“I can’t walk,” the businesswoman cried. The mechanic took her to the hospital, and everything changed. “I can’t walk.” Barbara’s scream tore through the air of the mechanic’s shop. Her knees hit the concrete. The pain in her lower back was like a red-hot knife piercing her. Tears ruined her perfect makeup as her hands searched for support on the greasy floor. “Please, help me.” 

Tomás froze. Thirty seconds ago, this woman had called him a filthy mechanic and said people who work with their hands because they have no brains. Now she was slumped in his workshop, sobbing like a child. “Don’t move.” Tomás knelt beside her. “What hurts?” “My back. I can’t feel my legs.” Bárbara tried to sit up and screamed again. “I said don’t move!” 

His voice was firm, but not cruel. “I’m going to call an ambulance.” “No.” Barbara grabbed his arm. “Take me, please. An ambulance will take an hour in traffic.” Tomás looked at his two apprentices. Miguel, 16, was wide-eyed. “Close the workshop, I’ll take her to the hospital.” “But boss, she insulted you.” “That doesn’t matter now.” 

Tomás slid his arms under Bárbara’s body. She was lighter than he expected, all bone and tension beneath that expensive suit. When he lifted her, Bárbara buried her face in his chest, ashamed that this man saw her like this. “My purse, my cell phone. Miguel, bring them.” Tomás’s truck smelled of motor oil and the tacos de canasta he’d had for breakfast. 

Barbara bit her lip to stifle a groan about the worn seat as another wave of pain washed over her. “What’s your name?” Tomás asked, starting the engine. “Barbara Solís.” “Tomás Ruiz, take a deep breath, Barbara. I’m taking you to Hospital Ángeles; it’s 20 minutes away.” Her fingers trembled as she dialed Patricio’s number. Voicemail. 

She dialed again. Voicemail. Third time. “Your husband?” Tomás asked, dodging a taxi. “My fiancé isn’t answering, keep trying.” But Patricio didn’t answer the whole way. Bárbara left five messages, each one more desperate than the last. By the time they arrived at the emergency room, she had stopped calling. Tomás carried her to the entrance. 

A nurse rushed in with a wheelchair. “Is she your wife?” the nurse asked. “No, I’m alone,” Tomás stammered. “He brought me,” Bárbara interrupted. “I don’t have anyone else here.” The words hung in the air like a confession. The emergency room was a chaotic scene of coughing people and crying children. A receptionist handed Tomás a clipboard with forms. “I need your information.” 

Are you related to her? Tomás looked at Bárbara. She was doubled over in the wheelchair, pain distorting her features. I’m her friend. Bárbara didn’t correct him. Tomás filled out the forms with the information she whispered between gasps. Private insurance. Address in Polanco, emergency phone number that didn’t answer. Two hours later, a doctor finally examined her. 

“Severe disc enlargement at L4-L5,” Dr. Santos said, pointing to the X-rays. “There’s compression of the sciatic nerve, that’s why she can’t walk.” “Surgery?” Barbara asked. Her voice barely a whisper. “Immediate. If we wait, the damage could be permanent.” Barbara’s world was reduced to those two words: permanent damage. 

We need your consent and that of a family member. I’ll sign everything, Barbara said. I don’t have any family here. Her fiancé. Barbara looked at her cell phone. Zero missed calls, zero messages. He’s not coming. Dr. Santos exchanged a glance with Tomás. The surgery is in two hours. We need to get her ready. 

As Barbara was carried away on the stretcher, she reached for Tomás’s hand. “You don’t have to stay.” “I know.” “Then why are you doing this?” Tomás thought of his mother cleaning houses for people who never looked her in the eye. He thought of the times they needed help and no one was there. “Because someone has to.” Barbara didn’t know what to say to that. 

The nurse led her away down the hall, and Tomás watched until she disappeared behind the operating room doors. He called his mother from the parking lot. “Mom, I’m going to be late, very late.” “Are you okay, son?” “Yes.” “There’s a woman who needs help.” “Do you know her?” “No, not really, but she doesn’t have anyone else.” 

His mother sighed, a sigh that meant, “My son has too big a heart. Call me when you can. I’ll save your dinner.” Tomás went back to the waiting room. Six hours. Dr. Santos had told him the surgery would take four hours, followed by recovery. He bought terrible coffee from the machine. He sat in an orange plastic chair. He waited. At 11 p.m., a nurse woke him up. 

Mr. Ruiz, the surgery went well. She’s recovering. I can see her. Immediate family only. I’m all she has. The nurse glanced at her computer, then at Tomás in his grease-stained overalls. Five minutes. Bárbara was connected to machines that beeped softly. Her hair was disheveled, and her face was pale and bare of makeup. 

She looked younger, more human. Tomás sat down in the chair by the bed. He didn’t know why he was staying. This woman had treated him like garbage, but when he saw her collapse, when he heard that scream of pure terror, he saw something he recognized. A broken person crying for help. His eyes closed. He would only rest for a moment. 

When Barbara woke up at 3 a.m., disoriented and in pain, the first thing she saw was Tomas asleep in the hospital chair. His head was tilted at an impossible angle, his arms crossed over his chest. He had stayed. A complete stranger had stayed all night. Patricio hadn’t come 

Her assistant hadn’t come, her father hadn’t come. But this mechanic, this man she had insulted, had waited six hours in a hospital for someone who meant nothing to him. Barbara closed her eyes and a tear rolled down her cheek. It wasn’t from physical pain; it was something much worse. Barbara, wake up. I have a meeting in 30 minutes. She opened her eyes. 

Patricio stood beside the hospital bed, impeccable in his gray Italian suit. He smelled of his expensive cologne. Not a hospital. Not worry. “You came.” His voice was hoarse from the anesthesia. Of course I came. I had 17 missed calls. 17 calls like annoying emails. Why didn’t you answer yesterday? I was wrapping up the Querétaro project 

You know how these things are. Barbara tried to sit up, and the pain shot through her like electricity. Patricio didn’t move to help her. I had surgery. The doctor says I won’t be able to walk for weeks. Weeks. Patricio frowned. How many exactly? I don’t know yet, because the engagement party has already been postponed twice, Barbara. My investors are starting to ask awkward questions. 

She blinked, confused by the pain and the drugs. Are you talking about the party now? Someone has to be practical. We’ve been engaged for two months, and we still haven’t made the official announcement. Two months—two months of a ring that weighed more than it should. Dr. Santos came in with a folder of X-rays 

Mrs. Solís, we need to talk about your recovery. Patricio looked at his Rolex. I have to go. The surgery was successful. The doctor continued, ignoring him. But your case was severe. Rehabilitation will take between three and four months. Four months. Patricio let out an incredulous laugh. That’s impossible 

“It’s the medical reality,” said Dr. Santos. “Mrs. Solis, for the first few weeks you won’t be able to walk without assistance. You’ll need intensive physical therapy three times a week and someone to help you at home 24 hours a day.” “I can hire a nurse,” Barbara said. “You need more than that. You need family, emotional support, this type of injury.” “Doctor, excuse me,” Patricio interrupted. 

“Is there any way to speed this up? Private treatments, something spinal cord doesn’t negotiate, sir. Rushing it could cause permanent damage.” Patricio clenched his jaw. Barbara knew him well enough to read the equation forming in his head. Four months was too long, too much inconvenience 

“I understand,” Patricio finally said. “Barbara, we’ll talk later. I have to sort this out in Querétaro. When are you coming back?” “I’m not sure. Maybe in a few days.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead, cold, quick, like sealing an envelope. “Get well soon.” “Yes, I need you back to normal.” Barbara watched him leave. 

His footsteps echoed in the hallway with the same haste with which he had arrived. Dr. Santos closed the door. “That’s her fiancé.” “Yes, I understand.” His tone said he understood all too well. “Mrs. Solís, this type of recovery is as much physical as emotional. You’re going to need people to take care of you. Really.” 

After the doctor left, Barbara picked up her cell phone. She had 22 work notifications. She opened the email from her assistant, Fernanda. Three lines. Barbara, I’ve accepted a position at Mini. I hope you recover soon. It was a pleasure working with you. Regards, Fernanda. Not even a call. Not even an apology. The next email was from HR. 

Dear Barbara, we confirm your indefinite medical leave, as stipulated by the Federal Labor Law. Your position is protected. You will receive 100% of your salary for the first 4 weeks, 60% thereafter. If you have any questions, please contact HR. Best regards. Best regards. What an empty word 

She dialed her father’s number. On the fifth ring, he answered. “Barbara. How are you?” “I just had spinal surgery, Dad.” “Yes, Patricio, he told me. What bad luck. Listen, I need you to send me the Singapore project documents before the end of the month. You can do it from the hospital.” She closed her eyes. “Dad, I won’t be able to walk for three or four months.” 

“But you can work from the computer, right? The client isn’t going to wait for a personal injury. That’s all you care about.” “Barbara, don’t be dramatic. You’ll recover. In the meantime, the company doesn’t stop.” He hung up before she could reply. Barbara dropped the cell phone onto the sheet. The machines continued to beep softly, marking her heart rate 

She wondered if they recorded when a heart broke too. A soft knock on the door. “Can I come in?” Tomás entered with a steaming thermos and a plastic bag. “I thought you’d be hungry. My mom sent chicken broth.” Bárbara looked at him, her eyes moist. “Why are you still here? I came to see how you were. The doctor says you’re leaving tomorrow.” 

Did you talk to him? He told me you need help at home. A lot of help. Barbara wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. I’m going to hire nurses. It’s not your problem. He wasn’t asking if it was my problem. Tomas poured the broth into a plastic cup. He was asking if you needed help. Why would you do that? I was horrible to you. Yes, you were 

Then why? Tomás passed her the glass. The broth smelled like someone’s home, like family. My mom always says that people aren’t bad, they’re just hurt. And hurt people hurt others. I’m not hurt, Bárbara said automatically. I’m— She stopped. What was she? Alone, scared, discovering that her whole life was a well-dressed lie. 

It’s okay not to be okay, Tomás said simply. Eat, we’ll talk later. The broth was delicious, truly homemade, not from an expensive restaurant. Bárbara couldn’t remember the last time someone had cooked something for her with their own hands. Do you have family in the city? Tomás asked. My father, but you know how he is 

Friends, Barbara thought about her social circle, people with whom she drank wines that cost 500 pesos a glass and talked about vacations in Europe. Would any of them come to help her go to the bathroom or change her bandages? No, not that kind. Then, let me help you. Tomás sat in the chair where he had slept the night before. I have a workshop to attend to, but I can arrange it. 

My cousin Javier can take care of you for a few days, and my mom—I can’t ask your mom to do that. She doesn’t know me, that’s why she wants to meet you. I told her what happened, and she said, “That poor angel needs someone to take care of her. That’s how my mom is. I’m not an angel. She doesn’t know that yet.” Tomás barely smiled. Look, you don’t have to decide now, but when you leave tomorrow, someone has to take you home, and according to the doctor, you’ll need constant help for the first few weeks 

Barbara looked at her dead cell phone on the table. My fiancé went to Cancun. He has a resort development project that can’t wait. He left while you’re in the hospital. He said it will only be a few days, maybe a week. Tomas didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. His silence said it all. Sounds terrible, doesn’t it? Barbara let out a bitter laugh. The successful executive abandoned in a hospital. What a cliché 

It doesn’t sound terrible. It sounds lonely. That word hit her harder than any insult. Lonely. That’s exactly what she was. “Why are you doing this?” she asked again. “I treated you like garbage. I said horrible things to you.” “Yes. And tomorrow you’ll probably regret being nice to me today. People like you always do.” 

People like me, people used to buying everything, including people. Barbara felt the sting of truth in those words. I don’t buy people. No. Tomas leaned forward. Your assistant who quit, your fiancé who left, your dad who only thinks about business. How much did you pay them for their loyalty? That’s different. It isn’t. 

That’s why you’re alone now, because you never built anything real. Barbara wanted to scream at him, wanted to kick him out, but every word was true and they both knew it. So why are you helping me if I’m so terrible? Because everyone deserves a chance to be better. Even you. They were silent. The machines beeped. A nurse walked past, pushing a cart 

“Yes, I accept,” Barbara said finally. “I’ll pay for everything—professional nurses, whatever you need for your shop. I don’t want your money. There has to be something I can do.” There is something. Tomás stood up. When you can walk again, when you’re back in your perfect life, remember this. Remember that a grubby mechanic was the only one who stayed. 

He walked toward the door. Tomás stopped, but didn’t turn around. Thank you, Barbara said. And for the first time in years, she meant it. I’ll come tomorrow at 10 to take you home. My mom will come in the afternoon to meet you. After he left, Barbara stared at the hospital ceiling. Four months of recovery. Four months of not being able to walk on her own, four months of depending on a stranger who had more compassion in one finger than her entire family put together. Her cell phone vibrated. A message from Patricio 

Love, I’m going to Cancun for a few days. Urgent development matter. I’ll call you when I can. Get well soon. Kisses. Barbara deleted the message. Then she picked up the empty glass that had held Tomás’s mother’s broth. It was still warm in her hands. For the first time in her life, Barbara Solís didn’t have a plan. She wasn’t in control. 

She had nothing, except the kindness of a man she had insulted. And in some terrifying and strange way, that was more than she’d had in years. The wheelchair didn’t fit properly in the elevator of their building. Tomás had to tilt it at an odd angle while Barbara held her breath, terrified of falling 

“Almost there,” he said, pushing toward his apartment on the 12th floor. When he opened the door, Barbara saw her home as if for the first time. All white, all minimalist, all cold like an operating room. “Nice place,” Tomás said, though his tone suggested that nice wasn’t exactly a compliment. It’s practical, it’s lonely. He pushed her toward the living room. 

The wheels left marks on the immaculate white carpet. Barbara had always cared about keeping everything perfect. Now she didn’t even have the energy to think about it. “Where is your bedroom?” “At the end of the hall.” Tomás assessed the distance with the eyes of a mechanic solving a problem 

We’re going to need grab bars in the bathroom and a shower chair. I can install them tomorrow. You don’t have to, Barbara, in the next few weeks you’re going to need help with everything. And I mean everything, do you understand? She felt her face burn; she understood. Going to the bathroom, bathing, getting dressed, all the things she had always done alone, now impossible. My mom is coming in two hours, Tomás continued. 

She’s going to stay with you during the day while I work. I’ll come in the mornings and evenings. I can’t ask that of your mother. You’re not asking. She offered. Why? She doesn’t know me. I already told you, that’s just how my mother is. A knock on the door interrupted them 

Tomás opened the door and a small woman of about 60 entered, her hair pulled back in a bun and her eyes seemingly looking straight into your soul. “You must be Bárbara,” she said, entering without waiting for an invitation. “I’m Dolores Ruiz, but you call me Doña Lola. Like everyone else, she was carrying two shopping bags filled to the brim.” “Mrs. Ruiz, let’s get started with the formalities.” 

Doña Lola placed the bags in the kitchen. “My dear, we’re going to be spending a lot of time together. We’d better become friends now.” Bárbara didn’t know what to say. No one had called her “my dear” since her grandmother died when she was 8. “I brought real food.” Doña Lola began taking things out of the bags. “This refrigerator looks like a hotel refrigerator.” 

What do you usually eat? Air. I order a lot of takeout. That’s over now. Now you eat what I cook. Tomás smiled from the doorway. I see you’re doing well. Mom, lie down on the sofa when you get tired. Bárbara, rest. Therapy starts tomorrow. You’re leaving now. Bárbara felt a sudden panic. I have a workshop to attend, but I’ll be back at 6 to help you with whatever you need before bed. There was a delicate pause. 

After she left, Doña Lola made tea and sat down next to Bárbara. My son says you were very rude to him. Bárbara braced herself for a scolding. Yes, I was. I’m so sorry. Why are you sorry? Because you need our help now. The question was as sharp as a scalpel. No, well, yes. I don’t know. Bárbara closed her eyes. She was angry. She was in a hurry 

I’m always in a hurry. A hurry. For what? For all the work, the business, feeling important. And how does it make you feel important? Bárbara thought of her empty office, of Fernanda resigning by email, of Patricio going to Cancún. It makes me feel alone. There it is. Doña Lola nodded as if Bárbara had just solved a difficult equation. 

People in a hurry are always running from something. You’re running from being alone, but running only makes you lonelier. I don’t know how to stop. That’s why God literally stopped you. Barbara let out a laugh that was half sobbing. 

Do you think God hurt me on purpose? I think sometimes God has to bring us to our knees so we finally see what matters. The first physical therapy session was torture. “We’re going to try to get you up on your feet,” said the therapist, a woman named Patricia with surprisingly strong arms. Tomas was on one side, Patricia on the other. Barbara clung to both of them as she tried to pull herself up from the wheelchair 

The pain was instant and brutal. I can’t. I can’t. Yes, you can, Tomás said firmly. Just one more second. Her legs were shaking. She felt as if her spine were going to snap in two. Tears streamed down her face. Five seconds standing, Patricia said. One, two. Bárbara shouted. Three, four, five. Excellent. Now sit down. She collapsed into the chair, sobbing with pain and humiliation. 

I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Why are you apologizing? Tomás asked. You were just standing. Three days ago you couldn’t even move. It took me five seconds. Next time it will be six, then ten, then a minute. And if I don’t get better, you’re going to get better. His voice left no room for doubt. But it’s going to hurt, and it’s going to be slow, and you’re going to want to give up every day 

So what do I do? You get up anyway. The weeks began to merge into a routine Barbara would never have imagined. Tomás arrived at 6 a.m., helped her dress, looking the other way when she changed her top. Doña Lola arrived at 8. 

She prepared breakfasts that smelled like home: eggs with beans, chilaquiles, sweet bread with chocolate. Tomás went to the workshop. He returned at noon on Tuesdays and Thursdays to take her to therapy. His cousin Javier, a robust man with a contagious laugh, covered the workshop those days. “My cousin is ruining my reputation,” Tomás joked. “He’s too nice to the customers. Now everyone prefers him.” 

“Does it bother you?” No, Javier is a better mechanic than I am, it’s just that I’m better with numbers. It was the first time Barbara had heard someone admit that another person was better at something without resentment. Four weeks after surgery, Barbara could stand for 30 seconds. Small progress. Painful progress, but progress. 

“I’m going crazy in here,” she said one afternoon. “This apartment is a white prison. Do you want to go out? Where? I can’t walk more than two steps. To the shop. I can fit a comfortable chair. At least you see people, you hear music, something different from these walls.” The idea must have seemed horrible to her. Barbara Solis, Corporate BP, sitting in a neighborhood auto repair shop 

But after weeks of staring at white roofs, it sounded like freedom. The shop was full of noise and life. Two mechanics were working on an old Tsuru. An apprentice, the same Miguel who had seen its breakdown, was sanding a door. A radio played norteño music. Tomás set up a reclining chair in the corner with the best light. How? Surprisingly, yes. 

Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be working on that Jetta. Bárbara watched him work. There was a precision in his movements, a total concentration. He diagnosed problems by touching the engine, listening for noises she didn’t even notice. He explained things to Miguel with infinite patience. See here? The belt is worn out, that’s why it makes that sound. 

Always listen to the car. It’s telling you what it needs. Like doctors, Miguel said. But for cars. Exactly. Every machine has dignity. It deserves to be treated well. Dignity. Bárbara had never thought of objects having dignity, much less old cars. A woman drove in with a ’98 Chevy 

Don Tomás makes that little noise again. Doña Cei, I already told you that you need to change the transmission. I know, my son, but I don’t have any money until payday. Leave it with me, I’ll check it out today. You can pay me when you can. The woman squeezed his hand with tears in her eyes. God bless you. That car is the only thing I have to take my grandson to his therapies. 

After he left, Miguel took out a notebook. Boss, that makes three people who owe money. I know. And how are we going to pay the rent for the shop? We’ll think of something. Bárbara felt something strange in her chest. Tomás was losing money for helping people and he was doing it as if it were the most normal thing in the world. At 6 they closed the shop. Tomás heated quesadillas on an old griddle in the office 

“It’s not a fancy dinner,” he said, serving her one. “It’s perfect.” The cheese melted on the handmade tortilla. Barbara couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten with her hands, without a care for etiquette or appearances. “Did you always want to be a mechanic?” he asked. “I always wanted to fix things. When I was a kid, I took everything in the house apart.” 

My mom was going crazy, and I opened the shop five years ago. I saved for ten years working for others, every single penny. My mom also helped with what she could. And the youth program, that started with Miguel. I caught him trying to steal my tools two years ago. He was 14. I said to him, “Do you want to steal them or do you want to learn how to use them?” And he chose to learn. 

“No, not at first, but he came back and then brought friends. Now there are six kids who come after school. Do you pay them?” “I can’t, but I teach them.” And a trade is worth more than money. Barbara thought about her job. Five-hour meetings to decide on a logo color. Fifty-page presentations that no one read 

What had he actually built? Who had he helped? You’re thinking really hard, Tomás said. I can almost hear the gears turning. I was thinking that I’ve never built anything real. You’re a VIP at a big company. That’s real. It’s not abstract. Numbers on computers. My work disappears on servers. You fix Doña Cei’s car and she can take her grandson to the hospital. That’s real. What you do is necessary, too. 

Do you really think so? Tomás took his time answering. I think what you do might be necessary, but the way you do it, that’s what has to change. He was honest, brutally honest. And Bárbara appreciated it more than any fake compliment she’d ever received. “Teach me something,” she said impulsively. What? Anything. “Teach me something about cars.” Tomás smiled 

He led her to the Jetta he had worked on. “See? This is the battery and these are the wires.” As he explained, Barbara really listened, not planning what to say next, not checking her phone, just listening. And for the first time in weeks, she laughed. A genuine laugh that came from somewhere inside her she’d forgotten existed. Tomas stopped mid-explanation. 

“What? Nothing. It’s just that I didn’t know I remembered how to laugh.” He held her gaze a second longer than necessary. “You should do it more often. It suits you.” Barbara felt heat rise in her cheeks. Not from embarrassment, from something different, something she hadn’t felt in a long time, or maybe ever 

That night, when Tomás helped her back to her apartment, Bárbara stared at her perfect white living room. She realized something. She had lived here for three years and had never felt at home. But in a noisy, greasy auto repair shop, eating quesadillas with her hands, she had felt something similar, and that scared her more than any surgery 

Two months after surgery, Bárbara could walk from her bed to the living room with the help of a walker. Twenty steps that left her exhausted and sweating, but they were twenty steps. “I have a Zoom meeting today,” she announced during breakfast. Doña Lola stopped serving eggs. “Are you sure? You look tired.” “I’m fine. I need to get back to my normal life.” Tomás exchanged a glance with his mother, but said nothing. At 10:00, Bárbara settled in front of her laptop. 

She had put on makeup for the first time in weeks. Silk blouse, hair pulled back, from the chest up, she looked like the VP as always. From the chest down, sweatpants and slippers. The meeting began. Eight square faces. Her boss, Ricardo Fuentes, didn’t even greet her directly 

Barbara, it’s good to see you. How’s the recovery going? Very well. I can already walk short distances. Excellent. So, when are you coming back? The doctor says it’s still two months away. I understand. Her tone said she didn’t understand anything. Well, let’s continue. The Singapore project. For the next hour, Barbara listened as her team moved on without her, her ideas implemented by others, her clients reassigned, her office temporarily occupied by Fernandas’ replacement. “Barbara, do you have anything to add?” Ricardo asked at the end. I 

think the Asian penetration strategy needs adjustments. We already reviewed it with external consulting, but thanks for the input. Input, as if she were a junior employee, not the one who had designed the entire Asian strategy. Well, if that’s all. Ricardo started to say goodbye. Barbara looked for the exit button, but pressed it wrong. Her audio muted, but she was still on the call 

The faces began to speak to each other, assuming she was gone. “Thank God,” said Fernanda, a replacement girl named Paulina. “I thought she’d never shut up. Did you see her face when I said we use outside consulting?” Ricardo laughed as if his ideas were irreplaceable. Barbara froze. “How much longer is her leave?” someone asked. “Another two months, according to HR.” 

“But honestly, we don’t need her anymore. Everything runs better without her micromanaging. The only valuable thing was her connection to her father,” said Paulina. “He’s the one with the real political connections. She’s just the heir.” “Exactly. And now we can work directly with Don Ernesto without going through the Ice Queen.” Laughter 

Several people were laughing. “Poor Barbara,” someone said mockingly. “All her life she’d been important, and it turns out she only mattered because of her last name. Anyway, let’s move on. We have the presentation with Don Ernesto on Friday.” Barbara closed her laptop with trembling hands. She sat at her desk staring at the black screen 

Her reflection stared back at her. Perfect makeup. Expensive blouse, blank face. Doña Lola came in with tea. “My dear, you’re pale.” “I have to go to the bathroom.” She locked herself in and vomited. Not from physical pain, from something worse. When she came out, Doña Lola was waiting for her with a damp towel. “What happened?” “Nothing. The meeting went very well, Barbara.” 

That single word, spoken with such compassion, broke something inside her. I heard myself without meaning to. My team saying that I never mattered, that they only tolerated me because of my father, that everything works better without me. The tears finally came, weeks of holding them back, months, maybe years. Doña Lola hugged her as she sobbed. Everything I worked for, everything I sacrificed meant nothing. I mean nothing. That’s not true. 

It isn’t. I’ve been gone for two months and the company is doing perfectly well. Better, according to them. What does that say about me? It says you worked in the wrong place with the wrong people. No, it says I’m wrong, that my whole life is a lie. Doña Lola dried her face with the towel 

Sometimes God takes away what we thought was important to show us what truly matters. And what matters? Because I don’t know anymore. Come with me on Saturday. Tomás has his shop with the boys. I want you to see something. On Saturday, Tomás drove Bárbara to a neighborhood she had never visited. Narrow streets, modest houses. Kids playing soccer in the street. Where are we? Colonia Doctores. 

This is where I grew up. He parked in front of a small building with a sign. Free Automotive Training Center. Inside, six teenagers were working on old cars. Tomás greeted them all by name. He joked with them. He checked their work with infinite patience. A girl about 16 years old was installing an alternator 

Her tongue peeped out between her teeth as she concentrated. Lupita, how are you doing? Almost there, teacher. Can you check if I did it right? Tomás inspected her work. Perfect. See? I told you you had hands of gold. Lupita’s smile lit up the whole room. My dad says this isn’t women’s work. Your dad is wrong. This is for anyone who wants to learn it. 

Lupita noticed Bárbara in the wheelchair. She’s your girlfriend, teacher. She’s a friend. Tomás blushed slightly. Bárbara, this is Lupita, my best student. I’m not the best. Kevin is faster. Kevin is careless. You’re precise. That’s worth more. After class, as Tomás was closing up the shop, Lupita went over to Bárbara 

Are you a mechanic too? No, I used to work in business. Why did you stop working? I hurt my back, and while I was recovering, I discovered that Barbara stopped. How do you explain to a teenager that her whole life was a lie? She discovered that her job didn’t matter. Lupita finished simply. Barbara looked at her in surprise. 

How do you know? My mom worked cleaning offices. She died last year of a heart attack at work. She never had time for anything, just work and work. And when she died, her boss didn’t even go to the funeral. He hired someone else the next day. I’m so sorry. I felt it too. Until Professor Tomás taught me this, Lupita touched the car 

She told me that the work that matters is the work that helps people, the work that builds real things. My mom cleaned bathrooms for people who never thanked her, but I’m going to fix cars, and every car I fix is ​​going to take someone somewhere important. That’s what matters. The girl’s words hit Barbara like a punch. You’re very smart. 

No, I was just very angry. The teacher says that anger is good if you use it to build, not to destroy. Tomás came back with the keys. Lupita, your brother is here for you. Thank you, teacher, for everything. For believing in people that everyone else throws away 

After he left, Barbara was silent all the way back. “Are you okay?” Tomás finally asked. She said, “That you believe in people that everyone else throws away?” “Yes.” And I’m one of those people who throw people away. I always have been. Tomás didn’t contradict her. “You can change.” “How? I don’t know how to do anything real. I don’t know how to fix cars or build things.” 

“I only know how to make PowerPoint presentations and negotiate contracts. Those are useful skills. For what? So that the company pays less taxes. So that the rich get richer.” Barbara. How many children like Lupita have I ignored in my life. How many people like your mother have I treated as if they were invisible arrived at your building 

Tomás turned off the engine, but neither of them moved. “Do you know what your problem is?” he finally said. “What? Do you think that because you did bad things you’re bad? It doesn’t work like that.” “How does it work then? You are what you choose to be today, not what you were yesterday.” Bárbara looked at her hands. Hands that had never fixed anything, that had only signed papers and typed emails 

And if I choose to be different, but don’t know how, then you learn. That night Barbara couldn’t sleep. She lay awake looking at the diplomas on her wall: ITAM MBA, international certifications, executive of the year awards. What had she built with all that? Who had she really helped? At 2 a.m., she grabbed her laptop and searched for information on technical training programs, nonprofit organization structures, and funding sources for education. Tomás’s program was good, but it was small. Six students, a rented space, no 

Sufficient materials. With the right structure, I could help 60 students. 600. For the first time in months, Barbara felt something akin to excitement—not for money, opposition, or power, but for the possibility of doing something that truly mattered. The next day, when Tomas arrived for his morning routine, she was waiting for him with coffee and a 20-page presentation. 

“What’s this?” he asked, confused. “Your program. I analyzed the costs, growth projections, and potential funding sources. With the right structure, you could triple your reach in two years.” Tomas skimmed the pages in amazement. “Barbara, this is incredible, but I don’t have the money for…” “You don’t need money. You need a plan.” 

I can do that. It’s the only thing I know how to do well. Why would you do this? Barbara thought of Lupita, of her smile, when Tomás called her his best student, of the way that girl spoke of her work with dignity. Because Lupita is right, the work that matters is the work that helps people, and I want my work to finally matter. Tomás sat next to her. 

They reviewed the presentation together for two hours. He asked intelligent questions. She tweaked numbers. For the first time, they worked as a team. “This could really work,” he said finally. “I know, but it’s going to take time and work, and you’re still recovering. I have time, lots of time, and I’m no longer interested in the work I used to do.” 

“What about your company?” Barbara thought of her colleagues laughing, of Ricardo using her last name, of Paulina taking over her office. Let them go to hell. Tomás laughed in surprise. Barbara Solís had just said something rude. Apparently, you’re a bad influence. I always have been. They stared at each other. The air between them changed. 

Something silent but unmistakable. Tomás. The doorbell rang. Doña Lola with the day’s groceries. The moment was broken, but something had changed. Barbara felt it. And from the way Tomás avoided her gaze for the rest of the day, he felt it too. That night, lying in her bed, Barbara touched her diplomas on the wall. Tomorrow she would take them down 

Not because they lacked value, but because they no longer defined who she was, or more importantly, who she wanted to be. For the first time in her life, Bárbara Solís didn’t have a 5-year plan. She only had the desire to build something real and the terrifying certainty that she was falling in love with the man who had taught her the difference. 30 minutes. Patricia, the therapist, stopped the timer. 

Barbara, you just walked for 30 minutes without help. Barbara stopped, breathless, but standing. Alone. Her legs were shaking, but they held her up. I can’t believe it. I can. Tomás was leaning against the wall, smiling. I told you you’d make it. Three months ago, I couldn’t stand for 5 seconds. And in three more months, you’ll be running marathons. 

Don’t exaggerate. It’s okay. Maybe just a half marathon. Patricia checked her notes. This is excellent progress. Keep it up, and in six weeks, you’ll be back to normal activities. Nothing heavy yet, but normal life. Normal life. Barbara wasn’t sure what that meant anymore 

In the parking lot, Tomás opened the passenger door. We have to celebrate. Celebrate walking. That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard. It’s the most incredible thing you’ve ever accomplished. It deserves a celebration. He paused. My mom makes mole on Sundays. The whole family comes. Do you want to come? Bárbara felt a sudden panic. I don’t want to invade your time, family. You already have. 

My mom asks about you every day. My sisters want to meet you. My grandmother says she doesn’t exist until she’s eaten her mole. You have three sisters and two nephews who are going to be climbing all over you the moment you walk in. Tomás, your family is important. I don’t want to. Bárbara interrupted her. I’m inviting you 

Do you want to come or not? She thought about her Sundays before the accident, alone in her apartment, answering emails, ordering expensive food that she ate in front of her laptop. Yes, I want to go. Doña Lola’s house in Colonia Guerrero was small and full of life. Music drifted from the windows. Children shouted as they played. The smell of mole was so intense that Bárbara smelled it from the street. Ready? Tomás asked. No, perfect. Let’s go. 

The door opened before they knocked. A woman in her thirties with a baby on her hip greeted them. Finally, Mom had been saying for an hour, “They’re coming, they’re coming.” As if she had radar. Bárbara. My sister Lucía. Lucía. Bárbara. The famous Bárbara. Lucía scrutinized her without any attempt at concealment 

You’re prettier than Tomás said. I never said, you said she has nice features. That literally means she’s gorgeous, but I don’t want to admit it. Tomás turned red. Lucía, please come in. The whole circus is here. The circus was exactly as described. The small hall was full of people. Two little girls were playing with dolls 

A boy of about five was chasing a cat. A grandmother was knitting in an armchair. Two other women, obviously the other sisters, were setting the table. “Tomás is here!” the boy shouted, running to hug his uncle’s legs. “Carlitos, how’s my champion? Look, I lost another tooth.” The boy proudly flashed his toothless grin. 

“You’re collecting, huh?” Tomás picked him up. “Carlitos, this is Bárbara. Bárbara, my nephew, the terror of the neighborhood.” “Hello,” said Carlitos shyly. Then he whispered very loudly. “Is she your girlfriend? She’s my friend, but you like her, Carlitos. Mom says that when a man brings a woman to dinner, it’s because he likes her a lot, a lot.” 

All conversations in the living room stopped. Six pairs of eyes stared at Tomás and Bárbara. Carlitos, go play. Tomás quickly put him down. Doña Lola came out of the kitchen drying her hands. Bárbara, what a pleasure. Come, sit here. The next two hours were beautiful chaos. Tomás’s sisters all talked at once 

His grandmother, Doña Remedios, told stories of when Tomás was a little boy and took apart all his toys. “He once took apart my blender,” she said. “He was 7 years old. I had a heart attack, but he put it back together and it worked better than before.” “Because you cleaned it for the first time in 10 years, Grandma,” Tomás joked mischievously. The food was incredible: rich and complex mole, perfect rice, handmade tortillas. Bárbara ate until she couldn’t eat anymore. 

“Did you like it?” Doña Lola asked. “It’s delicious. The best mole I’ve ever tasted. The recipe is my grandmother’s. It has 28 ingredients. It takes two days to make. Two days. Good food isn’t rushed.” Doña Lola smiled like good people do. “It takes time to really get to know her.” After eating, the women began to clean up 

Barbara tried to help. No, my child, you’re a guest. Please, I want to help. Doña Lola exchanged glances with her daughters. All right, but only if you can stand. I can. In the small kitchen, the four women washed dishes while they chatted. Barbara dried them clumsily, unsure of how to do it properly. You’ve never washed dishes, Lucia asked, amused. 

I have a dishwasher. I don’t mean by hand. Never. Barbara shook her head in embarrassment. My mother always had a maid, and so do I. It must be nice, Sofia, the middle sister, said without malice. Having people do everything for you isn’t, Barbara said quietly. It’s lonely. The women stopped washing for a moment 

Why? asked the youngest. Monica. Because you never do anything real, you never connect. The people who work for you aren’t your friends, they’re just people you pay, and one day you realize you don’t have anyone for real. Doña Lola passed her another plate. That’s why my son brought you here, so you could see what a real family is like. 

Your family is beautiful, it’s loud and chaotic, and sometimes we drive each other crazy. Doña Lola smiled. But it’s real, and that’s worth more than all the money in the world. I know it. I know it now. Tomás knows it too. He always has. That’s why he never went out with those stuck-up girls who were after him. Mom. Tomás’s voice came from the doorway. Are you embarrassing me? Just a little 

After coffee and sweet bread, it was already night. Tomás walked Bárbara to her truck. “Thanks for inviting me,” she said. “Your family is amazing. They’re intense, but they are good people. Your mom told me something.” “What? That you have a gift for seeing people’s true worth? Not their price.” Tomás put his hands in his pockets. “My mom exaggerates.” “I don’t think she exaggerates.” 

They walked slowly down the street. The night was cool. The lights from the houses created pools of yellow light on the sidewalk. “How are you feeling?” Tomás asked. “Thirty minutes of walking plus all afternoon. Your legs must be tired.” “I’m so happy. I haven’t felt like this in I don’t know how long.” 

As if she belonged somewhere. They stopped under a lamppost. Tomás stared at her with an intensity that took her breath away. Barbara. Their hands brushed against each other. Neither moved to pull away. Yes. I have to tell you something. Barbara’s cell phone rang, breaking the moment. She ignored it. You’re not going to answer. It doesn’t matter. But it rang again. 

And again Barbara pulled it out, annoyed. Patricio, 10 missed calls. He’s my fiancé. The word hung between them like shattered glass. You should answer, Tomás said, taking a step back. Barbara answered. Patricio, I’ve finally been calling you for hours. Where are you? At a family dinner. Whose? A friend’s. Well, forget dinners. I just got back from Cancun. We need to talk 

I’ve waited long enough, Barbara. The engagement is four months old. The party is next Saturday. Next Saturday, no buts. We’ve already postponed twice. My investors need to see this ability. I need you at that party on my arm, smiling. Can you walk yet, or do you still need that ridiculous chair? Barbara clutched her phone 

I can walk. Perfect. Then there are no excuses. Saturday, 7 p.m. Las Palomas Ballroom in Polanco. Long dress. Nothing black. My designer already has three options for you. I’ll stop by tomorrow so you can try them on. Patricio. We need to talk about tomorrow. I have another call now. Kisses. He hung up before she could answer. Bárbara stared at her phone. Is everything okay? Tomás asked. 

The engagement party is next Saturday. I understand. We’ve been engaged for four months. It’s already been postponed twice because of my surgery. You don’t have to explain, Tomás. We should go. It’s late. The drive back was silent. The magic of the day had evaporated, replaced by something heavy and sad. When they arrived at Bárbara’s building, she didn’t want to get out. 

What you were going to say earlier doesn’t matter. It does matter. Tomás finally looked at her. I was going to say that these weeks with you have been important to me, but you have a life waiting for you, a fiancé, a party, a planned future. And if I don’t want that future, don’t you want to let it go, or are you afraid to? The question hit her in the chest. I don’t know 

So, go to your party on Saturday, wear your fancy dress, smile for the pictures, and decide who you really want to be and if you’re the bad son. There is no bad choice, there is only truth or lies, and you know which is which. Barbara got out of the truck and stopped at the door. “Tomás, it’s me. Good night, Barbara.” 

He left before she could say more. Upstairs in her apartment, Barbara stood in the living room. She could still smell Doña Lola’s mole on her clothes. She could still feel the warmth of the house filled with people who truly loved each other. She could still feel the brush of Tomás’s hand against hers. Her cell phone rang again 

Patricio, again. She stared at her phone for a long time, then at the engagement ring on her finger. A three-carat diamond had cost more than Tomás’s entire workshop and was worth less than 30 minutes walking under streetlights with a mechanic who actually saw her. Bárbara slipped off the ring and placed it on the coffee table. It wasn’t a decision yet, just the possibility of one. 

And that was already more than she’d had in four months, in four years. Maybe in her whole life. Patricio arrived on Tuesday with three designer dresses and not a single apology. “This blue one looks perfect on you,” he said, holding one up to her without even kissing her. “Elegant, but not so elegant that you steal the show.” 

The party is to announce our engagement, not for you to outshine me. Hi, Patricio. I missed you too. He finally looked at her. You look good, thinner. The accident was good for you. Barbara felt like she’d been slapped. Are you telling me breaking my back was good for me? Don’t be dramatic. You know what I mean. 

Luz is more refined, less stressed. I couldn’t walk for two months, but you can now. That’s what matters. She took out her cell phone. I have the photographer booked for 6, arrival at 7. Your father will give a toast at 8. At 9 I’ll officially announce the engagement and wedding date. 

Have you decided on the wedding date yet? June of next year. Your father suggested it coincide with the signing of the infrastructure contract. Good synergy. Synergy. He talked about his wedding as if it were a corporate merger. And if I want more time, what for? We’ve already been at this for four months. That’s enough. Four months of this. As if her recovery, her pain, her entire transformation were just an inconvenience. Patricio checked his watch 

Patricio Philip, I have a meeting with the investors. Try on the dresses. I want photos before tomorrow. You’re not staying. What for? I already told you which one I like. The blue one. Wear that one. He left as he had arrived, quickly, efficiently, without warmth. Barbara looked at the three dresses hanging on hangers. Each one cost more than Tomás’s monthly salary. 

She didn’t like any of them. The following days were a whirlwind of preparations. The designer came for final adjustments, the stylist to try out hairstyles, the makeup artist to do tests. Patricio appeared and disappeared, always busy, always with urgent calls 

On Thursday, Barbara was in her living room reviewing the guest list when Patricio came in talking on the phone. He didn’t see her sitting on the couch. “Relax, Roberto, everything’s under control.” He was pacing back and forth. “Saturday’s party seals the deal. Once Don Ernesto sees that his daughter is happily engaged to me, the infrastructure contract is ours.” Barbara froze. “Do I love her?” 

Patricio laughed. “Roberto, I’m 37. Love is for teenagers. This is business. Don Ernesto is on the committee that decides the bids. Your daughter won’t have direct access. You know how this works.” Silence fell as the other person spoke. “Look, my developments are leveraged to the gills.” 

If I don’t get that government contract to build the roads, the banks will close on me. I need those 500 million, and the only way to guarantee it is by being related to Don Ernesto. More silence. Barbara is convenient, well-connected, and ambitious enough to understand that this is a transaction. Besides, after the wedding, I can do whatever I want. Men in our position always have arrangements 

Barbara’s stomach churned. Mariana, yes, she was with me in Cancun. So what? Barbara was in the hospital. A man has needs. After the wedding, I’ll be more discreet, but I’m not going to stop living my life for a signed piece of paper. Patricio finally turned and saw her. His expression didn’t change. He didn’t even seem embarrassed. I have to hang up. We’ll talk later. He put his phone away. 

How much did you hear? All good. Save yourself an awkward conversation. Barbara stood up, trembling. This is all because of my father’s contract. Don’t be naive, Barbara. You really thought I fell madly in love with you. We’re adults. This was always a mutually beneficial arrangement. I didn’t know it was an arrangement. So, you’re dumber than I thought. Patricio poured himself a whiskey. 

Why do you think a successful developer like me would go for a corporate executive with more ambition than personality—for connections, for access, for money? Every word was a knife. And Mariana, my assistant, very efficient. You were with her while I was in the hospital. I was with her before, too. And I’ll continue to be with her afterward 

But don’t worry, I’ll be discreet. Your reputation will be intact. My reputation. Barbara let out a hysterical laugh. That’s what you’re worried about. You should be worried about it too. Look, this is simple. On Saturday, you go to that party, you smile, you act like the happy fiancée. I get my contract. We get married in June. 

We live separate, but respectable, lives. Everyone wins. Except me. You gain stability, social standing, the envy of all your friends. What more could you want? Love, respect, honesty. Patricio looked at her as if she had said something ridiculous. Love is a fairy tale poor people tell themselves to feel better about their poverty. We’re above that. No, you’re below that. 

Patricio put down his glass abruptly. Listen to me carefully. This Saturday, you’re going to be at that party, you’re going to wear that blue dress, you’re going to smile, and you’re going to confirm this engagement, because if you don’t, I’ll make sure your father knows exactly why his potential son-in-law is backing out 

And believe me, when Don Ernesto finds out his daughter ruined his access to the bidding committee, your life will become very difficult. You’re threatening me, to be clear. We have an agreement. You didn’t know it, but I did, and now we both know it. So act like an adult and keep your end of the bargain. He left the apartment, leaving his whiskey half-finished. Barbara slumped onto the couch. She didn’t cry. 

She was too furious to cry. Four months of her life, four months believing someone loved her. Four months being a pawn in a game she didn’t even know she was playing. She picked up her cell phone, dialed Tomás’s number, but didn’t call. What would she say to him? You were right. My life is a lie 

He already knew it, he had known it from the beginning. He stood up. His legs responded perfectly. Four months of recovery, four months of learning to walk again. It was time to walk away from this farce, but where to? On Friday, Barbara drove to the repair shop. It was the first time she had driven since the accident. Her hands trembled on the steering wheel, but she arrived. 

Tomás was under a car, only his legs visible. Norteño music was playing on the radio. Tomás. He rolled out on the wheeled platform, surprised. Bárbara, what are you doing here? I needed to see you. He stood up, wiping his hands on a rag. Did something happen? I found out why Patricio wants to marry me. Because of my father’s business, because of government connections 

It’s all a lie. I’m sorry. Don’t be. You were right, especially since I didn’t come to tell you what I said. I know. I came because I don’t know what to do. The party is tomorrow. My father already invited all his political contacts. Patricio threatened to ruin my family’s reputation if I don’t show up. Tomás leaned against the car. And what do you want to do? I want to run away. 

I want to disappear. I wish I had never met Patricio, or believed his lies. But you can’t do that. Why not? Because you’re not a coward and because running away doesn’t solve anything. Lupita came in with a toolbox. Teacher, I’m done with the… Oh, sorry, I didn’t know you were busy. It’s okay, Lupita, come in 

The girl put down her tools and looked at Barbara. You’re the lady who came a few weeks ago, right? Yes. Are you feeling better physically? Yes. Emotionally, not so much. Lupita nodded as if she understood perfectly. My mom used to say that sometimes wounds of the soul hurt more than those of the body, because no one gives you disability for a broken heart. 

Barbara smiled despite everything. Your mom was very wise. Yes, I miss her every day. Lupita looked at Tomás. But the teacher taught me that the best way to honor someone you’ve lost is to live the way they would have wanted. With dignity, with purpose. Lupita’s right, Tomás said. You can’t control what others do. You can only control who you are 

And if I don’t know who I am, then you decide who you want to be and you start doing it. Barbara watched Tomas working patiently with Lupita, the way he explained things to her, the way he believed in her, the way he saw potential where others only saw a poor girl. That was love, not expensive rings or fancy parties, but seeing someone for real and helping them become their best self 

“Come with me tomorrow,” she said impulsively to the party. Tomás shook his head. “No, why not? Because I’m not going to stand there and watch you choose a life that makes you miserable. I’m not going to witness you selling yourself out for convenience. I’m not selling myself out. No. So, what are you going to do tomorrow? Are you going to wear that blue dress? Are you going to smile for the cameras? Are you going to let Patricio present you as his trophy? I don’t know. Yes, you do. You’re just scared. Of course I’m scared.” 

I’m afraid of losing my family. I’m afraid of ruining my father’s reputation. I’m afraid of not knowing who I am without my last name and my money and my position. Then you already know your answer. Tomás walked toward her. Go to that party, marry Patricio, have your perfect fake life, but don’t ask me to watch you do it. 

Tomás, I told you from the beginning, Bárbara, when you could walk again, when you were back in your perfect life, to remember, to remember that a grubby mechanic was the only one who stayed when everyone else abandoned you. I remember. I remember every day. I really do, because you seem to have forgotten quickly. I didn’t forget anything, especially not you 

Then prove it tomorrow. Decide who you want to be. Not for your father, not for Patricio, not for me, for yourself. Barbara felt tears well up in her eyes. And if the son is wrong, there’s no such thing as a bad choice if it’s honest. But if you choose the lie, if you choose convenience over the truth, then all of this pointed between them. 

All of this meant nothing, it meant everything. So act as if it were true. Lupita coughed uncomfortably. I’m going to the bathroom. She ran out, leaving them alone. I can’t go to that party with you, Tomás said more gently. Because if I see you choose him, if I see you smile that fake smile and say you’re happy, it’s going to break me, and I’m not strong enough for that 

What do you feel for me? Barbara asked directly. Tomás remained silent for a long time. I feel like these four months have been the best of my life. I feel like every morning I came to your apartment, every afternoon I took you to therapy, every night we made quesadillas and talked until late, were the most real moments I’ve ever had with someone. I felt it too, but feeling isn’t enough. 

You have to choose, and I can’t choose for you. Barbara wanted to kiss him. She wanted to tell him she had already chosen. She wanted to promise him she wouldn’t go to that party tomorrow, but the words wouldn’t come because she was still afraid. I’d better go, he said finally. I have things to do. Barbara 

She stopped at the door. When you’re at that party tomorrow surrounded by people who know you but don’t see you, ask yourself something. Is this what I want, or is this what I’m afraid of not having? What’s the difference? All the difference in the world. Barbara drove back to her apartment. The blue dress hung in her closet. The $1,000 shoes were waiting. 

The engagement ring was back on her finger, because Patricio had insisted. All set for the perfect charade. But when she looked in the mirror, she didn’t recognize the woman looking back at her. For four months she had learned to walk again. Now she had to learn to walk toward her truth, even if it meant walking alone. The blue dress fit her perfectly. Barbara looked in the mirror and saw a stranger 

Flawless makeup, hair in an elegant bun, jewelry that cost more than a car. The engagement ring gleaming on her finger like a warning. She looked exactly how Patricio wanted her to look and nothing like herself. Her cell phone vibrated. A message from Tomás. Whatever you decide, I hope it makes you happy. I really do. Bárbara closed her eyes happily. 

When was the last time she was truly happy? Before the accident or only after, when she learned what really mattered? The chauffeur knocked on the door. Miss Solís, the car is ready. It was now or never. Bárbara got out. The Las Palomas ballroom in Polanco was exactly what she had hoped for. Crystal chandeliers 

Floral arrangements of orchids that cost more than a family’s monthly salary. Waiters in white gloves. 200 guests in designer suits drinking $00 champagne. The bottle was beautiful and absolutely empty. Patricio greeted her at the entrance, and then he looked impeccable in his tuxedo. Perfect. Right on time. 

He kissed her on the cheek, cold and quick. The photographers are ready. Smile. Flash, flash, flash. Barbara smiled. The smile she had perfected at a thousand corporate events, the one that didn’t touch her eyes. Come on, I have some people I want you to meet. Patricio led her through the ballroom, his hand on her lower back, possessive, as if marking his territory. Mr. Felipe, I’d like to introduce you to my fiancée, Barbara Solis 

Ah, Ernesto’s daughter. Nice to meet you, Engineer Ramirez. This is Barbara. Her father and I are closing a major project. Attorney Gutierrez, my future wife. Ernesto Solí is her father; she knows him time and time again. Not Barbara, successful executive. Not Barbara, survivor of serious surgery. Just Ernesto’s daughter, an extension of her father’s connections 

“You’re tense,” Patricio whispered. “Relax, act happy. I’m acting, so act better.” His father took the stage to give his toast. He spoke of family alliances, of business opportunities, of how Patricio was the perfect son-in-law to expand our operations. Perfect son-in-law, not a person, not a partner for his daughter, just another piece of the business. 

Barbara sought out her father after the toast. “Dad, I need to talk to you now.” “No, Barbara. I have the bidding committee here. This is the perfect opportunity to… what? To sell me as part of a business package?” Her father frowned. “Don’t be dramatic. Patricio is a good catch, from a good family, good business, good.” 

“And what about me? What I want. You want security, position, everything I’ve given you. Patricio offers you the same. He doesn’t offer me love.” Her father laughed. “Love is for soap operas, Barbara. In real life, successful marriages are based on compatibility, mutual interests, mutual benefit. So, I don’t want a successful marriage. You’re being childish.” 

Now excuse me, I have important people to attend to. He walked away before she could reply. Important people, always important people. Never his own daughter. Barbara walked toward the bathroom. She needed a moment, just a moment to breathe. In the hallway, she heard male voices. She recognized one. Rodrigo Santian, Patricio’s business partner. 

Incredible that she still went ahead with the wedding after the accident. I thought he was going to leave her. Leave her. She needs that connection with Don Ernesto too much. Another man laughed. Besides, four months without being able to walk made her more manageable. Before, she was very bossy. I saw that she had to stay with that mechanic during her recovery. What was his name? No idea. Some guy from the shop where it happened 

Imagine, Barbara Solis depending on help. Laughter. Three men laughing. Barbara was about to keep walking when she heard Patricio’s voice. They’re talking about the mechanic who played nurse. More laughter. Patricio, did you seriously let a mechanic take care of your fiancée? What was I supposed to do? I was in Cancun closing the development. Someone had to carry her to the bathroom. 

The laughter turned into guffaws, cruel. Can you imagine it, Barbara? The Ice Queen being carried by a filthy mechanic. Patricio laughed louder than all of them. Believe me, she hated him, but she had no choice. Now that she’s recovered, she’s back where she belongs, with me in this world 

And the mechanic, what about him? He was useful temporarily, like hiring a nurse, but for free. Now she doesn’t need him anymore. Something inside Barbara broke. It didn’t break like glass, fragile and sad, it broke like a prison. Freeing her. She went back to the saloon. The music was playing, people were drinking, everyone acting like this mattered. Patrick found her. Where were you? It’s almost time for my speech. 

I overheard your conversation in the hallway. He didn’t flinch. Eikels. Pa. That’s all you’re going to say, Barbara, don’t make a scene. Tonight is important. You’re right, it’s very important. She walked to the stage before he could stop her. She took the microphone from the master of ceremonies 

Good evening, everyone. The room fell silent. 200 pairs of eyes stared at her. I know you’re all here to celebrate my engagement to Patricio Lara. Patricio approached with a strained smile. Barbara, love, I was going to… She stopped him with a hand. Four months ago, I was in an accident. I broke my back. I couldn’t walk. 

I thought my life was over. The crowd listened uncomfortably. My fiancé visited me once in the hospital, for 20 minutes. Then he left for Cancun because he had important business. Barbara. Patricio’s voice was a warning. My assistant quit by email. My team carried on without me. 

My father just kept asking when I could go back to work. Her father went pale in the crowd, but there was someone who stayed, a mechanic I insulted horribly. I called him filthy. I told him he was inferior. And yet, when I collapsed crying in his shop, unable to move, he picked me up and carried me to the hospital 

Patricio tried to take the microphone from her. She walked away. That mechanic waited 6 hours in an uncomfortable hospital chair. That mechanic came every day to help me. His mother cooked for me, his family took me in. They taught me what it means to have people who truly care about you. Barbara, stop it. I hiss, Patricio. And while I was learning to walk again, learning to live again, my fiancé was in Cancun with his assistant, plotting how to use my last name to get government contracts, laughing at me with his friends. 

Murmurs ran through the room. Five minutes ago I heard them in the hallway laughing at the grubby mechanic who helped me, laughing at me for depending on help, as if asking for help was shameful, as if needing someone was a weakness. Barbara took off her engagement ring. But I figured something out 

The only weakness is living a lie. The only shame is betraying who you truly are. Barbara, think about what you’re doing, her father said from the crowd. For the first time in my life, I’m thinking clearly. She approached Patricio and handed him the ring. You never loved me, and I never loved you. This was always a transaction, business, convenience. You’re ruining everything. 

Patricio grabbed her arm. Barbara pulled away. No, I’m saving myself. She turned to the 200 guests. I’m sorry I made you come. I’m sorry for the expensive champagne and the costly flowers and this whole spectacle, but I’m most sorry I wasted four months of my life pretending this was what I wanted. You’re a hysteric! Patricio shouted. Your father is going to hear about this. 

Tell him whatever you want. Tell him I’m hysterical. Tell him I’m crazy. Tell him I ruined your perfect business plan. I don’t care. Barbara walked toward the exit, her legs strong, her steps confident. You can’t leave. Patricio ran after her. We have a deal. No, you had a plan. I was just a piece of it. But not anymore 

Your father is going to disinherit you. Barbara stopped at the door. Fine. I never wanted his money. I wanted his love. And if he can’t give me that, then his money is worthless. She left the dove-themed room. The cool night air hit her like a blessing. The ballet brought her car. She got in, her hands trembling on the steering wheel. 

Not from fear, from freedom. She drove through the city. Polanco, Reforma, south, toward the neighborhoods she used to avoid, toward real life, toward Tomás. The workshop was dark, except for a light in the office. Barbara parked and walked to the door. She was still wearing the designer dress and the $1,000 shoes 

Tomás was closing boxes, obviously getting ready to leave. He turned around when he heard her footsteps. His eyes widened. “Barbara, teach me how to change oil.” He blinked, confused. “What? You said you’d teach me things about cars. Teach me, teach me how to change oil. Teach me how to change tires. Teach me everything.” 

“Aren’t you supposed to be at your party? I left her in the middle of the toast. I gave the ring back. I told 200 people it was all a lie.” Tomás froze. “You did what?” “I told everyone the truth: that Patricio only wanted me because of my father’s connections, that he cheated on me, that he made a fool of you, of us, Barbara.” 

And I told them that the filthy mechanic I insulted turned out to be a better person than all of them put together. What did you teach me more in four months than they did in my entire life? Tomás walked slowly toward her. Are you sure about what you did? For the first time in my life, I’m completely sure. Your family will probably disinherit me. And that’s okay, I don’t care about your job anymore. 

So what are you going to do now? Bárbara looked straight at him. I’m going to build something real. I’m going to help with your show. I’m going to use my skills for something that matters. I’m going to meet people who see me for who I am, not my last name. And me—her voice was barely a whisper. What about me? You’re the reason I was able to walk again in every sense. Bárbara, if you do this, if you choose this, there’s no going back. 

Your life is going to change completely. I know it and I want it. I have no money, no connections, I can’t give you the life you had. That life was a prison. You set me free. Tomás closed the distance between them. Are you sure? Because if I do this, if I kiss you now, I won’t be able to let you go. So, don’t let me go. 

He kissed her finally, after four months of tension and resistance and wanting and waiting, he kissed her as if she were the only truth in a world of lies. She kissed him back, her hands in his hair, not caring about the grease or the oil, or that her designer dress was getting ruined 

When they separated, they were both breathless. “You have grease on your face,” Tomás said, laughing. “I don’t care. And your dress is ruined. It was ugly anyway. Patricio picked it out. What’s going to happen now?” Bárbara looked around the workshop, the tools, the half-fixed cars, the smell of oil and honest work. Now I learn, I work, I build something that matters. 

With a grubby mechanic, with the best man I know. Tomás hugged her, burying his face in her hair. “Four months,” he murmured. “I fell in love with you in four months.” “Me too. From the moment you stayed in that hospital. From the moment you really saw me. And now what? Now we really live.” This time he kissed her again, softer this time 

A promise instead of a declaration. Outside, the city carried on. People continued at elegant parties, drinking expensive champagne, acting out perfect lives. But here, in a mechanic’s shop, in a neighborhood Barbara hadn’t even visited before, surrounded by tools and grease and reality, here she was finally home, and her legs, which had learned to walk again, had brought her exactly where she needed to be—not toward a perfect life, but toward a real one. 

And that was worth more than all the money in the world. A year later, Barbara wiped the sweat from her forehead, leaving a grease stain on her cheek. She didn’t mind. “That’s how my daughter, Doña Lola, checks her work, making sure it’s tight. Otherwise, it’ll loosen with the vibration. That’s good. Perfect. You’re almost a real mechanic.” Barbara smiled 

A year ago, the idea of ​​getting her hands dirty with motor oil would have horrified her. Now it was the highlight of her week. The Automotive Training Center had grown. From a small shop in Colonia Doctores, to three centers in different parts of the city 

Sixty students in total, all learning a trade that could change their lives. And Barbara was the development director. She wasn’t earning even a quarter of what she used to. She lived in a modest apartment in a middle-class neighborhood. She didn’t have a driver or a maid, and she was happier than she’d ever been. “Ready for Sunday?” Doña Lola asked. “Always.” 

What are you cooking this week? Pozole. Tomás says it’s your favorite. Everything you cook is my favorite. Sunday dinners at Doña Lola’s had become a tradition. The whole family, the nephews climbing all over her. Lucía giving her unsolicited advice about her relationship with Tomás. 

Grandma Remedios telling the same stories every week. It was chaotic, noisy, perfect. Her phone rang. An unknown number. Bárbara Solís answered. Yes, this is the Mexican Institute for Competitiveness. We reviewed your proposal for national expansion of the training program. We’d like to schedule a meeting. Bárbara felt excitement rush through her veins. 

Of course, when? After scheduling the meeting, she ran to find Tomás. She found him in the original workshop, now expanded to the space next door. He was supervising Miguel, who was no longer an apprentice, but a certified mechanic. Tomás. He looked up, smiling automatically when he saw her. What’s up? IMCO wants to meet about the national expansion 

Tomás dropped the tool and picked it up, twirling it around. Seriously, seriously. If they approve the funding, we could open 10 more centers in two years. That’s incredible. You’re incredible. He kissed her, not caring that Miguel was watching with a mocking smile. “Get a room,” the young man joked. “Respect your boss,” Tomás said, but he was laughing. Lupita came in with a clipboard. 

“Boss, I’ve finished the inventory. Do you want to check it?” At 17, Lupita was the center’s administrative assistant. She studied accounting online at night. Tomás had insisted on paying her a small salary. “I’ll check it later.” “Go home. It’s late. It’s safe. I can stay until V. Your brother is waiting for you.” After he left, Bárbara leaned back against the workbench 

Do you remember when you told me that the people who matter are the ones you help? Yes, you were right. Every time I see Lupita, Miguel, all the students learning and growing, that matters more than any corporate contract I closed. Do you miss your old life? Barbara thought about her office with a view, the expensive lunches, the endless meetings that didn’t build anything real. Not at all, not even a little bit. 

Well, I miss expensive shoes, but only a little. Tomás laughed. I can buy you expensive shoes, only we’d have to save for like six months. I don’t need them. These sneakers are more comfortable. He pulled her toward him. Do you know what day it is today? Friday. No, exactly one year ago. 

One year since you showed up here in that ridiculous dress and asked me to show you how to change oil. It wasn’t ridiculous. It cost $1,000. It was ridiculous, metallic blue. You looked like a peacock. Bárbara playfully hit him. You said I looked beautiful. I lied. You looked ridiculous, but brave, and that made you beautiful 

And now? How do I look now? Tomás looked her up and down. Worn-out pants. T-shirt with the center’s logo, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, grease under her nails. Now you look like yourself, and that’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. You’re so corny. You made me this way. They kissed again, more gently. A year of kissing, and it still felt new every time. 

“Did you talk to your dad?” Tomás asked. Bárbara’s stomach tightened. That was the only dark spot in her happiness. I spoke to him briefly last week, and he’s still angry. He says I ruined his reputation, that Patricio told everyone I humiliated him, and Patricio cared so much about him 

He married a governor’s daughter four months later, another business alliance. How romantic. My mom still doesn’t speak to me. She says I’m an embarrassment to the family. Tomás hugged her. I’m sorry. Not me. If my family only loves me when I act the way they want, then they don’t really love me. And that’s okay, I have a family now, he gestured toward the shop. I have your mom, your sisters, Grandma Remedios. 

They accept me as I am. My grandma says you’re her favorite granddaughter. I’m her only granddaughter. That’s not the point. Bárbara looked around the shop. The organized tools, the cars in different stages of repair, the photos on the wall of graduating students, now working in shops all over the city 

Do you know what you told me that day in the hospital? When I woke up and you were asleep in that awful chair. I didn’t say anything, I was asleep. Then you told me that everyone deserves a chance to be better, even me. And you were right. Look, everything you built this year. I didn’t build it alone, we built it together. Partners. So, partners. Barbara extended her hand formally 

Tomás hugged her, but then pulled her closer. Partners kissing. The best kind of partnership. They closed the workshop together, turned off the lights, checked that everything was locked—routines they had developed over months of working side by side. Outside, the city night enveloped them. Lights, noise, life. 

“Do you remember when you told me I couldn’t walk?” Barbara said as they walked toward Tomas’s truck. “Of course, it was the worst day of your life.” No, it was the best. Because she had been paralyzed long before the accident. Paralyzed by fear, by ambition, by wanting to be something she never was. And now Barbara stopped. 

She looked at her hands with grease under her nails, her worn sneakers, the old truck she now climbed into without thinking. Now I can walk toward what really matters. And what matters? Building something real, helping real people, loving someone who sees me for who I am. Tomas kissed her under a streetlight, just as he had wanted to a year ago, but couldn’t. “I love you,” he said simply 

“I love you too. Thank you for teaching me to walk again. You learned on your own. I just held you while you did it. So, thank you for holding me.” They both got into the truck. Tomás started the engine. “Where are we going?” “Home.” And as they drove through the city streets, Bárbara realized something. 

She no longer knew exactly where home was—her apartment, the workshop, Doña Lola’s house—but then she looked at Tomás driving, humming along to the radio, and she understood. Home wasn’t a place; it was where he was. It was where they built something together. It was where she could finally be herself. A year ago, she had been paralyzed on a workshop floor, crying, “I can’t walk.” 

Now she walked toward her future with confident steps, and every step was worth it. What did you think of Barbara and Tomas’s story? Leave your comments below. On a scale of 0 to 10, how would you rate this story? Subscribe to the channel and turn on notifications so you don’t miss any of our stories.