Memories

I was waiting for him at the terminal in the red dress he hated seeing me wear without a bra. I had my period and a desire that nothing would calm except him.

When Don Alberto looked at me that way for the first time, I knew something in me wasn’t what everyone thought. That afternoon confirmed it.

When I went into his room and saw him, with my underwear in his hands and my name on his lips, I knew what was coming had no way back.

I crossed the hall barefoot at three in the morning, knowing his door was left ajar on purpose. What happened after that can never be named again.

Eva asked me to meet her two hours before her flight to Boston. When she arrived, she brought a new perfume—and a very clear idea of how to say goodbye.

We were drinking wine when she told me, “I never told you everything about Punta del Este.” What followed left me speechless for hours.

When I saw her at the bus stop, with her copper hair and that tight blouse, I knew something was going to happen. I had no idea that afternoon would change everything.

When she asked me to undress and climb onto the examination table, I knew something between us was going to break that could never be put back together.

I went down to the restaurant with the red lingerie safely hidden under my dress and one decision: if he didn’t get to see it that night, what we had would never leave the screen.

That night in the hotel I discovered that desire doesn’t care about promises. My husband served me up to his best friend, and I let myself be handed over.

I promised him I wouldn’t mind hearing about his dirtiest memory. I lied. By the time he finished, I already had mine ready.

I thought everyone was asleep when I got naked in the pool. Then I heard the kitchen door and saw her silhouette approaching, not hurrying to look away.

When she turned her head on the summit, I knew it was her. The girl from that party. Seven years later, her gaze was still claiming what I never finished.

I sipped my coffee, pretending to focus on my phone, but I was watching them both. If they knew I’d already had every inch of their bodies separately, we’d all have left together already.

I was thirty-two and still had never let myself think about another woman without feeling ashamed. That night I turned off the light, breathed deeply, and stopped running.

I’d been waiting two years for his call. When it finally came, I knew I’d obey anything he asked, however absurd or degrading it was.

I was looking for something temporary while I studied. But that night, when he left the avatar and called me with the camera on, I knew I could never go back.

I walked in wearing only a red velvet cape and nothing underneath. The rule was clear: nobody knew who anyone was, and that changed everything that night.

I left it on the table, next to the keys, and sat down on the living-room sofa to wait. I wanted to see how long it took him to realize his life had just split in two.

When he parted the willow branches and pushed me against the trunk, I knew we weren’t going back to the café for the things we’d forgotten.