PART 2

I spent the entire day trying to convince myself that Elena had told the truth.

But I could not concentrate during meetings. Financing reports blurred in front of me, and every few minutes I checked my phone.

Around noon, I sent her a message.

**Are you okay?**

Her reply arrived almost an hour later.

**I’m fine. Don’t worry.**

Four words and nothing more.

The following day, I stopped at a pharmacy near a private medical clinic.

As I returned to my car, I saw Elena leaving the building.

She wore sunglasses beneath a gray sky and carried medical papers in one hand. She moved carefully, as if each step required effort.

I called her name.

She froze before turning around.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“Just a checkup. I’ve been having migraines.”

I knew she was lying.

But the desperation in her expression stopped me from confronting her. She needed me to pretend I believed her, and I allowed her that small protection.

Before returning to Mexico City, I visited the resort where she worked.

Elena met me through a quiet service corridor instead of the main lobby.

She looked exhausted.

“I’m worried about you,” I said.

“I know.”

“You’re clearly not fine.”

She folded her arms.

“If I’m not fine, what exactly will you do about it?”

“I don’t know. But disappearing is not the answer.”

Her expression briefly softened.

“What happened between us was real,” she said. “But that doesn’t mean you should bring it back into your life.”

“Elena—”

“Let it remain one night. Please.”

She kissed my cheek and walked away before I could stop her.

For weeks after returning home, I believed she regretted being with me. I assumed she wanted to forget everything and move forward.

Then, nearly a month later, my phone rang after midnight.

It was Lucía, one of Elena’s oldest friends.

“Carlos, are you alone?”

Her controlled voice immediately frightened me.

“What happened?”

“Elena collapsed at work. She’s in the hospital.”

“Why are you calling me?”

“Because your number was listed as her emergency contact.”

Then Lucía revealed the truth.

Months earlier, Elena had been diagnosed with cervical cancer.

The hotel sheet, the clinic envelope, her careful movements, and her short replies suddenly made sense.

She had known she was ill when she met me at the bar.

But that was not the only secret.

Our reunion had not been an accident.

Elena had seen my name on project documents connected to her resort. She knew my company might send me to Cancún and guessed where I might stay.

She had gone to the bar hoping to see me one more time.

I booked the earliest flight available.

By the time I reached the hospital, dawn was beginning to brighten the sky.

Lucía waited outside the oncology ward.

“She is stable,” she told me. “But the doctors want to operate.”

“Why didn’t she tell me?”

“Because Elena would rather suffer privately than allow someone to watch her struggle. You know that better than anyone.”

She was right.

When I entered Elena’s room, she looked smaller and more exhausted than I had ever seen her.

Her eyes opened.

“Lucía called you.”

“You listed me as your emergency contact.”

“I forgot to change it.”

“No,” I said. “You didn’t.

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