The sign still smelled of fresh paint.

RÍOS MECÁNICA

You stood in front of it with your arms crossed.

—It's crooked.

Ramiro looked up from under the hood of the car he was inspecting.

—It's not crooked.

—Dad.

—It's fine.

Ramiro came out from under the vehicle, wiped his hands with a cloth and looked at the sign.

—It's a little crooked.

You smiled.

—I told you.

—Doesn't mean I'm going to fix it now.

—I knew it.

The shop was still practically empty.

You had arrived in the city a little over a month ago. The move had been exhausting, but Ramiro had spent years talking about starting over in a place where he could have his own business.

And finally he had done it. He had rented that space, bought some new tools and turned the place into a small mechanic shop.

It wasn't big. It wasn't luxurious. But it was his.

—Is Lucía coming today? —Ramiro asked.

—She said yes.

—And your mother?

—At the house. She's still organizing boxes.

Ramiro let out a small laugh.

—Your mother has been organizing boxes for a month.

—And she still says she doesn't know where her things are.

—Now that is worrying.

You looked inside the shop again.

—Do you think it will work?

Ramiro looked at you.

—Of course it will.

—I wasn't asking that.

Your father understood.

—You were asking if you and I can do it?

You nodded. Ramiro set the cloth on the table.

—Son, we've been working with engines for years. We just changed the place.

You smiled.

—So yes.

—So yes.

Lucía arrived an hour later. Her black motorcycle with cherry red details stopped in front of the shop. She took off her helmet and went in.

—Where's Mother?

—At home.

—Did you fix the sign yet?

Ramiro looked at her.

—No.

You raised a hand.

—I told you it was crooked.

—Nobody asked you.

Lucía looked at the sign.

—It's horrible.

Ramiro sighed.

—Thanks for the support.

Lucía smiled slightly.

It was strange starting over. New city. New house. New job for her father. New routine for everyone.

The kitchen was different. There she did know what she wanted. She had gotten a job at one of the most prestigious restaurants in the city, working under the orders of an internationally renowned chef.

A few kilometres from the shop, Mervyn Coravi finished closing the door of his truck.

—Are you coming? —Elvira asked from the entrance.

—Yes.

—I'm asking because you've been sitting there for five minutes.

Mervyn got out of the pickup.

—I was thinking.

—That explains everything.

He looked at her.

—What?

—Nothing.

Elvira went into the house. Mervyn followed her.

His life was quite different from yours. He had finished his business degree and worked with his father in some of the family businesses. He didn't need to worry about money. He had never had to.

But he also wasn't someone interested in living depending on his family. Isidro had always taught them that having opportunities didn't mean having the right to anything. And Mervyn had taken that quite seriously.

Elvira was different. She had finished a communications degree and enjoyed the social side of her profession much more. She could talk to practically anyone. Mervyn preferred to avoid most people. They were siblings, and they could hardly be more different.

Two days later, Isidro needed to take the truck to the shop.

—Why don't you take it to the usual mechanic? —Mervyn asked.

—Because he moved.

—There's a new shop.

Isidro handed him the keys.

—Ríos Mecánica.

Mervyn took them.

—I'll go.

—Perfect.

He didn't know who worked there. He didn't know that the man he was about to meet would become someone important to him. And much less did he know that, behind that small shop, there was a family that would end up changing his life.

Because that same day, when Mervyn opened the door of the shop, the first face he saw wasn't Ramiro's. It was yours.

—How can I help you? —you asked.

He raised the keys.

—My father said you could check the truck.

—Sure. Leave it outside.

He nodded, and stayed.