I took the pen in my trembling hand, the IV line still taped to my wrist, and I pressed my signature onto the bottom line where he pointed.

He snatched the pages back with a triumphant grin.

“I knew you’d understand, in the end.

Good luck with the operation.” And he walked out — without kissing me, without touching my shoulder, without once looking back.

I did not shed a single tear.

Because Alejandro, in all his serene certainty, was oblivious to one fundamental fact, and the fact was about to become the entire rest of both our lives.