In the fifth month, he blocked the entrance to my company.
When the security guard stopped him, he shouted, "Camila, you once said you wanted a wedding, and I remember! You said you wanted it by the sea, wearing a white dress, inviting only those closest to you! You said you wanted to raise a golden retriever and name it Mochi! You said that after retirement, you wanted to open a bookstore with hydrangeas planted all around the entrance!"
I stood by the floor‑to‑ceiling window. The coffee in my hand had gone cold.
He remembered all of it. The bits and pieces I'd rambled on about late at night, the wishes he had never once acknowledged back then. Now he was shouting them out word for word.
The security guard escorted him away.
Raymond came to ask me how to handle it. I replied with two
