Chapter 1
I don’t know where I am. I woke up and, opening my eyes, all I see is a completely empty room with cracked walls and a spider web in the corner. The tile floor is scratched from the constant opening and closing of a metal door, which is the only modern thing in this place. I’m lying on an old, worn-out bed that creaks under my weight, as if it’s been used well past its prime. The only light in the room comes from a single hanging bulb with an exposed wire, barely casting a faint glow.
I lie back down and try to remember, but nothing comes. I only have a pounding headache. I try, I really do, but the only thing I can remember are her eyes, even though years have gone by. I haven’t even thought about whether this place is safe, or why I’m here. None of that matters now. I’ve spent hours lost in memories of her; my hope died long ago. That hope faded with every sip of liquor I’ve taken over time. I still can’t get over her leaving. I never treated her the way she deserved; I just assumed she would stay with me forever, like she had no other option. In our town, everyone marries young, and we’d known each other since we were kids, so in my mind, that was enough. I was so stubborn, so naive. I thought a bouquet and an apology would fix everything. But the emptiness grew between us, and we both chose to ignore it. Months later, she just left. I knew it was coming, and so did she.
The door opens with a shriek that makes my teeth ache. A woman in a uniform steps in. Without my glasses, I can barely make out who she is, but as she gets closer, I recognize her: it’s Maite, Jesusa’s granddaughter. She tells me they found me dazed, soaked by the rain, with an empty bottle of wine in my hand, wandering around the village. Antonio, Encamita’s son, brought me here after being alerted by Father Miguel, who had seen me hovering around the sacristy, trying to steal a bottle. As she tells me this, I start thinking about the gossip that’s probably spreading around town and how my mother must be suffering. She already had a hard enough time when Irene left; now she’ll have to endure people saying her son is a drunk and, on top of that, a thief. And I’m stealing from the church she visits every day.
Maite pulls me out of my thoughts to tell me that the doctor will be coming by soon to give me the discharge papers and the report. She also mentions that the priest has filed a complaint against me for theft. Before leaving the room, she wishes me luck with all the gossip I’ll have to face. “Perfect, Daniel,” I think to myself, “you’re on a roll with a string of mistakes that deserves a medal.”
On my way home, I can only think about my mother. I don’t care anymore what the neighbors say, but she cares, deeply. And I went and embarrassed her at her church, the only refuge she’s had since my father died suddenly. She was widowed not long after I married Irene, and since I’d moved out, my mother found comfort in the church. The priest thinks the world of her, and he did of me, too—or at least, I hope so. He’s the one who married us, and every time he’d see us, he’d ask when we were planning to “repopulate the town.” He’d say kids bring life to the streets.
I keep thinking of Irene as my body moves, almost lifelessly, toward my mother’s house. I’m terrified of her reaction; I just want her to be alright. I haven’t run into any neighbors yet, so either they’re all taking their afternoon nap, or they’re at my mother’s place, feeding her the latest “achievement” of her son. Honestly, I hope it’s the first option.
I take a deep breath, put the key in the lock, open the door... and the impossible happens. I can’t believe it. It’s Irene. I don’t know how or why, but she’s here, sitting on my mother’s sofa. She’s the most beautiful woman in the world, and her presence fills the room in a way I’d forgotten. Happiness floods through me. I can’t believe it—it’s Irene. She’s right there, only a few feet away. She’s come back into my life after more than five years. She greets me and asks what happened to me. In that instant, I realize the state I’m in: filthy clothes, smelling like a wet dog, with mud and stolen wine staining every inch of me. In a flash, my happiness dissolves. She tells me she needs to talk to me, that there’s something important I should know. And before I can even respond, she says she needs a divorce and wanted to tell me in person. I feel my heart breaking with each word.
This will go down as one of the most pathetic days of my life. I ask about my mother, and she tells me she’s at the neighbors’, ashamed because of me. She hands me the divorce papers along with an address where I should send them after I’ve signed. She walks out the door, and I hear her car start up to return to the city.
After the news and knowing my mother is with the neighbors, I decide to go back to my own place. I get there, slump down on the sofa, and do the only thing that seems right at the moment: I start drinking again like a total failure, passing out to late-night infomercials. I wake up in the middle of the night, go to the fridge, and make myself a sandwich. And then, I hear a familiar voice: “I’m glad you’re eating again; you’ve been so tired, love. The sleep did you good after two days. I know it’s hard, but I promise I’ll help you through it all. I’ll be here for you.”
I turn to see who’s talking. It’s Irene. She’s hugging me and kisses me. She tells me she loves me. In disbelief, I look around and catch a glimpse of my phone. It’s two days after my father died.
