In those days, Pablo went back and forth between his apartment and work—nothing more. He had even arranged for a temporary substitute at the institution; he wasn’t ready to face Jimena.

She had tried to talk to him, but every time she reached out, all she got were vague excuses whenever Pablo came by to pick up the boy.

That night, Pablo had just stepped out of the shower when the doorbell rang.

“Who could it be at this hour?” he grumbled, not in the mood for visitors.

He quickly dried off and threw on a pair of lounge pants and a fitted T-shirt that emphasized his muscles. His hair still damp, he hurried to the door.

The moment he saw who was standing there, he froze. His mouth fell slightly open, his eyes locking on his unexpected visitor as if he were seeing a mirage.

“Good evening, Pablo,” Jimena greeted, amused by his reaction. She walked in without waiting for an invitation, exuding a confidence that held him captive with just a glance.

It wasn’t only her ease and self-assurance