You do not sleep after the memories come back.

The storm passes sometime before dawn, but the house keeps breathing like a living thing around you. Rainwater drips from the eaves. Wind moves softly through the wet trees. Somewhere in the next room, Mateo whimpers once in his sleep, then settles again. Sofía turns over on her mattress and sighs with the trust of a child who believes the walls around her will still be there in the morning.

You sit at the small kitchen table with both hands wrapped around a chipped mug of coffee you have forgotten to drink.

Alejandro Rivas.