“You have no idea how much I’ve thought about you,” he said, with an intensity that made Carmen blush. “That day… if you hadn’t helped us get there… the doctors said we would have missed the window for pre-treatment. We arrived just in time.”
He looked at the girl, who was now hugging his leg.
—This is Luna.
Luna looked at Carmen with curiosity.
“Hello,” said the girl. “Are you the speedy police officer?”
Carmen laughed, and the sound was like a release.
—Something like that. Hi, Luna. I’m so glad to see you doing so well.
“Dad says an angel gave me his blood,” Luna said with the brutal innocence of children. “And another angel drove us. Are you the angel who drove us?”
Diego had tears in his eyes.
—Yes, darling. She’s the car’s guardian angel.
Carmen felt a lump in her throat. She wanted to shout, “I am the two angels! It’s me!” But she couldn’t. There were still four months to go before the anonymity would be lifted.
“I’m glad I was able to help,” Carmen said simply.
Diego insisted on inviting her for coffee. Carmen accepted. That coffee turned into dinner the following week. And that dinner into Sunday walks. Carmen became a constant presence in Diego and Luna’s lives. She fell in love with Luna’s infectious laughter and Diego’s quiet, kind strength. And Diego, little by little, began to look at Carmen not only with gratitude, but with something deeper, something warm and promising.
But the secret weighed heavily. Carmen felt like an imposter every time Diego spoke of the “anonymous donor” with such reverence, wondering who he was, where he was, wishing she could thank him for her daughter’s life.
Finally, the year was over.
Carmen received the official letter that allowed her to reveal her identity. That same day, Diego had invited her to dinner at his house. He had prepared something special, and Luna was excited that Carmen was going to be there.
During dinner, the atmosphere was magical. There was a comfortable intimacy between the three of them, as if they had always been a family. When Luna went to bed, Diego poured two glasses of wine and sat next to Carmen on the sofa.
“Carmen,” he said, taking her hand, “this past year has been… it’s been the best of my life after so much darkness. And you’ve been a huge part of that. I don’t know what the future holds, but I know I want you in it.”
Carmen squeezed his hand, feeling like her heart was going to burst.
—I want you in my life too, Diego. But… there’s something you need to know. Something I’ve kept to myself for a long time because I couldn’t tell you.
Diego’s expression changed to one of concern.
—What’s wrong? Are you okay?
Carmen took the letter from the hospital out of her bag and put it on the table.
“Twelve years ago,” Carmen began, her voice trembling, “there was a fire in Vallecas. A fourteen-year-old girl was trapped inside. No one dared to go in, but a young man, a stranger, went into the fire and pulled her out. He saved her life and left without saying his name. I only saw a scar on his temple.”
Diego froze. He unconsciously brought his hand to the scar on his head. His eyes widened.
“You…?” he whispered. “Was it you?”
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