Traffic thickened as they approached the main avenue. The light turned amber, then a furious red, forcing Alexandre to stop smoothly.
His eyes, tired of the glare, searched for relief in the shade of trees lining the sidewalk to the right.
There was a bus stop.
A simple metal-and-glass structure where ordinary people waited to continue their ordinary lives.
And then—time stopped. Or perhaps it collapsed in on itself.
Among the crowd, a figure caught his attention like a physical blow. A young woman with blonde hair tied in a messy bun, posture bent with exhaustion, carrying grocery bags while holding tightly to two small hands.
The air left his lungs.
It couldn’t be.
His rational mind screamed coincidence.
But his heart—an organ he had ignored for years in favor of cold logic—lurched violently.
It was Beatriz.
Thinner. Dark circles under her eyes. Dressed in simple clothes that spoke of survival, not luxury.
But unmistakably her.
The woman he had loved before ambition consumed him.
Yet it wasn’t Beatriz who tilted his world off its axis.
It was the two little girls beside her.
About three years old. Summer dresses fluttering in the hot breeze.
One turned her head toward the street.