A new life

When she opened her eyes, the ceiling above her was gone. Instead, a white canopy swayed lazily above her bed, the corners fluttering in the wind. She blinked, confused, the air cool against her skin, the breeze was cool, way too cool for a room.

Her body still felt heavy, as if she had been asleep for days. Maybe she had. But something was different—the smell wasn’t her room anymore, it smelt like....water. The sound of waves crashing against wood hit her ears.

Inés sat up abruptly, her heart hammering. She slipped the sheets off her legs. She swung her feet to the floor, feeling the faint hum of engines beneath her feet. The ground seemed to move slightly, it was tilting.

Her gaze darted around the room. The walls were polished wood, golden and minimalistic. There was a single vase of white lilies on the bedside table and a silk robe folded neatly beside her. Everything looked neat and comfy.

Then she saw the door.

Barefoot, she crossed the room and pushed it open.

The world exploded into blue. As far as her eyes could see, the sea stretched endlessly in every direction, a living mirror catching the sunlight and breaking it into shards of silver. The sky was blue with no cloud in sight. The sound of waves surrounded her, the birds in the air above chirped.

She moved closer to the railing, clutching it as the reality hit her.

She was on a yacht. She squinted her eyes at the sudden brightness.

Her lips parted in disbelief. “What the....”

A voice cut through the wind. “Good morning, sleeping beauty.”

She turned sharply.

He stood by the edge of the deck, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a glass of something red . The sunlight hit him just right, his shirt was half-buttoned, his muscular arms bulging out of the shirt and the wind toyed with the loose strands of his dark hair. He was staring out at the sea.

He noticed her presence. Turning slightly, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smile that could melted her heart. Emilio Cortez.

The man who had saved her life.

She recalled the past few months. It was after she got discharged that she discovered she was in another continent entirely, far far away from Miguel. It hurt her more than he got rid of her so quickly. But Emilio stood by her side, He had handed her his business card before leaving, his voice low and kind: “If you ever need help again, call me.”

Weeks of wandering through streets she didn’t know, sleeping in cheap motels, walking until her feet bled. The night she was accused of theft by a shop owner whose wallet had gone missing. The way everyone looked at her like she was a criminal because of her dirty clothes.

She didn't know who to call otherwise she might rot in jail, she called him.

Emilio. The stranger who had stepped in, calm and confident, paid for the damages, and silenced the onlookers. When he gave her his business card and she actually called him.

Inés never thought he would actually come. But he did. And since that day, she had stayed with him.

Still, the last thing she remembered was falling asleep in her room—small but warm, with the faint hum of the city outside the window. And now she was here, on a yatch.

“What is this place?” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sea.

Emilio set down his drink on the small glass table beside him. “You’re on my yacht,” he said easily, turning toward her fully. His gaze lingered for a moment, soft but assessing. “You looked like you needed a change of environment.”

Inés blinked. “You brought me here? Without asking?”

He smiled faintly, scratching his head. “I didn’t think you would mind.”

Her lips parted to protest, but the sight of the open sea stole her words. For the first time in what felt like forever, there were no walls, no hospital beeps, no suffocating memories. Just sky, salt, and air.

Emilio walked toward her slowly, his steps steady, confident. There was something about the way he moved—unhurried, deliberate—that felt both safe and dangerous.

He stopped a few feet from her. The wind picked up, blowing strands of her hair across her face. He reached out instinctively, brushing a loose strand away.

Inés froze. She gulped, her head snapping to the side.

His hand dropped quickly. “Sorry.”

She shook her head, stepping back slightly. “No, I—”

He smiled again, this time softer. “Let’s start over, shall we?”

He extended his hand, as if meeting her for the first time. “Emilio Cortez,” he said with a playful tilt of his head. “A man who makes terrible decisions but excellent coffee.”

Despite herself, Inés laughed. It came out unexpectedly—small, broken, but real. The sound startled her almost as much as it startled him.

She hadn’t laughed since Miguel. Since everything fell apart. The thought hit her like a wave.

Her laughter dissolved into a shaky breath, and suddenly her eyes burned. She turned away, pressing her hand to her mouth as if she could hold the grief back. But it came anyway, raw and uninvited.

Emilio sighed softly. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low. “If I could take away the pain, I would.”

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

When she finally looked back at him, her face was streaked with tears, but there was something steadier in her gaze now—an attempt at composure.

“I’m Inés,” she said, forcing a smile that almost reached her eyes. “Inés Serrano.”

For a moment, he just stared at her, as though the name itself carried a weight he couldn’t place. Then, slowly, his lips curved upward again.

He looked at her outstretched hand.

Then at her eyes.

And then he smiled—genuine this time, the kind that made his dimples show.

“I know,” he said. “You told me that the night I found you.”

She chuckled faintly. “I was half-conscious. I didn’t think you were listening.”

“I always listen.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy—it was quiet, alive, full of something unspoken. The sea wind wrapped around them, the sunlight catching the soft curve of her face and the edge of his jaw.

Inés hesitated, then looked at his hand again.

He was still holding it out to her, patient, waiting.

There was a flicker of warmth in his eyes, but also distance—like he’d built invisible walls around himself, ones no one was allowed to climb.

For the first time in a long while, she didn’t feel afraid of the distance.

Slowly, she placed her hand in his.

His palm was warm, steady.

Their fingers intertwined, and for that fragile second, the world stilled.

The sea, the sky, the past—all of it faded into a blur.

There was no Miguel, no heartbreak, no ghosts.

Only her.

And him.

Standing on the deck of a yacht, surrounded by an endless horizon that suddenly didn’t feel so empty anymore.

And for the first time since her world fell apart, Inés allowed herself to breathe.