“Good. I’ll see you Sunday.”
Sunday came quickly.
I drove about forty minutes to a quiet neighborhood outside Monterrey.
Wide streets.
Tall trees.
Large houses sitting peacefully behind small gardens.
Ricardo’s home was elegant but not flashy. White walls, dark wooden door, trimmed hedges.
I took a deep breath before ringing the bell.
A woman opened the door with a warm smile.
“You must be Marco.”
She introduced herself as Isabel, Ricardo’s wife.
Her voice was gentle, almost shy. She guided me through the house toward the backyard, where the smell of grilled meat and warm tortillas filled the air.
Ricardo appeared a moment later holding a beer.
“Marco! I’m glad you made it.”
Everything felt relaxed.
We talked about work, the contract, the market.
The afternoon sun warmed the patio while Isabel served plates of food.
Then suddenly I heard small footsteps running inside the house.
A child burst into the yard.
“Dad!”
Ricardo laughed.
“Come here, Diego.”
The boy stopped in front of me.
And in that instant…
the world went completely silent.
Because the boy standing there…
had the exact same face as my son Lucas.
Same eyes.
Same nose.
Same smile.
Same little dimple.
My hands started shaking.