The roar of the truck, driving along the winding road through the mountain, woke him up. The darkness disappeared through the cracks in the door of his bedroom, taking with it the morning slumber. The night had been long, trying to recover the memories of his beloved, until he fell asleep, without realizing it. He saw the notebook on the bedside table, and on it, the pen, half covered by the sturdy cap, had dripped the red ink on the hard cover. He turned on the lamp, the light intensified the brightness that was getting brighter by the minute. He opened the notebook, looking for the last page written by him. Raquel, where have you gone; he read in the shaky handwriting, dotted with dripping stains. He closed his eyes, and again, the humidity of a broken spirit, and of a memory that struggles to cling and avoid oblivion, burst in.

“Alas, what will become of me now, without you?”

Tac, tac, tac. The final blow, and the sweet voice of a lady, drew him back from the agony.

“Wait, I'll be right with you.” He answered, with a scratchy voice, while he closed the notebook and adjusted the sash of the silk robe.

“Sebastian, wake up. It's time for breakfast.”

“Who is it?”

“Who else? Raquel.”

He walked hurriedly, following the luminous aces, and unlocked the door. When he opened the door, he looked into the large brown eyes of a woman with fine features. Her kinky hair fell copiously over her shoulders.

“Raquel? You are not my Raquel,” he exclaimed sadly.

She tenderly took him by the hand and led him to the first floor, where three young girls were sitting around the breakfast table waiting for him.

“Dad, sit down next to me.”

From his pocket, he took out his notebook, and slowly read the names of his daughters.

“Raquelita”

“Tell me daddy.”

He can't tell her apart, but he knows from her notes that she is the youngest. So, he sits down next to her, pretending to recognize her. He turns to the other two girls, who look at him slyly.

“Dad, did you sleep well?”

“Yes, daughter.” He answered the vivid portrait of the one who had knocked at his door.

“Let's have breakfast, then.” Interrupted the one with the thick, curly hair.

Meanwhile, Sebastian's thoughts, more and more vague, searched for a grip on a reality that escaped him, like wakefulness before the heaviness of fatigue. Yes, the food was exquisite, as prepared by his mother, but now he no longer knew where he was and with whom. Only the notes in the notebook kept him sane. And already, he doubted who was writing it. Yes, he was lost. Nevertheless, the love of those complete strangers kept him going. Until when? Only God knows.