But I don’t see any of it.
I don’t see anything.
I’m standing in the doorway of the Fernandez home, my fists clenched at my sides, my heart pounding in my chest like a war drum.
Rafael is standing in front of me, his face pale and drawn.
Isabella is beside him, her hand on his arm, her dark eyes fixed on me with something that looks almost like satisfaction.
Elena is behind them, her wild curls falling around her shoulders, her hazel eyes wide and innocent.
But I don’t care about any of them.
I don’t care about anyone.
All I can see is the empty space where she used to be.
“She’s gone,” Rafael says, his voice heavy and hollow.
“She left last night.
Took her things.
Took her bike.
Didn’t tell anyone.” I stare at him.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t think.
I can’t process the words coming out of his mouth.
“She left?” I repeat, my voice barely above a whisper.
“What do you mean she left?” Rafael runs a hand over his face, his eyes filled with exhaustion and regret.
“She packed her things and rode out before dawn.
I went to check on her this morning, and her room was empty.
Her bike was gone.” I feel the world tilt beneath my feet.
She’s gone.
She’s really gone.
“No,” I say, shaking my head.
“No, that’s not possible.
She wouldn’t just leave without saying anything.
She wouldn’t just—” “She would,” Isabella interrupts, her voice cold and flat.
“She’s been acting out for weeks.
This was bound to happen eventually.
She’s always been so dramatic.” I turn to look at her, my eyes blazing with fury.
“Shut up.
You don’t get to talk about her like that.
You don’t get to say anything about her.” Isabella’s eyes narrow.
“Excuse me?” “You heard me.” I step closer to her, my fists clenched.
“You’ve been poisoning this family since the day you arrived.
You’re the reason she left.
You and your manipulative daughter.” “Leo,” Rafael says, his voice sharp.
“That’s enough.” I turn to him, my eyes burning with pain.
“Is it?
Is it enough?
Because I don’t think you understand what you’ve done.
You chose her over your own daughter.
You let her push Aitana away.
And now she’s gone.” Rafael’s face crumples.
For a moment, he looks like a broken old man.
“I know,” he whispers.
“I know what I’ve done.
And I’ll have to live with it for the rest of my life.” I shake my head, my jaw tight.
“I should have said something.
I should have defended her.
I should have fought for her.” Rafael looks at me, his eyes filled with regret.
“We all should have.
And now she’s gone.” I think about the last time I saw her.
The party.
The confrontation.
Her blue eyes blazing with pain and anger.
Her voice cracking as she told me she hated me.
But she also told me she loved me.
She told me she wanted me to see her.
And I said nothing.
I push my hands through my hair, gripping the strands tightly.
I want to scream.
I want to punch something.
I want to go back in time and do everything differently.
“You always say nothing,” she said.
“When I needed you most, you said nothing.” I look at Rafael.
“I’m going to find her.” He shakes his head.
“She could be anywhere.
She didn’t leave a note.
She didn’t tell anyone where she was going.” “I don’t care,” I say, my voice flat and determined.
“I’m going to find her.
I’m going to bring her back.” I turn and walk out of the house.
I don’t look back.
I don’t care what any of them think.
All I care about is finding her.
— The Alpujarra mountains stretch out before me, vast and unforgiving.
The winding roads twist through the white villages and deep ravines, the sheer cliffs dropping into the white-water rivers far below.
I’ve been riding for weeks.
Maybe months.
I’ve lost track of time.
I’ve lost track of everything except the need to find her.
I ride through the Poqueira Gorge, the wind whipping against my face, the roar of my engine echoing off the mountainside.
I stop in every village, asking every person I see.
“Have you seen a girl?
Dark curls.
Blue eyes.
Riding a silver bike with a gold flame.” They shake their heads.
They don’t know.
They haven’t seen her.
I ride through the night, my headlights cutting through the darkness.
I don’t sleep.
I don’t eat.
I don’t stop.
She’s out there somewhere.
I can feel it.
I think about her constantly.
The way she used to smile.
The way she used to fight with me.
The way she used to make me feel alive.
I think about the last time I saw her.
The hurt in her eyes.
The pain in her voice.
The way she told me she loved me and I said nothing.
I clench my fists, my knuckles white against the handlebars.
“I’m sorry, Aitana,” I whisper into the wind.
“I’m so sorry.
I should have told you.
I should have fought for you.
I should have been the man you deserved.” But she can’t hear me.
She’s not here.
I ride through the Sierra Nevada, the snow-capped peaks looming above me like silent judges.
The road is treacherous, the curves sharp and unforgiving.
But I don’t slow down.
I can’t slow down.
Because if I stop, I’ll have to face the truth.
She’s gone.
And I don’t know if she’s ever coming back.
— The accident happens on a sharp curve near the edge of a ravine.
I’m going too fast.
I know I’m going too fast.
But I don’t care.
I need to find her.
I need to keep going.
The bike skids on loose gravel.
I feel the world tilt sideways.
I try to correct it, but I’m too late.
The crash is brutal.
The bike flips, and I’m thrown into the air like a ragdoll.
I hit the ground hard, rolling across the asphalt, my body screaming in pain.
I land on my side, my ribs cracking against the jagged rocks.
The pain is blinding, white-hot and agonizing.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t move.
I lie there in the darkness, staring up at the stars.
The blood pools beneath me, warm and sticky.
I think about her.
I think about the last time I saw her.
I think about all the things I never said.
“I love you, Aitana,” I whisper into the night.
“I’ve always loved you.
I’m sorry I never told you.” And then everything goes black.
— When I wake up, I’m in a hospital bed.
The lights are bright and harsh.
The smell of antiseptic fills my nostrils.
I try to sit up, but the pain in my ribs stops me.
I groan, falling back onto the pillows.
“Easy,” a nurse says, appearing at my bedside.
“You’ve been out for three days.
You’re lucky to be alive.” I look at her, my eyes unfocused.
“Where am I?” “Granada General Hospital.
You crashed your bike near the Poqueira Gorge.
You’re lucky someone found you when they did.
You lost a lot of blood.” I look down at my body.
My ribs are wrapped in bandages.
My arm is in a sling.
My face is covered in cuts and bruises.
But there’s something else.
Something that catches my attention.
A scar.
Right over my ribs.
Long and jagged, the skin still pink and healing.
I stare at it.
It’s ugly.
It’s permanent.
It’s a reminder of everything I’ve lost.
I run my finger over it, and I feel the tears burn in my eyes.
“It’s her name,” I whisper.
“She’s carved into my skin now.
I’ll never be able to forget her.
I’ll never be able to let her go.” I think about her.
About the way she smiled.
The way she laughed.
The way she fought with me like her life depended on it.
I think about the way she told me she loved me.
The way I said nothing.
I clench my fists, my nails digging into my palms.
“I’m going to find you, Aitana,” I whisper.
“I’m going to find you and make things right.
I’m going to tell you everything.
I’m going to fight for you like I should have done all along.” I look at the scar on my ribs.
“I promise you,” I whisper.
“I promise I’ll find you.
And I’ll never let you go again.” I close my eyes and let the exhaustion take me.
But the image of her face stays with me, haunting me like a ghost.
The scar on my ribs is her name.
And I’ll carry it with me forever.