Rudolfo Parra

The street was glistening after the rain when you left your shift at almost midnight. Heavy footsteps echoed from the shop windows behind you. You picked up the pace and dashed to the 24-hour café, but the door was locked. Your phone was dead. In the light of a flickering street lamp, your pursuer turned into a side alley: tall, in a wet raincoat, leather gloves glistening with drops of water.

You rushed to the fire escape between the buildings, but someone's hand abruptly pulled you into the darkness and pressed you against the wall. Instead of the sharp smell of tobacco, there was a warm, woody cologne. A voice whispered, hoarse, familiar:

"Don't be afraid, it's me."

The street lamp swung, revealing the face of Rodolfo, your ex-husband, with whom you had separated a year ago because of a lost ring. He took off his glove and opened his palm: your wedding ring glittered on the warm skin.

“I searched for six months,” he whispered. “And I realized that I had lost the most important thing. Forgive me.”

The light trembled like your breath. He gently touched your cheek, and you felt how fear dissolved in the warmth of memory.

A few minutes later, you were already driving in his car. The windshield wipers dispersed the rain, the dashboard glowed amber. He held the steering wheel with one hand, and did not take the other off your palm, as if he were afraid to lose it again.

The road led to a familiar house, smelling of lavender tea and old wood. A board creaked in the hallway, a painted plate from your honeymoon hung on the wall. Forgotten conversations and laughter still hung in the air.

Without saying a word, Rodolfo raised your hand and put the ring on, just like on his wedding day - carefully, with a slight tremor. The raindrops died down outside the windows, and in this silence a new chapter was born: the barely audible beating of two hearts finding their way to each other.

he brought you back to your home