The Bakery by the Sea
Nearly five months later, Alejandro traveled to Cádiz for a charity event. The city, with its white houses and salt-stained breeze, felt like another world. Wandering through a narrow street near the port, he noticed a small bakery with a hand-painted sign:
“Pan y Margaritas — Lucía Herrera.”
The name hit him like lightning.
He stepped inside.
The scent of fresh bread and sugar filled the air. Behind the counter, Lucía stood with her sleeves rolled up, dusted with flour, her hair tied back. For a moment, she didn’t recognize him. But when their eyes met, everything else fell away.
“Alejandro,” she whispered.
“You left before I could apologize,” he said softly.
“I left because I didn’t belong there,” she replied.
“You were the only thing that did,” he said.
She smiled through tears. “You finally believe me?”
He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a tiny, crumpled daisy — dry and delicate, preserved all these months. “I kept it,” he said. “Because it was the only honest thing in my house.”
Lucía’s eyes glistened. “And what will you do now, Señor Doval?”
He shook his head gently. “Now, I’ll stop pretending to sleep.”
