Some time ago, I was one of those girls who waited for a rose. A flower, a sunflower, any detail. I saw how others received bouquets with radiant smiles, and I also wanted to be, even once, the reason why someone gave flowers.

Over time, I understood that I didn't have to like the same things as everyone else. Why did I have to be the same? Why did I have to pretend that I liked colorful flowers? Then I asked myself a question that I had never asked myself before: do I really like flowers?

The answer surprised me: no, I don't like them. I like black ones. Those that nobody notices, that are not given as gifts, that are rare, different… unique. And that's when everything started.

I was sitting on the darkest night, accompanied only by the October moon and my thoughts. I was thinking about everything that had happened to me since I can remember. Suddenly, something—or someone—passed in front of me as fast as a flash.

"Maybe I imagined it," I said to myself, shaking my head.

I returned to my room, invaded by a thousand questions. I was thinking about how I would survive the next day, with a life that was becoming heavier and heavier. Maybe you're wondering how I got here… who I am and what my story is.

My name is Madeleine Salvatore, I am 26 years old and I have an 8-year-old daughter. I live in a small town forgotten by almost everyone, but where work, at least, is never lacking.

I separated from my daughter's father eight months ago. He basically told me that he didn't love me anymore, that he was free. After ten years of living together, he left me with love in my hands… and with a girl who adored her dad. Since then, our lives have changed. That night, I remember well, I took a bottle to calm my nerves. Even so, I felt them running through my skin. I returned from work knowing that tonight… everything would end.

I tried to delay as much as possible, but the inevitable arrived. I asked him to go outside to talk. I didn't want our daughter to hear. I didn't want her to see me fall apart. Outside, I put on the song "Nada" by Dread Mar I and prepared for the worst.

I cried. Like never before. But his words were dry, cold, direct:

"I don't love you anymore. It's better if we break up. That way you don't waste time. You are free to fall in love with whoever you want…"

Free? How absurd! Ten years for this? To leave me empty-handed? I could only think of the pain that would come… of what my girl would feel when she found out.

After that night, everything changed.

I moved out. I didn't want to see him, even though it hurt not having him by my side anymore. It hurt to sleep without his hugs. My daughter and I held each other. We cried many nights, but over time… it hurt a little less.

Seven months have passed. Tonight, once again, I was sitting under the moon thinking about everything. I saw that fleeting figure again, but I didn't give it importance.

I came home. I saw my girl sleeping in her little bed. Her slow breathing was the only thing that gave me strength to continue.

The dawn arrived with the same weariness as always. Madeleine got up early, as she had done every day since she was alone. That morning, she had no one to leave her daughter with, so she would have to take her to work.

"Mommy, I want to keep sleeping..." Valentina murmured, tangled in the blankets.

"Good morning, my love. Today you're coming with me to work. Come on, get up, we're going to be late. What do you want for breakfast?"

"Cooked egg with patacones... and cheese."

"That's what we'll have then. Get dressed quickly!"

Minutes later, they left for the small restaurant where Madeleine worked. As soon as they arrived, she started preparing breakfast and getting everything ready to open the place. Valentina ate quietly at a small table, her little face still half asleep.

"Good morning, Madeleine. Ready for another day of war?" her boss greeted as he entered.

"Yes, boss. Here we are."

The day went by like so many others: orders, breakfasts, lunches, cleaning. Madeleine didn't stop for a second. When they finally closed, the afternoon gave them a small respite.

"Mommy, can we go home now?" Valentina asked, hugging her backpack.

"Yes, my love. At last."

On the way home, they stopped by the bakery and bought bread and coffee, a custom that mother and daughter had turned into a ritual. As they walked down a lonely street, Valentina stopped dead in her tracks.

"Look, Mommy... there's someone lying over there. He looks hurt."

"Don't go near him, my love. It could be dangerous. Let's go."

"But there's blood, Mommy... we have to help him! You always say we have to help."

Madeleine sighed with resignation. She knew that her daughter had a huge heart, so big that it sometimes got her into trouble.

"Ugh... alright, but you're going to get me into trouble for being so good. You take the bread. I'll try to lift him."

As she approached, Madeleine shuddered. The man was unconscious, his shirt covered in blood, covered in blows. He was tall, strongly built, with beautiful features even among the blood. He didn't look like a vagabond.

"Hello? Can you hear me?" she asked in a low voice. She got no response.

With effort, she lifted him. Valentina opened the door to the house and ran for the first aid kit.

"Mommy, put him on your bed. Don't leave him on the floor."

"Oh my God, this man weighs like five sacks of rice!"

She managed to lay him down, while Valentina was already bringing scissors, water, and gauze.

"Cut the shirt, Mommy. That way you don't hurt him more."

"Good thinking, little nurse."

The blows were deep, but not lethal. Madeleine cleaned him carefully, disinfected the wounds, and bandaged his torso.

"Can I clean his face, Mommy?" Valentina asked, tenderly.

"Okay, but be careful. I'm going to check if he has any identification."

She checked his pockets. There was nothing. Only a number written on a crumpled piece of paper.

"No name, no wallet. How strange..."

"Well, I'm going to give him one," Valentina said, determined. "His name will be Alan."

"You call him that, not me. Hopefully he wakes up soon so he can leave. We don't know if he's dangerous."

"I don't think so. He has the face of a sleeping angel."

Madeleine gave her daughter bread and coffee, while she prepared a simple soup. After a while they were already eating when someone knocked on the door. They looked at each other in surprise: they never received visitors.

Chapter: The Visit

"My child," I whispered urgently, "go see if that man in the bed is still asleep. If he is, hide him and then come to me. Don't say anything, okay?"

"Okay, Mommy, I'll be right back," she replied obediently, her footsteps light.

Knocks echoed on the door.

"Yes? Who is it?" I asked, trying to sound calm.

"Hello, good evening. Could you open the door? It's urgent…"

"Yes, tell me, what do you need?"

"We're looking for this person," he said, showing a photo. "By any chance, is he here?"

"The truth is, no, gentlemen."

One of them raised his arm, pointing a gun at me.

"Can we check?"

"Sure, I don't see why not. But you could put that away, my daughter will get scared."

They looked at each other, hesitating. Finally, they lowered the gun and nodded.

"Come in…"

"Mommy, who are they?" my daughter asked from the hallway.

"They're undercover police," I said, looking at them coldly. "They're checking to make sure everything is okay, right, gentlemen?"

"Uh… yes, of course. We're police. We're on an important mission," one of them stammered.

That woman is scary… she seems so harmless, the other thought, without saying a word.

"Come on, there's nothing here," they said after looking around.

"Goodbye, police," I said without emotion as I accompanied them to the door.

When they left and I closed it, my legs faltered. I collapsed to the floor, gasping.

"That was close… Ash, why didn't I ask that guy's name? That way I'd know what it is…"

"Where did you hide him?" I asked my daughter when she returned.

"Where always, Mommy. In the secret hiding place. Did I do good?"

"More than good, my child. We've saved ourselves from dying."

"Because they were bad?"

"Yes, my child. They were very bad. You see what trouble you got me into… let's close the door well. We're going to take him out."

We entered the room. The two beds were made, as if no one had used them.

"Okay, Mommy. Take him out. He must have gotten hurt. I'll get the first aid kit."

I approached, looked for the hidden button, and pressed it. The mattress slid to one side with a dull thud. A man emerged from below, but the abrupt movement made him bleed.

"Here it is, Mommy."

"Go take a bath. It's time to sleep."

"Are you going to sleep with him?"

"No, I'll sleep with you. Don't ask questions. Go quickly."

"Okay, Mommy," she replied, disappearing into the hallway.

As I treated the stranger, I couldn't help but think about my daughter's father. About that person I had loved so much. Surprisingly, she didn't mention him to me today. Is it because of you?

I shuddered when he took my hand quickly and forcefully. I looked at him surprised.

"What the hell!?"

"Who are you?" he asks, his voice tense and cold.

"I should be asking that… If you're okay now, can you leave my house?"

"Oh my God… he has beautiful eyes," I murmured, unable to help myself. His drooping eyelids didn't completely hide the deep blue that peeked out as if the sky had hidden in his gaze. I swallowed. "No, no, Made, you can't focus on that now. Kick him out! Or those people will come again," I said to myself, slapping my forehead.

But I didn't.

I couldn't.

I looked at him again, lying on the bed, breathing heavily as if he had already given up.

"I don't know… we found you and brought you here to heal you," I whispered carefully. "My daughter called you Alan."

He looked at me for a second, as if the whole world hung on that instant.

"Please… help me," he whispered with a broken voice.

And as if his body could no longer resist, he fainted. Just like that. Plop!

I sighed deeply. I crossed my arms. I looked at the ceiling.

"And yes, gentlemen… again. He fainted again."

Now I have a handsome man, half dead, lying in my bed. With wounds all over, without documents, without a name, without anything. Only that look… and that voice that asked me for help as if I could save him from hell.

"Mommy!" my daughter's little voice came from the hallway. "Is Mr. Alan okay?"

"Yes, my love… he's resting," I replied, trying to sound calm.

I don't know why, but I felt the need to protect him. As if something in him spoke to me without saying a single word. As if his presence meant more than it seemed.

And although everything inside me screamed at me to kick him out, not to get into more trouble, it was too late. He was here. In my house. In my bed.

And now it was my problem.