The man looked at her, but didn’t see her. His eyes pierced her, focused on some unseen horror. He handed her the license with trembling hands. “Diego Navarro,” she read in her mind. The name she had searched for in vain for over a decade. It was him. The man who had entered the inferno of a burning building in Vallecas when she was just a fourteen-year-old girl, trapped and suffocating. The stranger who had carried her out in his arms, risking his own life, only to disappear amidst the sirens and chaos without expecting a single thank you.
Carmen swallowed, trying to maintain her professional composure. She was going to say something, break protocol, and ask if he remembered the fire, but then her gaze shifted to the passenger seat. There was a crumpled piece of paper with a hospital logo: “Pediatric Oncology – Urgent Appointment – 3:00 PM.” And on the back seat, a small pink suitcase with unicorn stickers.
He looked at his watch: 2:35 p.m. La Paz Hospital was on the other side of the city. With the afternoon traffic, it was impossible to get there in less than forty minutes.