A multimillionaire saw his ex-girlfriend, whom he had left six years earlier, waiting for an Uber with three children who looked exactly like him. What he didn’t know was that those children were Julián Castañeda. He had just left a meeting in Polanco, one of those endless meetings where everyone feels important and talks as if they were saving the world. He just wanted to get out of there. He got into his armored SUV, gave his driver his usual instructions, and took out his cell phone to check messages as they drove down a somewhat congested street. He glanced out the window without much
interest. That’s when he saw her. There she was, standing on the sidewalk right in front of a pharmacy, looking tired and a little desperate. Her hair was hastily pulled back, she was wearing simple clothes, and she was clutching a half-torn shopping bag. Beside her were three children, all identical: same eyes, same mouth, same expression. They were looking around as if waiting for something to happen, and those eyes were his. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be. He leaned forward to get a better look, but just then another car cut in between them, and the image
disappeared. “Stop!” Julián shouted. The driver slammed on the brakes and turned around, worried. Julián opened the door without waiting for a response, got out at street level, and looked around desperately. The sidewalk was crowded as always, but she wasn’t there anymore. He walked quickly through the pedestrians, searching for her, ignoring the comments of those who recognized him. His heart was pounding. It was her. It was Valeria. And those children. After a few minutes, he saw her crossing the street hand in hand with the three children, getting into a gray car that was clearly an Uber. He froze, feeling his
stomach clench. He didn’t know whether to run, scream her name, or just let her go. The car started and disappeared into the afternoon traffic. Julián didn’t move; he just stood there, watching how that scene had left him trembling. He returned to his truck almost automatically. He didn’t say anything. The driver looked at him in the rearview mirror, but Julián didn’t say a word. He was completely out of it. The only thing he could think about was those three children with the same face as him. He grabbed his forehead, closed his eyes, and let out a sigh that came from the depths of his soul. He hadn’t seen Six years have passed since that early morning when he decided to leave without saying goodbye to Valeria. He didn’t leave her a single message, nothing. They were fine, yes, but he had plans. He was about to close a deal that would change everything. He left thinking she would understand, that there would be time later to fix things, but that time never came. The car continued on its way to his apartment in Santa Fe. When he arrived, Julián angrily took off his jacket and threw it onto the sofa. He poured himself a drink, even though it wasn’t even 5 a.m. yet.
Late, he paced back and forth, remembering everything he had experienced with Valeria: her laughter, the way she gazed at him when he talked about his dreams, the way she hugged him when he came home late and just wanted to sleep. Then he thought about those children—how could they be so much like him? He picked up his phone and searched social media. Nothing, not a photo, not a clue. Valeria had vanished from the digital world as if she had never existed. This made him feel strange because he had tried to forget her, but deep down, he
never could. It was the kind of love you keep locked away in a little box you never want to open again because you know it will hurt. He sat down at his computer, opened an encrypted folder where he kept personal files, and looked for old photos. There they were: Valeria at the beach, Valeria in her apartment, Valeria with her dog, Valeria in pajamas, laughing with her mouth full of popcorn. He looked at them one by one until he came across one where she was hugging him from behind, her face pressed against his neck. She had taken the photo herself
with her phone. He stared at it for a long time and then pursed his lips. He knew what he had to do. Julián called his assistant, Mateo. “I need you to find someone. Her name is Valeria Ortega. I don’t have an address. I only know she lives in Mexico City and has three children. And one more thing: could those children be mine?” There was an awkward silence on the other end of the line. “Understood, sir,” Mateo said. He hung up and stared out the window at the city—thousands of lights, thousands of people. But at that moment, only one mattered to him. He didn’t know if she was angry, if she hated him, or if she had simply
