I

Five years later.

The screen in front of me flickered, red lines dotting what should have been smooth coding. I sighed heavily, loosened the buttons at the end of my sleeves, and then folded them quickly.

In a room full of monitors, a small server buzzed in the corner, filling the silence with a monotonous rhythm.

"I don't know what's going on," I muttered, the frustrated tone clearly audible.

My hands moved quickly over the keyboard, trying to track down the problem hidden among the thousands of lines of code.

A voice from behind made me turn my head. "Come on, Belva, you're the team leader. You're the genius here."

Ryan, one of the programmers on my team, stood at the door with a coffee cup in his hand. His smile was half playful, half challenging.

"I'm a genius, not a wizard," I retorted without looking at him again. My fingers continued typing, finding and fixing errors that seemed to appear out of nowhere.

"Well then, maybe it's time you learned magic," he replied with a chuckle.

I looked up for a moment, taking a deep breath. The smell of coffee, the sound of keyboard typing, and the constant energy of this room always managed to distract my mind. For the past five years, this is what I've considered home.

Away from Colombia, away from Russia, away from everything that ever made me feel small.

Here in San Francisco, I was Belva Moguel, a respected team leader, not the girl who ran away from her wedding.

I traded the past for lines of code, immersing myself in hard work until people started calling me "the machine" in this office.

"Help me."

I looked at Ryan with what energy I had left, trying to put on a weak smile. And he could definitely see the exhaustion creeping up my face. He came closer, placing his coffee cup on the next desk and folding his arms.

"You? A help?" he asked with raised eyebrows, a triumphant smile playing at the corners of his lips.

I raised my hand, pointing at the screen full of chaos. "I don't even know what I made anymore. This error is like popping out of a black hole."

He leaned closer, tilting his head to get a closer look. The blue light from the monitor reflected in his eyes, making his expression seem serious for once. He didn't say anything for a few seconds, just scrutinizing the code that looked like a pile of mid-cut puzzles.

"It looks like you're calling a function inside a loop that keeps running. That's like setting a trap for yourself," he muttered. "Look at this."

He typed a few lines, confidently changing something in my code. I furrowed my brow, realizing the mistake I should have been able to see from the start.

"Yeah, I knew that," I said, trying to hide my frustration with myself.

"Oh, of course you know," he replied with a crooked smile. He pressed the enter key, and the screen flickered for a moment. All the errors disappeared, and my code finally ran.

I let out a long sigh, relief running through my body. "Thank you," I said finally, though my voice still sounded reluctant.

Ryan leaned back in his chair, looking at me with a satisfied smile. "That's what teams are for. You're a genius, I'm a wizard. The perfect team."

I rolled my eyes but couldn't help the faint smile that finally appeared. "Don't let that get to your head. You still have to finish your own project."

"Yes, Boss," he replied in a joking tone before taking back his coffee cup and stepping out of my room.

I stared at the screen, which was now clear of red marks, and then leaned my back against the chair. In the past five years, I have built everything from scratch: my career, my reputation, and my life in this city.

But sometimes, like earlier, I feel like a part of me still lingers elsewhere—a place where I can't go back.

I stared at my reflection in the dark screen. For a moment, I saw the image of a white satin dress, an overly spacious dressing room, and a balcony, which was the starting point of my decision.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and then exhaled slowly. The past is just broken coding, I told myself.

You just need to find the errors and fix them.

But I know some mistakes are not that easy to erase.

::::

The San Francisco sky is starting to turn orange, a thin sweep of clouds dotting the western horizon. The sound of crashing waves was clearly audible as I parked my car in front of my house, a small beachfront villa with a wooden balcony overlooking the ocean.

As I opened the door, the scent of sea salt mixed with the familiar warmth of wood greeted me.  I heard the sound of footsteps before I saw them. Shiny leather shoes were neatly placed in front of the glass door that connected the living room to the balcony. My eyes narrowed.

Those weren't my shoes.

The balcony glowed golden as the last rays of sunlight touched the wood. The figure was sitting on a lounge chair with a glass of red wine in his hand. His black hair glistened in the light, and that annoying smile instantly spread across his face when he noticed my presence.

"Bell-bell," a familiar heavy voice greeted. Benito. My twin.

I snorted, letting go of my briefcase and stepping closer. "Shouldn't you be in New York, taking care of an important meeting or something?"

He just shrugged, swirling his wine glass casually. "The meeting finished early. I thought, why not drop by and bother my twin sister for a while?"

I rolled my eyes, though I couldn't completely hide the smile that appeared.

Before I could answer, the sound of small steps could be heard from the direction of the stairs. I didn't even have time to turn my head before something—or rather, someone—jumped into me with full force.

"Mommy!"

The little hug almost threw me off balance, but I immediately grabbed him, holding him tiny body tightly. I looked down, seeing those big blue eyes staring at me enthusiastically. His messy hair and wide smile always managed to steal my breath away.

"Max," I whispered, kissing his hair, which smelled like sun and beach sand. "Have you eaten yet?"

"Not yet!" he replied excitedly, his face lighting up like I'd just asked him the most exciting thing in the world. "But Uncle Ben said he was going to make pizza."

I turned to Ben, who shrugged with a grin. "I have the ingredients in your kitchen. Don't worry. I won't burn your house down," he said casually.

He did like to cook, but his skill made me doubt it. However, I haven't seen him since three months ago, so maybe his skills have improved.

Max chuckled, then whispered in my ear, "But I'm not sure Uncle Ben can cook, Mommy."

I couldn't help but laugh, stroking Max's hair gently. "We'll see, okay?"

Max nodded enthusiastically, then jumped down from my arms and ran back into the house, leaving small sand trails on the wooden floor. I sighed, looking at Ben, who was now looking at me with a more severe expression.

This was a rare moment—peace. But somewhere inside me, there was a growing sense of unease. Because whenever Ben showed up without warning, there was always a reason behind it, and I knew better than to dismiss his visit as mere nostalgia.

"So," I broke the silence in a casual tone, though my eyes were keenly observing him, "why are you really here, Ben?"

His face turned a little more serious, but he quickly hid it behind his usual crooked smile. "Later," he said. "We'll talk later."

I sighed softly.

After taking another sip of his drink, he said softly, "Are you sure you want to stay here forever, Bell? I mean, away from everyone, everything?"

I stare out at the ocean, letting the sound of the waves fill the pauses in our conversation. "I've got it all here, Ben. Max, my job, this house. What more do I need?"

He didn't answer, but I could feel his heavy gaze. I knew he wanted to say something, but as always, he preferred to wait for the right moment.

"Pizza!" Max's voice echoed from inside the house, making us both smile.

"Alright," Benito said finally, standing up from his chair. "Let's see if my cooking skills have improved or not."

::::

"Mama misses you but, as usual, she still chooses her ego." Ben said.

We sat on the balcony again, with the night sky and a nice slice of pizza in our midst. Max was already sleeping with his head on his uncle's lap.

"She’s still very curious about Max's progress, but she never dared to ask me first." Ben chuckled.

I looked at Max's sleeping face. His tiny lips were slightly parted, and his breathing was calm. His hands gripped the hem of Ben's T-shirt tightly like he knew his uncle was a safe haven.

The night breeze gently blew my hair, carrying the scent of salt from the sea. I looked up at Ben, who was now gently rubbing Max's head. A small smile played at the corners of his lips, but his eyes looked distant, lost in his thoughts.

"I know," I said finally, my voice almost a whisper. I reach for the last slice of pizza, even though my stomach is already too full to enjoy it. "She loved us, but never knew how to show it."

Ben raised an eyebrow, chuckling without humour. "Love? That's a strange way of putting what she did."

I sighed, turning the pizza in my hand without taking a bite. "She just..."

The sentence hung in the air, finding no end. I knew what I wanted to say, but it felt too complicated to express.

"She’s stubborn, Bell." Ben looked at me, this time with eyes that were no longer full of mockery. "Like you. Maybe that's the problem. Two stone heads, facing each other, waiting for the other to give up first."

I smiled a little, though my heart ached a little. I knew Ben was right. I always had been. Mama and I were like two big ships floating in the same ocean, circling each other but never meeting.

I chose my way, and she chose hers. And between us, there was only a long silence.

"Sometimes she talks about you unconsciously, you know," Ben continued, breaking the silence. "About how you used to always read those poems in the living room. About how you never gave up even though everyone said your choices were impossible." He said. "And how she still looks at your painting hanging in the music room."

I chuckled softly, though my heart pinched at the memory. "And then she got angry that I never chose the way she did."

Ben shook his head softly, his eyes returning to Max. "She was angry because she knew you were like her. She wanted to protect you from the mistakes she made, but she didn't know how to do it other than by demanding too much."

I didn't answer. My eyes stared at the sea glistening in the moonlight. I knew there was truth behind Ben's words. But that didn't erase the pain I'd felt.

And I didn't even want to talk about the others.

Papa.

My papa was so hard and sharp. I still remember his words, even after I set foot in our mansion in Bogota, a week after I ran away from that church and spent time in Ben's apartment in New York.

"Go wherever you want. I won't care anymore. Don't ever set foot in this house."

And I did.

Max stirred a little in Ben's lap, whimpering a little before settling back down. I reached out, stroking his soft hair. I stared at his face, which was a true replica of his father, the Russian man whose name I didn't want to mention.

"Do you think," I broke the silence, looking at Ben with doubt in my eyes, "that he'll try to see Max one day?"

Ben smiled wryly, his eyes back to sharp, enigmatic. "Depends. Are you going to give him a chance?"

I paused, thinking about his question.

Because Ben knew, so did I, that the answer was more complicated than a simple yes or no.