'm
wearing one of the blouses Allysa gave me and it's impossible to hide the
fact that these are maternity clothes.
"Ryle."
“Ryle is here.”
My heart starts to beat against the walls of my chest.
My neck feels itchy, and when I lift my hand and place it there, I also
feel my pulse racing against my palm.
It's out of control because I'm terrified.
He's out of control because I hate him.
He's crazy because he missed him.
His eyes slowly ascend from my belly to my eyes. He gives me a hurt
expression, as if I had just stabbed him in the heart. He takes a step and puts
his hands to his mouth. He begins to shake his head in disbelief, and he
can't hide the fact that he feels deeply betrayed when he says my name.
—Lily...
I remain paralyzed, covering my belly with one hand, trying to protect it,
and the other hand on my chest. I'm too scared to move or talk. I don't want
to do anything until I know how he's going to react.
Reading the fear in my eyes and seeing that I'm breathing raggedly, he
raises a hand to calm me down.
"I'm not going to hurt you, Lily." I have come to talk. —He opens the
door a little more and points towards the living room—. Look.
He moves away and I see that there is someone behind him.
 Now I'm the one who feels betrayed.
"Marshall?"
He raises his hands, defending himself.
"I had no idea he was coming back early, Lily." He sent me a message
asking for help. He begged me not to say anything to you or Issa. Please
don't let Issa divorce me, I'm just a neutral observer.
I shake my head, trying to understand what I'm seeing.
“I asked him to meet me here so you would feel more comfortable,”
Ryle explains. He's here for you, not me.
I look at Marshall, who confirms Ryle's words with a nod of his head.
His presence calms me enough to dare to enter the apartment. Ryle is still in
shock, which is understandable. His gaze continues searching for my belly,
although he quickly looks away, as if it hurt him to see me like this. He runs
his hands through his hair and points down the hallway, looking at
Marshall.
—We'll be in the room. If you hear me start... If I start screaming...
Marshall understands what he's asking.
-I will be here.
As I follow Ryle into the bedroom, I wonder what it must be like to have
no idea what might make you jump, or how disproportionate your reaction
will be. Not being able to control your emotions. For a moment, I feel sorry
for him, but when I look at the bed and remember what happened last night,
that feeling disappears completely.
Ryle pushes the door, but doesn't close it completely. He seems to have
aged a year in the two months we've been apart. He has dark circles under
his eyes, a frown on his face, and he is hunched over. If regret could take
human form, Ryle would be its spitting image.
 With his gaze fixed on my belly, he takes a step towards me and then
another. Act with caution, as normal. He reaches out his hand shyly, asking
permission to touch me. When I nod weakly, he takes another step and
places his hand firmly on my belly.
Feeling the warmth of his hand through my blouse, I close my eyes.
Although I still resent him, that doesn't mean my feelings have gone away.
When someone hurts you, you don't stop loving them from one moment to
the next. It's not the actions that hurt the most, it's the love. If there wasn't
love mixed in the equation, the pain would be easier to bear.
I open my eyes when I notice that he moves his hand. He's shaking his
head, as if he's unable to take in what's happening. I see him get down on
his knees before me.
He hugs me around the waist and rests his lips on my belly. He joins his
hands behind my back and rests his forehead on my stomach.
It's very difficult to describe how I feel about him right now. Like any
mother, I really like to see that she already loves the little one. It has been
very hard not being able to share the news with anyone. And it has been
especially hard not to share it with him, no matter how much resentment I
have for him. I put my hands in his hair as he hugs me. Part of me wants to
scream at him and call the police, which is what I should have done that
night. Another part feels sorry for the little boy who watched his brother die
in his arms. Another wishes she had never met him. And another wishes she
were able to forgive him.
When he lets go of me, he leans on the bed to get up and then sits on it.
He rests his elbows on his knees and covers his mouth with his hands.
I stand next to him, knowing that the time has come for us to talk, even
though I don't feel like anything.
—The pure truth?
He nods.
 I don't know which one of us is supposed to speak first. I don't have
much to say to him at this point, so I wait for him to start.
"I don't even know where to start, Lily."
He rubs his face with his hands.
"How would you like to start with: 'I'm sorry for attacking you,
Lily'?" He looks at me with wide, determined eyes.
"Lily, you have no idea how sorry I am." You have no idea how bad it
has been for me these two months, knowing what I had done to you.
I clench my teeth at the same time as my fingers, which grip the blanket
covering the bed.
I have no idea how bad he's had it?
I shake my head slowly.
"You're the one who has no idea, Ryle." —I stand up, so full of fury and
hatred that I can't fit into my body: I need to expel them. I turn to him and
point at him. You have no idea what you've put me through! Do you know
what it's like to be afraid of dying at the hands of the man you love? Does it
make you want to vomit when you think about what he did to you? No, you
have no idea, Ryle! No fucking idea! Fuck you! Fuck you for what you've
done to me!
I take a deep breath, surprised by my reaction. The rage has come
suddenly, uncontrollable, like a wave. I wipe away my tears and turn my
back on him, unable to look at him.
—Lily... I don't...
-No! I shout, turning towards him. I have not finished! You can't tell
your truth until I finish mine!
He has grabbed his jaw and clenches it, trying to relax it. He looks down
at the ground, unable to bear the anger he sees in my eyes. I take three steps
towards him and drop to my knees on the floor. I put my hands on his legs
to force him to look me in the eyes while I talk to him.
 —Yes, I kept the magnet that Atlas gave me when we were kids. Yes, I
kept the diaries. No, I didn't tell you about the tattoo. Yeah, I probably
should have told you. And, yes, I still love him. And I will love him until I
die, because we share a very important part of my life. And, yes, I'm sure
hearing this hurts you, but none of that gives you the right to do what you
did. Even if you had walked into the room and found us in bed together,
you still wouldn't have the right to put your hand on me, you son of a bitch!
Leaning on his knees, I stand up abruptly.
-Now is your turn! -shout.
I walk around the room. My heart is beating so hard it feels like it wants
to jump out of my chest. I wish I knew how to let it out. I'd set that bastard
free right now if I could.
Several minutes pass and I continue walking without stopping until
Ryle's silence and my fury end up turning into pain.
Crying has left me exhausted. I'm tired of feeling so much. I fall onto the
bed and sob with my head buried in the pillow. I squeeze her so hard I can
barely breathe.
Ryle lies down next to me. He rests a hand on the back of my neck,
gently, trying to calm the pain he is causing me. My eyes are closed and my
face is buried in the pillow, but I notice his head approaching mine very
carefully.
"My truth is that I have nothing to say," he admits, in a low voice. I can
never erase what I did to you. And you won't believe me if I promise it
won't happen again. —He gives me a kiss on the head—. You are
everything to me, Lily. All. When I woke up in this bed that night and saw
you were gone, I knew I couldn't get you back. I came to tell you how sorry
I am. I also wanted to tell you that I have accepted the Minnesota position.
My idea was to say goodbye to you, but, Lily... —With his lips pressed to
my head, he releases his breath abruptly—. Now I can't do it.
You have a part of me growing in your belly and I have already started to
love this baby more than I have loved anyone in my entire life. — Hugging
me tighter he adds, with a broken voice —: Please don't take him away
from me, Lily. Please.
The pain conveyed by his voice resonates within me. When I raise my
tear-soaked face to him, Ryle kisses me desperately and pulls away.
—Please, Lily. I love you, help me.
His lips meet mine once again, briefly. Seeing that I don't reject it, he
tries again a third time.
And a fourth.
When our lips meet for the fifth time, he doesn't pull away. He hugs me
and brings me closer to him. I feel tired and weak, but my body remembers
his. My body has not forgotten that its body can calm all the bad things I am
feeling. Who knows how to treat me with a love that I have been missing
for two months.
"I love you," he whispers against my mouth.
His tongue caresses mine and it's wrong, but it's right, but it hurts.
Suddenly I'm lying on my back and he's on top of me. His touch is
everything I need and everything that shouldn't happen.
He grabs a lock of my hair and I instantly flash back to last night. "I'm in
the kitchen, and he pulls my hair so hard it hurts." He brushes my hair
out of my face and I instantly flash back to last night. "I'm at the door,
and his hand runs over my shoulder just before
bite me with all the strength of his jaw.
He rests his forehead on mine and I instantly go back to the last night.
«I'm in this bed, under him, when he headbutts me so hard
I need six points."
My body stops responding to his as the rage takes over me again.
Noticing that I have tensed up, he stops kissing me.
 When he towers over me and looks me in the eyes, I don't need to say
anything. Our eyes are telling truths purer and starker than those we have
shared with words throughout our entire relationship. My eyes are telling
him that I can't stand him touching me anymore. His eyes are telling me that
he already knows.
He nods slowly.
He moves away from me, sliding down my body until he reaches the
foot of the bed. He sits with his back to me and nods again. He gets up,
slowly, fully aware that I'm not going to forgive him tonight. He heads
towards the door.
"Wait," I order him.
He turns around and looks at me from the door.
Raising my chin, I tell him emphatically:
"I wish this baby wasn't yours, Ryle." I wish with all my might that this
baby wasn't a part of you.
And if Ryle thought his world couldn't crumble any further, he was
wrong.
When he leaves the room, I bury my face in the pillow again. I believed
that if I managed to hurt him like he had hurt me, I would feel that justice
had been done.
But I don't feel anything like that.
I feel vindictive and mean.
"As if I had become my father."
 31

Mom: I miss you.

When will we see each other?

I am left contemplating the text. It's been two days since Ryle found out I'm
pregnant. I know the time has come to tell my mother. I'm not worried
about telling him about the pregnancy; What worries me is having to tell
him about my situation with Ryle.
Me: I miss you too. I'll come see you tomorrow after
work. Could you make lasagna?

When I leave the chat, I get a new message.

Allysa: Come up to dinner with us.
It's homemade pizza night.

I haven't been to Allysa's apartment in a few days, since Ryle came

home. I don't know where he is living, but I imagine he's staying at his
sister's house and the last thing I want to do is share a table with him.
Me: Who will be there?

Allysa: Lily... I would never do that to you. Work until

tomorrow at eight in the morning. There will only be
the three of us.

How well you know me. I respond by telling him that I will go as soon
as I finish at the flower shop.
—What do babies eat at this age?
We are sitting at the table. When I arrived, Rylee was sleeping, but I
woke her up so I could hold her for a while. Allysa didn't care. She told me
that this way he wouldn't wake up when she went to bed.
“Breast milk,” Marshall says, his mouth full. But sometimes I stick my
finger in the soda and put it in his mouth so he can taste it.
"Marshall!" Allysa shouts. You better be joking.
"Of course, it's a joke," he replies, although he doesn't quite convince me.
—And when do they start eating baby food? —I insist.
I think I should know these things before giving birth.
“About four months,” Allysa answers, yawning.
He drops his fork and leans back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. "Do you
want me to take her home so you can sleep one night?"
jerk?
Allysa replies:
-No, it's not necessary.
At the same time Marshall says:
-It would be amazing.
I start laughing.
-I'm serious. I live right here and I don't work tomorrow. Even if I don't
sleep all night, I can sleep tomorrow.
Allysa seems to be considering it.
—I could leave my phone on, in case you need me.
I look down at Rylee and smile.
—Have you heard that? You're coming to sleep at Aunt Lily's house!
With everything Allysa is packing in the diaper bag, you'd think I'd be
taking Rylee on a trip across the country.
—She'll tell you when she's hungry. Do not use the microwave to heat
milk. Put the bottle in...
"I know," I interrupt her. I have prepared about fifty bottles for him since
he was born.
Allysa nods, walks over to the bed and sets the bag down next to me.
Marshall is in the living room, giving Rylee her last bottle of the day, so
Allysa lies down next to me while we wait. He rests his head on one hand
and asks me:
—Do you know what this means?
-No. That?
—Tonight there is sex for dessert. I've been in dry dock for four months.
I wrinkle my nose.
"I didn't need to know."
She bursts out laughing and falls back on the pillow, but quickly sits up.
“Shit,” he says. I should shave my legs. I think it's also been four months
since I last did that.
I start to laugh, but hold my breath when I notice something. Placing my
hand on my belly, I exclaim:
-Oh my God! I just noticed something!
-Oh really?
Allysa rests her hand on my belly and we both sit in silence for the next
five minutes, waiting for it to happen again. And it does, but so weakly that
it is almost impossible to notice. I start laughing when he moves.
"I haven't noticed anything," Allysa protests, grimacing. I suppose it will
be weeks before it is appreciated from the outside. Is this the first time
you've noticed it?
 —Yes, I was afraid I was raising the laziest baby in history. I keep my
hands on my belly, waiting for it to move.
one more time. We sit in silence for a few minutes and I can't help but wish
the circumstances were different. It's Ryle who should be here, next to me,
with his hand on my belly, not Allysa.
I'm about to break down, and Allysa must sense it, because she puts her
hand on top of mine and squeezes it. When I look at her, I see that she is no
longer smiling.
—Lily. I've been wanting to tell you
something for days. Oh my God. I don't
like his tone of voice. -What do you
mean?
She sighs and forces herself to smile, but hers is a sad smile.
—I know you're sad about not having my brother by your side during
your pregnancy. I don't know to what extent he will be involved in raising
the little one, but I want you to know that this is going to be the best
experience of your life. You're going to be an amazing mother, Lily. This
little guy is very lucky. A lot.
I'm glad I'm alone with Allysa right now, because her words make me
laugh, cry, and sniffle like a hormonal teenager. I hug her and thank her.
Your words have stopped me from breaking down and have given me back
the joy I was feeling a few minutes ago.
She smiles and tells me:
—And now take my baby so I can do dirty things with my filthy rich
husband.
I walk around to the edge of the bed and stand up.
—You really know how to remove iron from things. I think it's your
strong point.
She smiles.
-For that we are. Come on, get out of here.
 32

Of all the secrets I have had to keep during these months, the worst thing I
know is having hidden everything from my mother. I don't know how he's
going to take it. I'm sure he'll be happy that I'm pregnant, but I don't know
how he'll feel about Ryle and me being separated. He adores Ryle and,
considering how he usually reacted in these types of situations, I suppose he
will tend to excuse his behavior and try to convince me to open the doors of
the house for him. Frankly, I was afraid that he would convince me, and this
is the main reason why it took me so long to tell him.
Almost every day I feel strong, so angry with him that the idea of
forgiving him doesn't even cross my mind. But from time to time I miss it
so much that it's hard for me to breathe. I miss the moments of laughter, I
miss making love with him, I miss missing him. He worked so many hours
that, when I heard him open the door at night, I would run to look for him
and throw myself into his arms because I missed him so much. I even miss
how much he liked me to do it.
The days when my strength fails are the worst because I want to tell my
mother everything. I have to fight the urge to go over to her house to cuddle
with her on the couch while she tucks my hair behind my ear and tells me
everything is going to be okay. Sometimes, women need the comfort of
their mother, no matter how old they are, to be able to lower their barriers
and stop being strong at all times.
 I spend more than five minutes inside the car, in front of his house,
gathering the courage to go inside. I hate doing this because I know that,
even if I don't want to, I'm going to break his heart. I hate seeing her sad,
and having to admit that I married a man too much like my father is going
to make her very sad.
As I cross the threshold, I see that he is in the kitchen, pouring pasta into
a baking dish. At the moment, I don't take off my coat, for obvious reasons.
I haven't worn a blouse, but even then it's impossible to hide such an
advanced pregnancy, especially from a mother's eyes.
-Hello darling! -greets me.
I walk into the kitchen and hug her sideways as she spoons cheese over
the layers of lasagna. After I put it in the oven, we headed to the dining
room and sat at the table. He leans back in his chair and takes a sip from his
glass of cold tea.
He is smiling. How angry it makes me to have to break this good
moment.
—Lily—she beats me to it—I have to tell you something.
Wow, I don't like this. I had prepared what I had to say to him; I don't
come prepared to endure a talk.
-What's happening? —I ask him, suspiciously.
Grab the glass with both hands before answering:
—I'm dating someone.
I am left speechless.
-Oh really? —I shake my head—. That is...
I'm about to congratulate her, but I'm overcome with worry. And what if
she has run into a man like my father again?
She realizes what I'm thinking and holds both my hands. "He's a good
man, Lily." It couldn't be better; I promise you. I feel a great relief,
because I notice that he means it. His eyes shine
of happiness.
 "Wow," I say, because I'm still surprised by the unexpected turn the
night has taken. I'm glad for you. When will I meet him?
 "Tonight, if you want," he replies. I can invite him to dinner with us.
I shake my head.
—No, now is not a good time.
He squeezes my hand when he realizes that I have come to talk to him
about something important. I decide to start with the good news.
I get up and take off my jacket. At first, he doesn't give it any
importance; He thinks I'm getting comfortable. But then I take one of his
hands and place it on my belly.
—You're going to be a grandmother.
He opens his eyes wide and, for a few moments, he is speechless. But
immediately her eyes fill with tears, she jumps to her feet and hugs me.
—Lily! —he exclaims—. As soon? —He turns away from me, smiling
—. It went very fast. Were you looking for it? It wasn't that long ago that
you got married.
I shake my head.
—No, I was the first one surprised, I assure you.
She starts laughing and, after another hug, we sit down again. I try to
smile, but the smile comes out weak; It is not that of a happy mother-to-be,
and she realizes it almost immediately. Covering his mouth with his hand,
he whispers:
—Honey, what's wrong?
Until this moment I have fought to stay strong, to not feel sorry for
myself in front of others, but here, in my mother's house, I want to be weak
for a while. I want to stop fighting; Let her be the one to take the reins, the
one to hug me and tell me that everything is going to be okay. And for the
next fifteen minutes, as I cry in his arms, that's exactly what I do. I stop
fighting because I need someone else to do it for me.
 I'll spare you the details of our relationship, but I'll tell you the most
important thing: that he has attacked me on more than one occasion and that
I don't know what to do. That I'm afraid of raising the baby alone, that I'm
afraid of making the wrong decision, that I'm afraid that I haven't reacted
forcefully enough by not reporting it, that I'm afraid that I'm getting carried
away by hormones and that I don't know if I'm exaggerating everything.
Basically I confess everything that, until now, I have not been able to
confess to myself.
He goes to get paper napkins from the kitchen and returns to the table.
After we dry our eyes, my mother plays with the napkin, crumpling it and
turning it over as she watches it.
—Do you want me to come home? -asks me.
I'm not saying yes, but I'm not saying no either. For the first time since
that night, I am being totally honest, with her and with me. Maybe because
she is the only person I know who has been through this; the only one
capable of understanding the enormous confusion I am experiencing.
I shake my head, but shrug at the same time. —A good part of me feels
like I won't be able to trust him anymore. But
an even larger part is mourning what we had. We had such a good time
together, mom... At your side I have enjoyed some of the best moments of
my life. Sometimes it's too hard for me to give up those moments. —I dry
my tears once again—. Sometimes, when I miss him a lot, I tell myself that
maybe things weren't that bad; that maybe it would pay me to put up with
his bad moments so I could enjoy the good ones.
My mother rests her hand on mine and caresses it with her thumb. "I
totally understand what you mean, Lily, but the last thing I said
you must do is lose sight of your limit. Please don't let it happen. I do not
understand what he wants to tell me. Seeing my confused expression,
He squeezes my arm and explains it to me in more detail.
 —We all have a limit, a limit up to which we are willing to endure
before breaking. When I married your father, I knew exactly where my
limit was. But little by little, with each incident, the limit shifted a little.
And it moved again. The first time your father hit me, he apologized
immediately and swore it wouldn't happen again. The second time, he
apologized even more. The third time it happened, it was no longer a hit,
but a beating. And, each of those times, I forgave him. The fourth time was
just a slap. And when he gave it to me, I felt relief. I remember thinking, At
least he didn't beat me up this time. "It hasn't been that bad."
He wipes his eyes with the napkin and tells me:
—Each incident breaks your limits a little. Every time you stay home,
it's harder to leave the next time. In the end, you stop seeing the limit. You
think: "I've lasted five years, why can't I last five more?"
He takes my hands and squeezes them as I cry.
"Don't be like me, Lily." I know you think he loves you, and I'm sure he
does, but he doesn't do it the way he should. He doesn't love you the way
you deserve to be loved. If Ryle loved you well, he wouldn't let you forgive
him. He would make the decision himself. He would leave you, because it
would be the only way to be sure of not hurting you again. That's the kind
of love a woman deserves, Lily.
I wish with all my heart that my mother hadn't had to learn these things
from her own experience. I hug her tightly.
For some reason, before entering I thought I would have to defend
myself against her. The possibility that I would learn so much from her had
not crossed my mind. And I don't know why I'm surprised. In the past I
thought that my mother was a weak woman, but the truth is that she is one
of the strongest women I know.
"Mom..." I pull away a little to look at her face. When I grow up, I want
to be like you.
 She bursts out laughing and brushes my hair out of my face. From the
way she looks at me, I see that she would gladly change herself for me. My
pain hurts him more than his hurt in the past.
-I want to tell you something. "Take my hands again." On the day of
your father's funeral, I know you were not at a loss for words, Lily. You
stood at that lectern and refused to say anything good about that man. I have
never felt so proud of you. You have been the only person who has
defended me. You always seemed brave, even if you saw me scared. —As a
tear falls down her cheek, she adds—: Be that girl, Lily. Be brave and
daring.
 33

—What am I going to do with three little chairs?

I'm sitting on Allysa's couch, looking at the presents. Today was the day
of the baby shower that Allysa organized for me. My mother came, and
Ryle's mother didn't want to miss it either, but now she's in the guest room,
sleeping, because she couldn't handle the jet-lag anymore. The girls from
the flower shop and a few colleagues from my previous job have also come.
Not even Devin was missing. The truth is that it has been very fun, although
I was very lazy.
“That's why I told you to make a gift list, so they wouldn't be repeated,”
Allysa reminds me.
Sigh.
"I suppose I can ask my mother to return hers." He has already given me
too many things.
I get up to collect all the things they brought me. Marshall has offered to
help me carry them down to my apartment, and Allysa gets moving, helping
me stuff them into large trash bags. I hold the bags open while she puts the
gifts inside. Now I'm the one who's pregnant. I'm already thirty weeks, so
it's my turn to do the easy job of keeping the bag open while she bends
down and picks up.
We've got everything bagged up and Marshall is making his second trip
to my house when I open the door to Allysa's attic, ready to drag another
trash bag full of gifts to the elevator. What not
What I was expecting was to see Ryle appear, who is on the other side of
the door, looking at me. We both seem equally surprised to see each other,
which isn't surprising considering we haven't spoken since we argued three
months ago.
However, it is something that had to happen sooner or later. I can't be
best friends with my husband's sister and live in the same apartment
building as her without running into her one day.
I'm sure he knew the baby shower was today, since his mother traveled
from England to be here. Despite everything, he seems surprised to see
everything behind me. I wonder if his presence here is a coincidence or if
he came on purpose. He looks down at the bag I'm carrying and snatches it
from me.
-Leaves; I already carry it.
I allow it. He grabs one more bag and puts them both down while I
gather my things. He and Marshall walk through the door just as I'm about
to leave.
Ryle grabs the last bag of gifts and heads back to the exit. I follow him
and see that Marshall asks me with his eyes if it's okay for Ryle to
accompany me to the apartment. I respond by nodding silently. I can't keep
avoiding Ryle forever, so this is as good a time as any to talk about how
we're going to move forward with our relationship.
There are only a few floors between the penthouse and my house, but the
elevator ride to Ryle feels like forever. I catch him looking at my belly out
of the corner of his eye a couple of times and I wonder what he must think
when he sees me after three months.
The door to the apartment isn't locked, so I push it open and he follows
me. He carries the last bags to the baby's room and I hear him moving
things around.
 I stay in the kitchen and start cleaning things that were already clean. My
heart is in my throat, knowing he is home. In these moments, I am not
afraid; I'm just nervous. I wish I had been more prepared for this match,
because there is nothing I hate more than a confrontation. But I know we
need to talk about the baby and our future. The thing is that I don't want to;
not yet.
He walks down the hall and enters the kitchen. I surprise him again by
staring at my belly, although he looks away when he realizes.
"Do you want me to set up the crib while I'm here?"
I should probably tell him no, but this man bears half the responsibility
for her being pregnant. If he offers to do some of the work, I'm not going to
say no, no matter how angry I am with him.
—Yes, it would be a great help.
He points towards the laundry room.
—Is my toolbox still there?
When I nod, he heads that way. I open the refrigerator and look inside so
I don't have to look at it when I walk back through the kitchen. When I hear
he's back in the baby's room, I close the refrigerator, rest my forehead on
the door, and hold on tightly to the handle. I take a deep breath and let it out
slowly as I try to analyze everything I'm feeling.
Ryle is downright handsome. I hadn't seen him in so long that I had
forgotten how attractive he is. I have to fight the urge to run into the room
and throw myself into his arms. I need to feel his mouth on mine. I need
him to tell me how much he loves me. I need him to lie next to me on the
bed and rest his hand on my belly, as I have imagined so many times.
It would be so easy... My life would become so much easier if I forgave
him and we lived together at home again.
 I close my eyes and repeat the words my mother told me: "If Ryle loved
you well, he wouldn't let you forgive him."
And, thanks to my mother's advice, I don't run down the hallway.

I stay doing things in the kitchen while he is still in the room, setting up the
crib. After an hour I have to walk past the door because I need the cell
phone charger, which is in my room. On my way back, I stop in front of the
door.
The crib is already assembled. He even put bedding on it. He is looking
at the empty crib, holding onto the railing. He is so still and quiet that he
looks like a statue. Lost in his thoughts, he doesn't even notice that I'm at
the door. I wonder what he's thinking. In the baby with whom he will not
share a roof when he sleeps in this crib?
Up until this point, she wasn't even sure he wanted to be a part of the
baby's life, but the look on his face leaves no room for doubt. I have never
seen so much sadness condensed on a face, and I'm not even looking
straight at it. I have the feeling that the sadness you feel right now has
nothing to do with me, but is directed at your son.
He looks up and sees me at the door. Moving away from the crib, he
breaks the trance he had fallen into.
-It's ready. —He points to the crib before returning the tools to the box
—. Do you want me to do something else while I'm here?
I shake my head as I walk over to the crib to admire it. Since I still don't
know if the baby is a boy or a girl, I have decided to decorate the room with
natural motifs. The bedding is green and tan, with drawings of plants and
trees. It matches the curtains and soon I hope it will also match a mural that
I intend
paint myself. I've also thought about bringing some plants from the florist. I
smile as I see the baby's room starting to take shape. Ryle has also installed
the cell phone. I plug it in and Brahms' lullaby starts playing. I watch the
phone make a complete revolution and turn to Ryle. He has moved away a
little and is looking at me.
As I look back at him, I think about how easy it is for us humans to make
value judgments in any circumstance, from the outside. Like me, for
example, who spent years judging my mother's situation.
It is easy to think from the outside that we would never put up with
something like that and that we would leave that person who has mistreated
us without looking back. It is easy to say that we could not continue loving
someone who mistreats us when we are not the ones in love with that
person.
But when you have to live it directly, it turns out that it is not so easy to
hate the person who has mistreated you, when the rest of the time you
consider it a blessing, a gift of life.
Ryle's eyes light up with a spark of hope. I don't like that he's able to see
that I've temporarily lowered my defenses. When he takes a step towards
me, I know he's about to pull me into a hug, so I quickly back away to stop
him.
And, suddenly, the wall rises between us again.
Allowing him into the house has been a giant step for me. I hope you
realize it.
If he has felt rejected, he hides it behind a stoic expression. With the
tools under one arm, pick up the box the crib came in with the other hand. It
is full of all the things left over after assembly.
“I'm taking this to the dumpster to throw it away,” he says, heading to
the door. If you need help with anything else, just let me know, okay?
I nod and manage to murmur:
-Thank you.
 When the door closes, I turn and look at the crib. My eyes fill with tears,
but this time I'm not crying for myself or the baby.
I'm crying for Ryle because even though he's responsible for the
situation he's in, I know how sorry he is. And when you love someone,
seeing them like this makes you sad.
Neither of them has brought up the topic of separation; not even that of a
possible reconciliation. We also haven't talked about what will happen
when the baby is born, in ten weeks.
I'm not ready for that conversation and the least you can do for me right
now is be patient.
The patience he owes me for all the times he lost it.
 3. 4

When I finish cleaning the brushes, I return to the baby's room to admire
my work. Yesterday I spent all day painting the mural, which I finished
today.
It's been two weeks since Ryle set up the crib. Now that I've finished
painting the mural and brought in several plants from the store, I feel like
the room is finally ready. I look around and feel a little sad that there is no
one here to share this moment. I pick up my phone and send Allysa a
message.
Me: I finished the mural!
Come down and take a look.

Allysa: I'm not home, I went to run errands.

Tomorrow I will definitely go see him.

I frown and try my mother. I know that he works tomorrow, but I also
know that he will be as excited as I am to see the finished room.
Me: Would you like to go downtown?
tonight? I'm finally done
to tidy up the room.

Mom: I can't. It's concert night at school and it will

end late. I can not wait to see her. I'll stop by there
tomorrow!

I sit in the rocking chair, knowing I shouldn't do what I'm about to do,
but I do it anyway.
 Me: The room is ready.
Do you want to see it?

As soon as I send the message, I feel my nerves on edge, as if they were

bare wires. I stare glued to the screen until his response comes.
Ryle: Of course. Now I'm coming down.

I get up quickly and do some last minute touch-ups. I fluff the cushions
on the two-seater sofa and straighten one of the paintings hanging on the
wall. I'm reaching the door when I hear him knock with his knuckles. I open
and...
"Shit! "He's wearing surgical
pajamas." I step aside to let him pass.
—Allysa told me that you were going to paint a mural.
I follow him down the hallway.
“It took me two days to finish it,” I tell him. I'm as tired as if I've run a
marathon, and all I've done is walk up and down the stairs a few times.
He gives me a concerned look over his shoulder. He is worried that I
climbed the ladder when I was alone. You shouldn't worry; I have
everything under control.
When we get to the room, he stops at the door. On the opposite wall I
have painted a garden and an orchard. I have drawn all the fruits and
vegetables that have come to mind. I'm not very good at drawing, but it's
amazing what you can do with a projector and tracing paper.
-Caramba! —Ryle exclaims.
I smile when I notice the surprise in his voice. He's not pretending, I
know him well. He enters the room and looks around, still shaking his head.
—Lily, it's..., wow.
 If I was with Allysa, I would have been jumping up and down and
clapping. But I'm with Ryle, and with the things that have happened
between us lately, it would be a little strange.
He approaches the window, where I have hung a swing. He gives it a
little nudge so it sways from side to side.
"It also moves from front to back," I inform him.
I don't know how familiar you are with baby swings, but I was shocked
when I found out.
He walks over to the changing table and grabs a diaper. He unfolds it
and holds it in the air.
"It's tiny," he comments. I don't remember Rylee being that little.
Hearing Rylee's name makes me sad. We have been separated since
night he was born, so I've never seen him interact with her.
Ryle folds the diaper and puts it back in place. When he turns to me, he
smiles, raises his hands, and walks around, pointing around the room.
"It's fantastic, Lily," he tells me. All of her. "You're really doing it..." He
lowers his hands and the smile fades from his face. You're doing really
well.
The air seems to thin around me. Suddenly it's hard for me to breathe
because, without knowing why, I really want to cry. I really enjoyed sharing
this moment and I am sad that we have not been able to share more
moments like this during pregnancy. But, as much as I liked it, I'm afraid
I'm giving him false hope.
Now that you've seen the room, I don't know what to do. It's obvious that
we have a long conversation pending, but I don't even know where to start.
Not how. I go to the rocking chair and sit down.
—The pure truth? —I propose, looking him in the eyes.
He inhales and releases it, nodding, before sitting down on the couch.
—Please, Lily. Tell me you're ready for this talk.
 His reaction calms me down a bit, because it shows me that he is open to
dialogue. I wrap my arms around my belly and lean forward in the rocking
chair.
-You first.
He brings his hands together and places them between his knees. He
gives me a look so frank and sincere that I end up looking away.
"I don't know what you expect from me, Lily." I don't know what role
you want me to play in this. I'm trying to give you all the time and space
you need, but you can't imagine how much I wish I could help you more. I
want to be part of our baby's life. I want to be your husband and I want to
do it well, but I have no idea what you want.
His words make me feel guilty. Despite what happened in the past, he is
still the father of this baby. Legally, you have the right to practice as such,
whether I like it or not. And the truth is that I want it to be. I want him to be
a good father, but I can't deny that I'm still scared. And I know I have to
bring it up.
—I will never object to you being part of your son's life, Ryle. And I'm
glad to know that you want to be involved in his upbringing, but...
He leans forward and buries his face in his hands at that last word.
—What kind of mother would I be if I didn't care about your character,
even a little? How can I not worry about you losing control? How can I be
sure it won't happen to you while you're alone with the baby?
His eyes are filled with such agony that I fear they will overflow. He
shakes his head insistently.
—Lily, I have never...
"I know, Ryle." I know you would never intentionally hurt your own
child. I don't even think you attacked me on purpose, but the fact is that you
did. Believe me, I want to trust that you would never do something like that.
My father only mistreated my mother. There are many men, and also
women, who mistreat their partners without losing control with anyone else.
I want to believe you with all my strength, but you must understand my
doubts. I will never deny you a relationship with your son... or daughter, but
you are going to have to be very patient while you rebuild the trust you
broke.
He nods. I suppose you are aware that I am giving you much more than
you deserve.
"Of course," he tells me. You set the conditions, at all times, okay?
Ryle puts his hands together again and nervously bites his lower lip. I
sense that you want to say something else, but you are wondering if it is
wise to do so.
-Say what you want; Take advantage of the fact that I am now in the
mood to listen to you.
He throws his head back and looks at the ceiling. I don't know what he
means, but it's obvious that it's not easy for him. I don't know if this is a
complicated question or if it's my answer that scares him.
-And what about us? —he whispers.
I rest my head on the rocking chair and sigh. I knew this question would
come at some point, but I don't know how to answer it when I don't even
have the answer myself. It seems easy, since there are only two options,
divorce or reconciliation, but I don't feel like one or the other.
“I don't want to give you false hope, Ryle,” I say quietly. If I had to
choose today... I'd probably choose divorce, but frankly, I don't know how
much pregnancy hormones affect me. I don't think it would be fair to either
of us to make a decision before the baby is born.
He, trembling, releases his breath, puts his hand on the back of his neck
and squeezes hard. Then he stands up and looks straight at me.
-Thank you. For inviting me... and for the conversation. I've wanted to
come see you every day since I set up the crib, but I didn't know how you
would take it.
 "I don't know how I would have taken it either," I answer with total
sincerity.
I try to get out of the rocking chair, but it hasn't been an easy task for me
for a week. Ryle walks over, shakes my hand, and helps me do it.
I don't know how I'm supposed to make it to the day of delivery if I'm no
longer able to get up from a chair without making all kinds of noises.
When I'm standing, he doesn't let go of my hand immediately. We are
very close and I know that if I looked at him I would feel things, but I don't
want to feel things for him.
He reaches for my other hand and holds them both, at the height of my
hips. He intertwines his fingers with mine and the gesture provokes
sensations in me that go straight to my heart. I rest my forehead on his chest
and close my eyes. He leaves his cheek on my head and we remain like that,
motionless, as if we were afraid to move. It scares me because I fear I won't
be strong enough to resist if he kisses me. He's scared because he's afraid
I'll walk away if he does it.
For what seems like five minutes, neither of us moves a muscle.
“Ryle,” I finally say. Can you promise me something? —I notice that he
nods silently—. Until the baby is born, please don't try to convince me to
forgive you. And please don't try to kiss me. —I move away from his chest
and look up. I need to deal with one cataclysm after another, and now my
absolute priority is the birth of the baby. I don't want other things weighing
me down or confusing me; I have enough with what I have.
He squeezes my hands to encourage me.
—One cataclysm after another; I get it.
I smile, relieved to have finally had this conversation. I know I haven't
made a decision yet about the future of our relationship, but I already feel
like I'm breathing easier knowing that we agree on the most basic things.
 He lets go of my hands and says:
—I'm late for duty. He points his thumb over his shoulder. I have to go.
I nod and walk him to the door. When I close up and am alone at home, I
realize that I have a smile on my face.
I'm still very angry with him for putting us in this situation, but I smile
because we have taken an important step. Sometimes parents have to find a
mature solution to their conflicts, for the good of their children.
And that's what we just did. We are learning to handle this situation
before adding our son to the equation.
 35

It smells like toast.

I lie in bed and smile because Ryle knows that toast is my favorite
breakfast. I lay there for a while, with no intention of getting up. I feel like
it would take three men to get me out of bed today. Finally I take a deep
breath, drop my feet to the floor, and push myself up.
The first thing I do is piss. I feel like I don't do anything else all day.
And throughout the night. I'm due in two days and the doctor says it could
be another week. I went on maternity leave last week, so now my life
consists of peeing and watching TV.
When I get to the kitchen, I see Ryle stirring a pan of scrambled eggs.
He turns around when he hears me enter.
"Good morning," he greets me. Is the baby not here
yet? I shake my head and rest my hand on my tripon.
—No, but tonight I went to the bathroom nine times.
Ryle bursts out laughing.
—Wow, you've broken your own record. —Serve the eggs on a plate
with the toast and bacon. He turns around, leaves the plate on the table and
says goodbye, giving me a kiss on the head. Leave. I'm late. I'll leave the
phone connected.
I smile when I see what he has prepared for me for breakfast. Okay,
yeah, I had forgotten about the food. My life consists of peeing, watching
TV and eating.
 “Thank you,” I reply happily, before taking the plate to the couch and
turning on the TV.
Ryle, meanwhile, hastily gathers his things from the living room.
—I'll come check on you at noon. I'm finishing very late tonight, but
Allysa told me she could come over and make you dinner.
I grimace.
"I'm fine, Ryle." The doctor said relative rest , not absolute .
He opens the door, but stops before leaving, as if he had forgotten
something. He runs towards me, leans down and presses his lips to my
belly.
"I'll double your pay if you dare to go out today," he tells the baby.
Talk to him a lot. Two weeks ago I finally felt comfortable enough
around him to let him touch my belly when the baby kicked. Since then, he
stops by my house from time to time to talk to my stomach and he barely
even looks at me. I don't mind; On the contrary, I like to see the excitement
that being a father makes him.
I grab the blanket Ryle used to cover himself on the couch last night and
cover myself with it. He's been sleeping here for a week, just in case I go
into labor. At first I didn't see it clearly, but the truth is that it has been a
great help to me. I'm still sleeping in the guest room. The third room is now
the baby's room, which means the master bedroom is free. Ryle could sleep
there, but he prefers to sleep on the couch. I guess the memories of what
happened in that room torture him as much as they do me, so neither of us
uses it.
The last few weeks have been pretty good. Apart from the fact that there
is no type of physical contact between us, the relationship has become quite
normal. He's still working hard, but on the nights when he's off duty, I've
gone back up to Marshall and Allysa's house and we all have dinner
together. We never eat alone. We don't do anything that could resemble a
date. I'm still trying to address a cataclysm behind
from another, so until the baby is born and the hormones return to normal, I
refuse to make decisions about my marriage.
I know I'm probably using pregnancy as an excuse to postpone such an
inevitable and unpleasant decision, but it's the advantage of being pregnant
that I can allow myself to be a little selfish.
When I hear my cell phone ring, I let my head fall back on the couch and
groan. I have the phone in the kitchen, that is, about five meters away.
"Buff..."
I push myself to get up, but I can't.
I try again.
"Well no. I'm still sitting."
I grab the armrest and, this time, I stand up.
"The third time lucky."
When I get up, I pour the glass of water over myself. I grunt, but then
hold my breath.
"I didn't have a glass of water."
Shit.
I look down and see water running down my leg. The phone keeps
ringing in the kitchen. I head over there like a dizzy duck and respond.
-Hello.
—Hello, I'm Lucy. A quick question. The order for red roses has been
ruined during the journey, and today we have the funeral of the Levenbergs,
who insisted that they wanted red roses to place on the coffin. Is there an
emergency plan?
—Yes, call the florist on Broadway. They owe me a favor.
-Okay thanks!
I'm going to hang up to call Ryle and tell him my water just broke, but I
hear Lucy:
 -Wait!
I put the phone to my ear again.
—About those bills... Did you want me to pay them today or wait
until...? —You can wait, nothing happens.
I try to hang up one more time, but Lucy yells my name again and asks
me something else.
“Lucy,” I interrupt calmly. We're going to have to leave all this for
another time. I think my water just broke.
There is a pause, but then he shouts again:
—Oh! OH! Runs!
As I hang up, I feel the first stab of pain. I grimace and call Ryle, who
answers on the first ring.
—Do I have to turn around?
-Yeah.
-God! Oh really? Is it coming?
-Yeah.
—Lily! —he exclaims excitedly before hanging up.
I spend the next few minutes gathering things to go to the hospital. I
already have the bag ready, but I feel dirty, so I get into the shower. The
second contraction comes ten minutes after the first. I lean forward and hug
my belly, while the hot water falls on my back. As the contraction is
coming to an end, I hear the bathroom door open.
—Are you in the shower? —he asks me strangely—. Lily, get out of the
shower. Let's go!
—Pass me a towel.
Ryle's hand appears behind the shower curtain seconds later.
It's weird hiding your body from your own husband.
The towel doesn't completely cover me. It covers my tits, but then it
opens over my belly, forming a vee.
 A new contraction hits me just as I'm getting out of the shower. Ryle
takes my hand and helps me breathe through it before walking me to the
bedroom. I'm choosing the clothes I'm going to wear to the hospital when I
turn around and find him staring at my belly. I'm not able to decipher the
expression on his face.
When he looks me in the eyes, I stop what I was doing. For a few
moments I can't tell if he's about to frown or smile. He makes a face that is
a combination of both. Then he releases his breath abruptly and looks at my
belly again.
"You look beautiful," he whispers.
I feel a stab of pain in my chest that has nothing to do with the
contractions. I realize it's the first time he's seen me like this; with the baby
growing inside me.
I approach him and take his hand. I place her on my belly and hold her
there. He smiles at me, stroking it with his thumb. It is a precious moment;
one of our best moments.
—Thank you, Lily.
I read it in his face, I notice it in the way he touches me, in his eyes. He's
not thanking me for this specific scene; He is thanking me for allowing him
to spend time with his son. I grunt, bending forward.
—I shit the bitch.
"The beautiful moment is over."
Ryle helps me get dressed. Take everything I tell you and we head to the
elevator. Slowly. I have a contraction halfway through.
“You should tell Allysa,” I tell her as we leave the parking lot. -I'm
driving; I'll call her when we get to the hospital. and to you
mother.
I nod. I could call them, but I'd rather make sure we get to the hospital
first, because I have a feeling this
baby has put the direct and that he wouldn't mind coming into the world
right here, in the car.
Once in the hospital, the contractions happen with less than a minute
between them. By the time the doctor is ready and I have been moved to a
bed, I am dilated to nine centimeters. Five minutes later, they ask me to
push. Everything happens so fast that Ryle doesn't have time to call anyone.
Every time I push, I squeeze Ryle's hand. For a moment I think about
how important that hand is to his career, but he doesn't complain. She
allows me to squeeze her as hard as I want, and that's what I do.
"The head is almost out," the doctor announces. A few more pushes.
I don't know how to describe the next few minutes. They are a whirlwind
of pain, gasping, anxiety and undeniable euphoria. And pressure. A lot of
pressure, like he was about to explode. And then...
-It's a girl! Ryle exclaims. Lily, we have a daughter!
I open my eyes and see the doctor holding her up. I don't see it in detail
because my eyes are full of tears. When they place it on my chest, it is the
most wonderful moment of my life. I touch her red lips, her cheeks and her
little fingers. Ryle cuts the umbilical cord, and when she is taken away to be
cleaned, I feel empty.
Shortly after, he is back on my chest; this time wrapped in a blanket.
I can't stop looking at it.
Ryle sits on the bed next to me and pulls the blanket away from her face
so I can see her better. We count our fingers and toes. When she tries to
open her eyes, it seems like the funniest thing we've ever seen. And when
she yawns, we both smile, and fall in love with her a little more.
 When the last of the nurses leaves the room and we are alone, Ryle asks
if he can take her. It incorporates the head of the bed, to make it easier for
us. After leaving her in his arms, I rest my head on his shoulder and we
continue looking at her; we can not stop.
“Lily,” he whispers. The pure truth?
I nod.
-Bluntly.
—She's much prettier than Marshall and Allysa's daughter.
I start laughing and nudge him.
"Just kidding," he whispers.
I know what you mean. Rylee is a precious baby, but no one will ever
reach the bottom of our daughter's booties.
—What are we going to call her? -asks me.
During the pregnancy, our relationship was not very fluid, and we had
not yet brought up the topic of the name.
"I'd like to name it after your sister," I say, looking at him.
Or maybe your brother.
I don't know what you're going to think of the idea. Personally, I think
naming our daughter after her brother might be healing for him, but he
might not see it the same way.
He looks back at me, surprised.
"Emerson?" Well, as a girl's name I don't dislike it. We could call her
Emma. Or Emmy. —He smiles proudly as he looks at her—. I think it fits
perfectly. —Leaning over her, he places a kiss on her forehead.
After a while, I move away from his shoulder to look at him with the
girl. It's nice to see him interact with her like that. He cannot hide the love
he feels for this little girl he has just met. You can tell he would do anything
to protect her. Anything.
And, at this very moment, I make a decision about him.
 About us.
About what is best for our family.
Ryle is an exceptional person in many ways. He is kind, compassionate,
cares about others; He is intelligent, charismatic, determined. My father was
like that in some things. He wasn't particularly charitable, but sometimes,
when we were alone, I could tell he loved me. He was intelligent,
charismatic, determined, but I hated him much more than I loved him. I
couldn't appreciate their qualities, because I witnessed their worst moments.
And five minutes of his worst version were not compensated by five years
of impeccable conduct.
I look at Emerson and look at Ryle. And I know I need to make sure he
can build a healthy relationship with his father. I don't make the decision
thinking about myself or thinking about Ryle; I do it thinking of her.
"Ryle..." When he looks at me, I see that he is smiling, but when he sees
my expression, his smile disappears. I want the divorce.
He blinks a few times. My words shake him like a high voltage current.
A grimace escapes him and he looks back at our daughter with a shrug of
his shoulders.
"Lily, please don't do this to me," he begs, shaking his head. I don't like
hearing him beg, and I hate to think that he's been holding out hope that
he'll get home. I know that a good part of the fault is mine, but no
I knew what decision I was going to make until I held my daughter in my
arms. "Give me another chance, Lily, please." The last one - he begs,
with the
broken voice
I know I'm hurting him a lot at the worst possible time. I'm breaking his
heart when he should be having the time of his life, but I also know that if I
don't do it now, I might not be able to make him understand later that it's
better if he doesn't come home.
I start crying because this hurts me almost as much as it hurts him.
 —Ryle, what would you do? —I ask him, in a low voice—. What would
you do if, one day, this little girl looked at you and said, “Dad, my
boyfriend hit me”? What would you say to him, Ryle?
He hugs Emerson to his chest and hides his face in the blanket.
"Lily, don't continue," he begs me.
I feel straighter in bed. I put my hand on Emerson's back and meet Ryle's
gaze.
—What if I came and said to you: “Dad, my husband threw me down the
stairs, but he says it was an accident. What should I do?".
His shoulders shake, and for the first time since I've met him, I see that
he's crying, real tears streaming down his cheeks as he continues to hold his
daughter tightly to his chest. I'm crying too, but I keep talking. For the sake
of our daughter.
—And if one day came... —My voice breaks—. What if one day came
and told you: "My husband tried to rape me, dad. He imprisoned me, even
though I begged him to stop. What should I do, dad?
He doesn't stop kissing her forehead, over and over again, while tears
continue to fall down her cheeks.
"What would you say to him, Ryle?" Tell me. I need to know what you
would say to our daughter if the man she loves with all her soul hurt her one
day.
A sob seems to break his chest in two. He leans towards me and puts his
arm around me.
"I would beg you to leave it," he replies, crying. He kisses my forehead
with such desperation that some of his tears end up on my cheeks. He puts
his mouth to my ear as he rocks with the two of us in his arms. He would
tell her that she is worth so much more, and he would beg her not to change
her mind, no matter how much he loved her. She deserves much more.
We became a mass of tears, sobs, broken hearts and shattered dreams.
We hug. We hug our daughter. And by
no matter what it costs us, we decided to break the pattern. We break the
circle before he finishes us.
Ryle hands it back to me and wipes his eyes. He gets out of bed, crying
and trying to regain normal breathing. In the last fifteen minutes he has lost
the love of his life and has become the father of a beautiful little girl.
Fifteen minutes are enough to destroy a person.
Fifteen minutes are enough to save her.
He points down the hallway, indicating to me that he needs some time
alone to collect himself. I've never seen him so sad as he is now, as he
walks to the door, but I know that one day he'll thank me. I know that one
day you will understand that I made the best decision thinking about your
daughter.
When the door closes, I look down at my baby. I won't be able to give
her the life I dreamed of for her, in a home where her father and mother
love her and educate her together, but I don't want her to go through what I
had to go through. I don't want him to see the worst version of his father. I
don't want him to see him lose control with me to the point of not
recognizing it. Because no matter how many good moments she could share
with him alone during her life; I know from my own experience that only
the worst would remain in his memory.
Vicious circles exist because they are tremendously difficult to break. It
takes an astronomical amount of pain and courage to break a known pattern.
Many times it is easier to maintain the old models as always, as long as you
do not face the fear of jumping without knowing where you will end up.
My mother suffered it.
I suffered it.
But I'm not crazy about allowing my daughter to suffer from it. I kiss
him on the forehead and make him a promise:
-So far. This circle is broken here and now. You and I are going to put
an end to it. So far.
 Epilogue

I make my way through the crowds filling Boylston Street until I reach the
first intersection. I slow the stroller down and stop it at the curb. I lower the
hood and look at Emmy. He's kicking and smiling, as usual. He is a very
happy baby. He has a kind of energy that relaxes those around him. It's
something addictive.
-What time is it? —A woman who is waiting at the intersection next to
us asks me, looking at her with admiration.
-Eleven months.
-Is beautiful. It's just like you; you have the same mouth.
"Thank you," I reply, smiling, "but you should see your father." In the
eyes, of course, it has come out to him.
The light turns green and I try to pass the crowd as I cross the street. I'm
half an hour late and Ryle has already sent me two messages. You have not
yet had the opportunity to enjoy first-hand the joys that carrots bring. Today
you will discover how much they make everything dirty; I've put a lot in the
bag.
When Emerson was three months old, I moved out of the apartment Ryle
had bought. Now I have one where I live alone with Emmy. It's closer to
work; I can walk, which is a big advantage. Ryle has returned to the
apartment where we lived. Between the visits I make to Allysa's house and
the days Ryle has Emerson, I feel like I spend as much time in that building
as I do in my own.
 "We're almost there, Emmy." —I turn to the right with such force that a
man has to quickly get out of the way and hug the wall to avoid being run
over.
“Sorry,” I murmur, ducking my head and walking around him.
"Lily?"
I stop in my tracks and turn around slowly, because that voice has
reached me so deep that it has resonated down to my feet. There are only
two voices in the world that have that effect on me, and, in fact, Ryle's
doesn't touch me that deep anymore.
When I look at his face, I see that he is narrowing his blue eyes because
he is facing the sun. He raises a hand to shield himself from the glare and
smiles.
-Hello.
“Hello,” I reply, forcing my brain to slow its frenetic pace to catch up.
He points to the stroller.
-Is your baby?
When I nod, he turns to the front of the stroller, kneels down, and gives
her a beaming smile.
-Caramba. It's beautiful, Lily. What's it called?
—Emerson, although we usually call her Emmy.
Atlas puts a finger within arm's reach and she grabs it. He kicks his feet
excitedly while shaking his finger up and down. He looks at her smiling for
a few moments and gets back up.
"You look very good," he tells me.
I try not to ogle it, which is not easy. He's as handsome as ever, but this
is the first time I don't need to hide how much I like this new version of
him. Totally different from the homeless boy who was sneaking into my
room, and at the same time exactly the same person.
I feel my phone vibrating in my pocket.
 "Ryle."
I point forward.
"We're very late," I tell him. Ryle has been waiting for us for half an
hour. At the sound of Ryle's name, the sparkle in his eyes dulls, even
though he tries to
hide it Nodding, he steps aside to let us pass.
"Today it's his turn to take care of her," I clarify, saying more in those
six words than I could tell in an entire conversation.
And Atlas's eyes light up again with a relieved glow.
Nodding, he points to his back.
—I'm in a hurry too. I opened another restaurant in Boylston last month.
-Hey! Congratulations! I'll have to take my mother to try it.
He smiles.
-Without fail. Let me know when you're coming and I'll make sure to
cook for you personally.
There is a somewhat awkward pause and I point to the street again.
-We have to...
"You have to go, yes," he says, with a smile.
Nodding, I bow my head and continue walking. I don't know why I'm
reacting like this, like I'm incapable of having a normal conversation. When
we've gone a few meters, I look over my shoulder. It hasn't moved. He
keeps watching us as we walk away.
As I turn the corner, I see Ryle waiting by his car in front of the flower
shop. His face lights up when he sees us arrive.
-Have you recieved my email? —he asks me as he bends down and
releases Emerson.
—Yes, the one about the removal of defective baby playpens, right?
He nods and lifts her out of the stroller.
—Shouldn't we buy one of that brand?
 I press the buttons that allow the stroller to fold and carry it to the back
of his car.
—Yes, but it broke about a month ago. I threw it in the trash.
He opens the trunk and strokes Emerson's chin with his fingers.
"Did you hear that, Emmy?" Your mom saved your life.
She smiles at him and playfully pats his hand. He kisses her forehead
before picking up the stroller and putting it in the trunk. I take care of
closing it and lean towards Emerson to give him a quick kiss before they
leave.
—I love you, Emmy. Until the night.
Ryle opens the back door to seat Emmy in her booster seat. I say
goodbye to him and return the way I came in a hurry.
—Lily! —he shouts at me—. Where are you going?
It's logical that I thought I was going to open the store, since I'm late, and
I know I should, but I have a tickling in my gut that won't leave me alone; I
must do something. I turn around and walk backwards.
—I've forgotten something! See you tonight when I go pick her up!
Ryle raises Emerson's little hand and they both say goodbye to me. As
soon as I turn the corner, I start running at full speed. I dodge some passers-
by and collide with others. I hear that a woman remembers my ancestors,
but it's all worth it when I recognize her head.
-Atlas! -shout. He is moving in the opposite direction from me, so I
continue pushing people to catch up with him. Atlas!
He stops, but doesn't turn around. He tilts his head, as if he doesn't dare
trust his ears.
-Atlas! —I shout for the third time.
This time he turns with enthusiasm. Our eyes meet and for about three
seconds we just stare at each other. Then we approached each other with
determination. Twenty steps separate us.
 Ten.
Five.
One.
Neither of them takes the final step.
I gasp, breathless, nervous.
"I forgot to tell you what Emerson's middle name is." — I put my hands
on my hips and let out a breath. It's Dory.
It takes him a few seconds to react, but when he does I see wrinkles
appear when he squints his eyes. His lips tremble, as if he were holding
back a smile.
—What a perfect name for her.
I nod, smiling, but then go blank. I don't know how to continue. I came
running here to tell you this; I needed him to know, but I haven't thought
about what I would do or say next.
I look around and point my thumb over my shoulder.
—Well, I guess...
Atlas takes a step towards me, grabs me, and pulls me tightly against his
chest. I close my eyes as I notice his hug. He grabs me by the back of my
neck and keeps me close to him in the middle of the crowded street,
surrounded by traffic, honking horns, and people brushing past us as they
rush past us. When he gives me a loving kiss on my hair, everything else
fades away.
"Lily," he tells me quietly, "I feel like my life is already worthy enough
of you." So, when you're ready...
I grab him by the jacket and stubbornly keep my face buried in his chest.
I suddenly feel like I'm fifteen again. My neck and cheeks feel as red as
tomatoes from his words, but I'm not fifteen years old anymore. I am an
adult with responsibilities and a child in my care. I can't afford to give in to
my teenage feelings. Not without taking some steps first, at least.
I pull back a little to look him in the eyes.
 —Do you collaborate with any charity?
Atlas, who expected anything but that, bursts out laughing.
—With several, why?
—Do you want to have children someday?
He nods.
-Of course.
—Do you think one day you'll want to go live somewhere else?
he denies with the head.
-No never. Everything is better in Boston. Have you forgotten?
Your answers give me the security I needed. Smiling, I tell him what to
expect.
—Okay, I'm ready.
Atlas hugs me tighter than before, making me laugh. We have shared
many moments since he appeared in my life, but I never imagined an
ending like this. I had wished for it many times, but until now I had never
quite believed that it would happen.
I close my eyes when I feel his lips on my collarbone. He gives me a soft
kiss, which takes me back to the moment he kissed me there for the first
time. And then he whispers in my ear:
—Now you can stop swimming, Lily. We have finally reached the shore.
 Author's note

It is recommended not to read this section before the book, as it contains

spoilers .

My earliest memory dates back to when I was two and a half years old. My
room had no door, just a sheet nailed to the frame. I remember hearing my
father's screams. I looked out and saw him pick up the television and throw
it at my mother, who landed on the floor.
My mother divorced him before I was three years old. From that moment
on, I only have good memories of my father. He never once lost control
with me or my sisters, despite losing it on numerous occasions with my
mother.
I always knew that my father had abused my mother, but she never
talked about it. Doing so would have meant criticizing my father, something
he never did because he wanted our relationship with him not to be affected
by his problems. Thanks to my mother, I have the greatest respect for
couples who do not involve their children in separation or divorce
processes.
I once asked my father about the matter. He answered me honestly.
During the time he was married to my mother he was an alcoholic, and he
was the first to admit that he had not treated her well. In fact, she confessed
to me that they had to operate on two of her knuckles, because he had hit
her so violently on the head that she had broken them.
 My father regretted what he had done until the end. He told me that
mistreating her had been the biggest mistake he had made in his life and
that, even if he died at a very old age, he knew that he would die madly in
love with her.
He saw it as a punishment, but, personally, I feel that he would have
deserved a much greater punishment for what my mother had to endure.
When I decided to write this story, the first thing I did was ask my
mother for permission. I told her that I wanted to write it for women like
her, but also for all the people who don't understand women like her.
I was one of those people.
My mother is not weak. I was not able to imagine her forgiving a man
who mistreated her on multiple occasions, but, when writing this book and
putting myself in Lily's shoes, I realized that not everything was black or
white, that it was a topic with many nuances. .
During the writing of the book I wanted to change the plot more than
once. I didn't want Ryle to become the person he was going to be, because I
had fallen in love with him during the first few chapters, at the same time as
Lily; Just like my mother fell in love with my father.
The first incident I recount between Ryle and Lily, the one in the
kitchen, is what really happened when my father hit my mother for the first
time. She had prepared a stew and he had drunk. He took it out of the oven
without oven mitts. My mother thought it was funny and burst out laughing.
When he realized it he was on the ground. My father had hit her so hard that
he had sent her flying to the other side of the kitchen.
My mother forgave him because his apology and repentance seemed
sincere. At least enough to give him a second chance, since the thought of
parting with him was more painful than the beatings.
As time went by, other incidents came, very similar to the first. My
father always showed regret and promised that it would not happen again,
but there came a point where my mother understood that his
promises were worthless. At that time, my mother had two little girls and
was not financially independent. Unlike Lily, my mother didn't have
anyone's support. In the municipality there were no shelters for abused
women. Institutional support at that time was almost non-existent. Leaving
home meant risking being on the street, but in the end he decided he had no
other choice.
My father died a few years ago, when I was twenty-five. He wasn't the
best of fathers and he certainly wasn't a good husband, but thanks to my
mother, I was able to maintain a good relationship with him because she did
what she had to do to break the pattern before he boss would break us. And
it wasn't easy. He left before I was three and my sister was five. We spent
two years living on macaroni and cheese. She was a single mother, without
higher education, who raised two daughters without any help. But the love
he felt for us gave him the strength he needed to take that terrifying step.
Let no one think that I intend for Ryle and Lily's story to serve as a
model for defining domestic violence. Nor is it my intention that Ryle's
character serves to define abusers. Each case is different, has its own
characteristics and its own outcome. I chose to take my family history as a
model and based it on my father to create the character of Ryle. Men like
him are usually handsome, kind to others, funny and intelligent, but with
moments when their behavior is unforgivable.
I relied on my mother to create Lily. They are both loving, intelligent
and strong women, who were unlucky enough to fall in love with men who
did not deserve their love.
Two years after divorcing my father, my mother met my stepfather, who
turned out to be the embodiment of what a good husband should be. The
memories I have from that time set the tone for the type of marriage I
sought for myself later.
 When I finally found myself in the chapel, the hardest thing of all was
having to tell my biological father that he would not take me to the altar,
because he was thinking of asking my stepfather.
I did it for several reasons. My stepfather tried hard to be the husband
my mother never had. He fought so that we did not lack anything
financially, something my father never did. And she raised us as if we were
her own daughters, but without denying that we maintained the relationship
with our biological father.
I remember sitting in the living room of my father's house a month
before the wedding. I told him that I loved him, but that I was thinking of
asking my stepfather to take me to the altar. I had prepared a lot of
arguments to refute his possible protests, but the answer he gave me took
me by surprise.
Nodding, he said, “Colleen, he raised you; He deserves to take you to the
altar, and you shouldn't feel guilty about it because you are doing the right
thing. I know my decision hurt him greatly, but he was generous enough not
only to respect it, but to help me respect it myself.
My father sat among the wedding attendees and witnessed him walking
towards the altar arm in arm with another man. I know that many of the
guests wondered why I hadn't gone with both of them, but when I thought
about it I realized that I had done it out of respect for my mother.
I didn't make the decision thinking about my father or my stepfather. I
did it thinking of her. She wanted to grant that honor to the man who had
treated her as she deserved.
I have said many times in the past that I write simply to entertain, that I
do not intend to educate, persuade or inform anyone, but this book is
different. For me it has not meant anything resembling entertainment; It has
been exhausting. Sometimes I really wanted to hit the button.
delete to erase the way Ryle treats Lily. And I wanted to rewrite the scenes
in which she forgives him, to show her as a resilient woman, a character
who made the right decisions at the right times, but those were not the
characters I was building.
That wasn't the story I was telling.
I wanted to write something that realistically reflected the situation that
my mother experienced (and that many women experience). I wanted to
develop the love that Lily and Ryle experience to understand how my
mother felt when she made the decision to leave my father, a man she loved
with all her heart.
Sometimes I wonder what my life would have been like if my mother
hadn't made the decision she did. She left someone she loved so her
daughters wouldn't grow up thinking that type of relationship was
acceptable. She didn't wait to be rescued by another man (a knight in
shining armor). She dared to leave my father on his own, knowing that she
was embarking on another struggle, different but just as hard, since she was
going to have to live as a single mother. It was important to me that Lily's
character embodied that empowerment. Finally, Lily decides to leave Ryle
for the sake of her daughter. Even if there was a small chance that he had
changed for the better, there are some risks that are not worth taking,
especially if you have already seen the price you have to pay for taking
them.
Before writing this book, I had great respect for my mother. Now that I
have finished it and have seen a tiny part of his pain and effort, I can only
tell him one thing: "When I grow up, I want to be like you."
 Aid organizations

If you are a victim of domestic violence or know of someone who needs

help to get out of a dangerous situation, on this website and the following
telephone number you will find resources at your disposal if you live in
Spain:
< https://violenciagenero.igualdad.gob.es >
016 (Attention to victims of abuse due to gender violence)

To request help with homelessness, here are some resources available:

< https://www.caritas.es/campanas/nadie-sin-hogar/
> <#nadiesinhogar>
Or in the social services offices of the municipality where you are
located.
 Thanks

Although the name that appears as the author of the book is mine, I could
not have written it without the following people:
My sisters. I would love you the same if you weren't my sisters. Sharing
one of my parents with you is nothing more than an extra incentive.
My children. You are my greatest achievement in this life. Please don't
make me regret writing this.
Weblich, CoHorts, TL Discussion Group, Book Swap and all the other
internet groups I can count on whenever I need positive energy. You are
largely responsible for me being able to do this professionally, so thank you
very much.
My agents, the entire team at Dystel & Goderich Literary Management.
Thank you for your encouragement and constant support.
The entire Atria Books team. Thank you for making launch days
memorable and for some of the best days of my life.
Johanna Castillo, my editor. Thank you for supporting this book, for
supporting me, and for making it easier for me to pursue my dream job.
Ellen DeGeneres, one of the four people I hope to never meet. You are
light that shines in the darkness. Lily and Atlas are very grateful for your
shine.
My zero readers and the readers who are waiting for the release of each
new book. Your comments, your support and your friendship are much
more than I deserve. I love you all.
 My niece. I'm going to meet you soon and you can't imagine how
excited I am. I'm going to be your favorite aunt.
Lindy. Thank you for your life lessons and for showing me what it is to
be a person who knows no selfishness. And thank you very much for one of
the most profound quotes I have ever heard that will stay with me forever:
“There are no good guys and bad guys. "We are all people who sometimes
do bad things." I am very happy that my little sister has you as a mother.
Vance. Thank you for being the husband my mother deserved and the
father you had no business being.
My husband, Heath. You are good to the depths of your soul. I couldn't
have chosen a better person to be the father of my children and to spend the
rest of my life by your side. We are very lucky to have you.
My mother. You are everything to everyone. I know that can be a burden
at times, but I also know that you take burdens as if they were blessings.
Thank you from the whole family.
And last but not least, to my fucking old man, my father, Eddie. You
won't be here when this book comes out, but I know you would have been
its number one fan. You taught me many things, the main one being that we
don't have to end our lives being the same person we once were. I promise
not to remember you based on your worst moments. I will do it thinking
about the best, who were many. I will remember you as a person who was
able to overcome something that many other people do not overcome.
Thank you for becoming one of my best friends. And thank you for the
support you gave me on my wedding day. I know many parents wouldn't
have done it. I love you. I miss you.
 Break the circle
Colleen Hoover

Total or partial reproduction of this book is not permitted.

nor its incorporation into a computer system, nor its transmission
in any form or by any means, whether electronic, mechanical, by
photocopy, by recording or other methods,
without the prior written permission of the publisher. The
infringement of the aforementioned rights may constitute a
crime against intellectual property (Art. 270 et seq. of the
Penal Code)

Go to CEDRO (Spanish Center for Reprographic Rights)

If you need to reproduce any fragment of this work.
You can contact CEDRO through the website www.conlicencia.com or by
phone at 91 702 19 70 / 93 272 04 47

Original title: It Ends With Us

Cover design, Planeta Arte & Diseño, adaptation of an original design by Laywan Kwan ©
cover illustration, Jon Shireman

© Colleen Hoover, 2016 All rights reserved

Published in accordance with Atria Books, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

© of the translation, Lara Agnelli, 2022

© Editorial Planeta, SA, 2022

Av. Diagonal, 662-664, 08034 Barcelona (Spain)
www.editorial.planeta.es
www.planetadelibros.com

First edition in electronic book (epub): May 2022

ISBN: 978-84-08-25901-5 (epub)

Conversion to e-book: Planet Realization

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