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The rain over San Ángel fell like cold needles, drumming a steady, merciless rhythm against the roof of our old car. Andrés was waiting for us in the driver’s seat, his hands resting quietly on the steering wheel. / Chapter 47 / 50

Chapter 47 - The Golden Sunset

The festival wound down as the afternoon sun began to dip below the horizon, bathing the colonial roof of the San Ángel estate in a warm, unyielding amber glow.

The children had packed up their art supplies, the music had faded into a soft acoustic hum, and the laughter of families drifting toward the open gates filled the air with peace.

Andrés wrapped his arm around my shoulders, drawing me close as we stood together on the front steps of the mansion.

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The rain in Guadalajara beat heavily against the corrugated tin roof of my small, rented room as I sat staring at the cream-colored envelope. My name, Diego, was scrawled across the front in shaky, deliberate cursive—Carmen’s handwriting, unmistakable despite its tremor.

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The hum of the arrivals hall at Logan International Airport felt distant, muffled beneath the pounding of my own pulse.

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The hum of the Boeing 777's engines vibrated through the floorboards of Terminal B, a low, steady thrum that matched the rapid beat of my own heart.

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“Where to next, partner?” Andrés whispered, kissing the top of my head.

“Nowhere,” I smiled, resting my head against his chest. “We’re right where we belong.”

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