The SUV pulled over. Diego stepped into the storm. The rain soaked through his expensive jacket in seconds, but he didn’t care. He approached the girl slowly so as not to frighten her.
She saw him and froze. She had large brown eyes, like a cornered animal.
“Are you selling bread?” Diego asked, softening his tone, as if he could shrink his size, his suit, his presence.
She nodded slightly, lifting the cloth to reveal conchas and bolillos still warm, carefully wrapped.
Then Diego saw her hand.
On her left ring finger shone a silver ring with a blue topaz in the center. It was no ordinary ring. The silverwork was delicate, almost artisanal, and the topaz had that pale blue glow that catches the light.
Diego’s world went dark.
He had commissioned that ring. One of a kind. Inside, engraved in tiny letters:
“D & X. Eternally.”
He had given it to Ximena—the woman who disappeared sixteen years ago, three months pregnant, leaving behind a letter Diego knew by heart.
“What’s your name?” he managed to ask.
“Cecilia… sir,” she whispered.
Cecilia.
Ximena had always said that if she ever had a daughter, she would name her Cecilia, after her grandmother.