Ámbar was half awake when she smelled it. She didn't open her eyes right away. She lay still, recognizing that warm aroma of freshly brewed coffee.
"Good morning, my queen," Simón whispered, very close to her.
She smiled before speaking.
"What time is it?"
"Late enough to wake you up with breakfast," he replied, setting down the tray that also had toast on it. "And to steal a kiss."
He leaned in and kissed her slowly, without rushing, with that confidence that comes when there is no longer any need to ask questions. It was a stolen kiss, and a rather long one. It seemed as if he wanted to stay close to her lips.
"That was beautiful," Ámbar murmured. "Anyone would wake up like that."
Simón laughed softly and kissed her again, this time on the cheek and then on the forehead.
Coffee with milk and toast. Nothing special, but made with love.
She sat up a little, leaning against the pillows. Simón sat on the edge of the bed and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear with a distracted, intimate gesture.
───Thank you, she said. Really.
───I'll cover for you at Jam & Roller today, he added, as if saying something simple. I don't want you to be late for your visit with Sharon.
Ámbar looked down for a second.
"Simón..."
"Hey," he interrupted her gently. "No arguing. You're going with Sharon today. I'll stay at the Roller."
He leaned over to kiss her bare shoulder, slowly, lingering a second longer than necessary.
"Besides, I like seeing you go out knowing you're taking care of someone."
Ámbar caressed the back of his neck, pulling him closer again.
"You're too good to me."
"No," he corrected, resting his forehead against hers. "I'm good because I love you."
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and hugged him tightly. Simón wrapped his arms around her without hesitation, holding her close to his chest as if that were her natural place.
"Sometimes I think about Paris," she confessed in a low voice. "About how different everything would have been."
Simón kissed her hair.
"And yet you chose to stay."
"I didn't want to be alone. Or start from scratch far away from here... far away from you."
"You're still studying. Remotely, but you're still studying. We're not living on air."
Ámbar laughed.
"Thank goodness."
Simón kissed her again, this time more calmly, as if the world could wait.
"I'll wait for you when you get back. And tonight, I'll pamper you."
She looked at him with that smile she only gave him.
───That's a dangerous promise.
───It's a firm promise, he replied, stealing one last kiss before getting up.
Ámbar stayed in bed for a second longer, watching him walk away down the hall. She thought it was going to be a difficult day.
Sharon was waiting for her, and the past was not resting.
But she also thought that there were arms holding her up.
And that made all the difference.
Ámbar closed the door carefully, as if she didn't want to make any noise even though she was already wide awake.
In the hallway, the echo of her footsteps brought back a familiar feeling: that mixture of determination and trembling that always appeared before something important.
Simón accompanied her to the door. They didn't say much. There was no need. He kissed her once more, this time for support.
"I'm just a message away," he reminded her.
Ámbar nodded.
───And I'm one excuse away from coming back early, she replied, trying to smile.
Simón looked at her for a second longer, as if he wanted to memorize her like that, whole.
───Everything will be fine.
She didn't answer. She just rested her forehead on his chest for a moment longer... and then she left.
Out on the street, the air was cool. The noise of the city enveloped her suddenly: cars, voices, strangers' footsteps. Everything was the same. Too much the same.
As she walked, she thought of Alfredo. How he always said that some visits are not chosen, but must be made. How he had taken her hand the last time they saw each other, with a strength that did not match his tired body.
She thought about Sharon. About her voice. About her silences. About the times she had said "my daughter" without hesitation, even when her mind was beginning to fail her. Ámbar clenched her fingers inside her coat.
She didn't know what she would find when she arrived. Nor did she know what Sharon would remember, or what it would stir in her.
Ámbar paused in front of the building for a second before entering.
The façade was neutral, neat, almost friendly. As if trying to hide everything that was accumulating inside. She took a deep breath and pushed the door open.
The smell was the first thing she noticed. Disinfectant, stale coffee, and something else that was harder to name. A smell of waiting.
At the reception desk, a woman looked up.
"Who are you here to see?"
"Sharon Benson," Ámbar replied, with a confidence she didn't entirely feel.
The woman typed something.
"Room 214. You can go in. She's awake."
As if that were a fragile state. As if it could change at any moment.
The hallway was long and silent. The white lights left no shadows to hide in. Each step felt heavier than the last.
Ámbar gripped the strap of her bag tightly, as if that could anchor her. She thought about turning around. About putting it off for another day.
She thought about Simón, about his embrace that morning. About the "I'm just a message away."
She kept walking. In front of door 214, she hesitated. She raised her hand to knock and then lowered it. She repeated the gesture. The third time, she knocked lightly, almost symbolically.
"Sharon?" she said from outside. "It's me."
There was no immediate response.
Ámbar pressed her forehead against the closed door. She felt the cold wood pierce her skin.
"It's Ámbar," she repeated, more quietly. "I came to see you."
From inside, a voice came slowly, broken, as if coming from far away.
───Come in...
Ámbar turned the doorknob.
The room was dimly lit. The curtains were drawn, the artificial light on even during the day. Sharon was sitting on the bed, her back hunched and her hands still on the sheets, as if waiting for something that wasn't coming.
Ámbar took a step inside. Then another.
───Hello, Sharon.
Sharon slowly raised her face. Her eyes, lost in some vague point, seemed to search for her without quite finding her.
───Are you here? ───she asked───. I thought... ───she fell silent───. I thought you were coming later.
Ámbar swallowed.
"I'm here," she repeated. "I'm here."
Sharon smiled faintly. It was a tired, fragile smile.
"You always come. Even if I don't always see you."
Ámbar approached the bed. She took her hand carefully, as if it were made of glass.
"I'm not leaving," she said. "Not today."
Sharon squeezed her fingers with unexpected force.
"Thank goodness," she whispered. "Today... today is a difficult day."
There was a thick silence.
"Do you know what day it is?" Sharon asked suddenly.
Ámbar shook her head slowly.
"The day I realized I would never be enough for him."
"Alfredo?"
Sharon let out a dry laugh.
"Of course, Alfredo. Always him. The right man, the exemplary father," she closed her eyes. "The one who never looked at me the way he looked at Lili."
Ámbar felt a lump in her throat.
───I was the responsible one, Sharon continued. The one with the high grades and the college degrees. The one who never failed, she paused. But Lili was the favorite.
───Why? Ámbar asked.
───Because she was the artist, Sharon replied, as if that explained everything. Because she shone effortlessly. Because she had talent.
Sharon opened her eyes and looked at her clearly for the first time.
───Like Luna.
Ámbar tensed.
───Sol, she corrected, almost reflexively.
"Sol, Luna..." Sharon made a vague gesture. "It doesn't matter. She's the talent and you're the brains," she squeezed Ámbar's hand. "Just like me and my sister."
Ámbar slowly withdrew her hand.
"We're not the same."
Sharon frowned.
───Of course you are. The same thing happened to you.
───No ───Ámbar said firmly───. The same thing didn't happen to me.
Silence fell again. Ámbar clenched her fists.
───What about you? ───she asked, her voice more tense───. Why were you always cold to me?
Sharon didn't answer right away.
"I loved you," she finally said. "In my own way."
"No," Ámbar interrupted. "You raised me, yes. But you never hugged me without stiffness. You never looked at me without measuring me. I always felt like I had to thank you for something."
Sharon closed her eyes.
───Because you had to.
Ámbar stood still.
───What?
───Because someone else brought you into the world, Sharon said harshly. And I was left with the consequences.
The air was thick.
───Sylvana gave you life, she continued. I gave you everything else. That's no small thing.
Ámbar felt something break inside her.
"Is that what you think of me?" she whispered. "That I'm a debt?"
"No," Sharon said, but without conviction. "You're... a choice."
Ámbar shook her head.
"I was always the one who had to understand," she said. "The one who couldn't fail. The one who couldn't shine too brightly."
Sharon breathed heavily.
"Because if you shone, I would disappear," she admitted. "And that's their fault too."
"Whose?"
Sharon raised her voice for the first time.
───Alfredo and Bernie. Lili ───She spat out the names───. Everyone who told you you were too cold, too ambitious, not artistic enough.
Ámbar paused for just a second.
She hadn't known Lili or Bernie.
But she didn't have the strength to correct her. Not now.
───I can't take this ───she said, her voice breaking.
She turned and walked toward the door.
───Ámbar, wait ───Sharon begged───. Don't go.
Sharon was in crisis.
───It wasn't your fault! ───Sharon shouted, desperate───. It was theirs! Lili's! Alfredo's! Bernie's!
Ámbar walked out into the hallway.
"Don't leave like she did!" Sharon managed to shout. "Don't leave me alone!"
The door closed. Ámbar walked quickly. Then she almost ran.
She knew Sharon was still talking behind that door. Mixing up names, times, and blame.
Simón pushed open the door of Jam & Roller with his shoulder, carrying a bag of croissants under his arm and his cell phone vibrating in his pocket.
"Good morning to the temple of chaos," he muttered.
"Hey!" Jazmín shouted from behind the counter. "Respect the sacred place."
"Sacred?" Simón set the bag on the bar. "Last time I was here, I found a skateboard on top of the coffee machine."
"It was decorative," replied Emilia, sitting at a table, reviewing papers. "Contemporary art."
Simón looked at her and shook his head.
───In Mexico, we call that a lack of adult supervision.
Emilia looked up, interested.
───Oh, yes. Over there, we call it Martes.
Jazmín frowned.
───What are you talking about?
───Cultural codes, Emilia replied, very seriously. She not ready
Simón smiled slyly.
───Not yet.
───Wait, ───said Jazmín───. Are you two understanding each other?
───Unfortunately, yes, ───said Simón───. It's like when two people know that spiciness can't be measured, it's felt.
───Exactly, ───Emilia nodded───. Si no pica, no vale.
Jazmín looked at them, bewildered.
"I don't understand anything, but this smells like a dangerous alliance."
Simón put the bag on the bar.
"Ámbar put me in charge," he said, settling in. "So if everything blows up, it's not my fault."
"She go visit Sharon?" Jazmín asked, lowering her voice a little.
Simón nodded.
"Yes."
Emilia rested her elbows on the table.
"Well," she said, "then today we'll work well, quickly, and without drama... that is, as usual, but pretending."
"Thanks for the emotional support," Simon said ironically.
"That's what we're here for," Jazmín replied. "I make bad jokes and Emilia judges you in silence."
"It's not silence," Emilia corrected. "It's elegant disapproval."
"Very Latin of you," Simón said.
"Very Mexican of you," she replied, without looking up.
Jazmín pointed at them.
"This. This is what I'm talking about. When did this happen?
"It didn't happen," Emilia said. "We just happen to agree on sarcasm.
"And in survival," Simón added.
Simón leaned on the bar for a second and ran a hand over his face.
"Sometimes I forget to breathe," he admitted.
"That's because you live with Ámbar," said Jazmín. "An intense experience."
"Or because you love her," said Emilia, without looking at him. "That's tiring too."
Simón smiled sincerely.
"A little bit of both."
Jazmín looked at them again, squinting her eyes.
"Okay. I don't know what's going on here, but I'm going to watch with popcorn."
Emilia got up and went to the coffee maker.
───Coffee, she said, pouring him a cup. In Mexico, this counts as emotional support, right?
───Yes, replied Simón. If it's hot and no questions asked, it's love.
Jazmín sighed.
───I give up.
The place began to fill with noise: wheels on the dance floor, soft music, laughter. Life went on, even when everything inside was on pause.
Simón looked at his cell phone. No new messages. He put it away.
───It's okay, he said softly. I'm here.
And for now, that was enough.
Emilia had her back turned, struggling with the coffee maker.
"I swear this thing hates me," she muttered.
"No," said Jazmín, approaching her. "It's testing you."
"Well, I've already lost."
The machine made a strange noise and coffee began to drip everywhere. Emilia took a step back, resigned.
"That's it. I give up."
Jazmín quickly leaned over, turned off the coffee maker, and grabbed a rag from the counter.
"Wait," she said. "Not like that."
She wiped her hands without thinking too much about it, carefully, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Emilia stood still, surprised.
"Thank you," she said, more quietly than usual.
Jazmín looked up.
"You're welcome," she replied. "I don't like you getting burned."
There was a strange moment. Brief. Not uncomfortable, but different.
Emilia held her gaze a moment longer than necessary.
"That sounded..." she began.
"Practical," Jazmín cut her off quickly. "It's reflexes."
Emilia smiled slightly.
"Sure. Reflexes."
Jazmín returned to the counter, slightly flushed. Emilia stared at her clean hands for a second longer, as if she could still feel the touch.
From a distance, Simón watched them without saying anything. He just raised an eyebrow.
The coffee continued to come out wrong. But something, without anyone mentioning it, had started working better.
The garden of the Benson mansion was still.
Too neat and green. As if pain were not allowed to enter there.
Ámbar sat on one of the iron benches, her body hunched over and her hands clenched in her lap. Tears fell silently, heavy, accumulated. She did not cry with anger. She cried with exhaustion.
She loved Sharon. She had always loved her. Even now.
She knew she was sick. That her mind was wandering. That she said things that weren't always fair. But that didn't make them hurt any less.
She took her cell phone out of her bag. She held it for a long second. Simón's name lit up on the screen.
I'm just a message away.
She took a deep breath. She didn't call. Not yet, anyway.
───Ámbar...
The voice took her by surprise.
She lifted her head quickly, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. Mónica was a few steps away, looking concerned, without her purse, in no hurry. As if she had sensed that something was wrong.
"What happened?" she asked, approaching her. "Why are you crying like that?"
Ámbar tried to speak, but couldn't. She shook her head.
Mónica didn't insist. She sat down next to her and, without asking permission, wrapped her in a firm, warm embrace. A different kind of hug. One that doesn't squeeze, but holds.
"Sharon," Ámbar finally managed to say. "Today... was too much."
Mónica sighed slowly.
"I figured."
"I know it's not right," Ámbar continued, her voice breaking. "I know. But she said things... things I can't get out of my head."
"Words hurt more when they come from those we love," Mónica said. "Even when they're not said with reason."
Ámbar looked down.
"Sometimes I feel like I was never good enough," she confessed. "Like I always had to understand, adapt, be grateful. As if there was something missing in me... or something I don't quite understand."
Mónica looked at her intently. Not with pity. With something deeper.
"Have you ever wondered why you're so hard on yourself?"
Ámbar looked up.
"How...?"
"You're intelligent, strong, responsible," she listed. "But you're always measuring your place. As if at any moment someone could say to you, 'You don't belong here.'"
Ámbar swallowed.
"Sometimes I feel that," she admitted. "As if there were pieces that don't quite fit together."
Mónica placed a hand on hers.
───Because there are stories that, even when they're not told, still leak out, she said softly. In silences, with guilt that isn't ours, and in questions that no one let us ask.
Ámbar frowned.
───What do you mean?
Mónica hesitated for a second. Barely. Just enough.
"That maybe it's time you started asking them."
The wind rustled the leaves in the garden. Ámbar felt a chill.
"Questions about what?"
Mónica held her gaze.
"About you. About your origins. About what was decided for you when you were a little girl."
Ámbar stood still.
───I never wanted to stir that up, she said. Sharon gave me everything.
───And that's not up for debate, Mónica replied. But being grateful doesn't mean giving up on knowing who you are.
Ámbar felt something settle... and at the same time fall apart.
"I'm afraid," she whispered. "Of finding something I don't like. Or of breaking what little remains."
Mónica smiled slightly.
"The truth doesn't break what is real," she said. "Only what was held together by silence."
Ámbar closed her eyes. She thought of Sharon. Of Simón. Of that emptiness that was beginning to take shape.
When she looked up again, Mónica was still there.
"You don't have to do it today," she added. "Or alone. But when you're ready... search. Not to blame. To understand better."
Ámbar nodded slowly.
"Thank you," she said. "Really."
Mónica squeezed her hand.
"I'm always here for you, Ámbar."
Ámbar looked at her cell phone again. This time she wrote.
I'm fine. I'll call you later.
She put her phone away. The garden was still the same.
But something, deep inside, had just stirred.
And for the first time, Ámbar felt that the past didn't just hurt.
It also called to her.