Geraniums. They were her favorite flowers. I used to like giving you flowers. She liked it, because she smiled the same way a little girl would smile when she received the most awaited Christmas gift. The arrangement was always on Fridays, when we could go out for dinner after I got home from the company, or when we just stayed at home, enjoying the things we were achieving as my uncle's company, where I worked, was rising in the market. It was a shame that he was no longer by my side to see everything I had achieved. It had been five years since she left. So young, so beautiful. I still remembered how I received the news, how I swore my heart would never beat again. I was in the company, of course. As always happened in recent times, and our biggest reason for arguments. Not exactly fights, but arguments. Isis didn't want a rich husband, she wanted a present man. When we met, we were just law students, idealistic and wanting a better world. In fact, she was a little disappointed when I abandoned the idea of becoming a public defender to help my uncle in his construction material company, which had started with a few small stores and had become one of the biggest brands in the industry. It was never my dream, but I was a recent graduate and newlywed, wanting to start a family. We lived in a thirty-five square meter apartment, all falling apart, and I was ambitious. My uncle's proposal for me to help him fell from the sky while I was studying for competitive exams. Isis passed hers, and I fell behind, because I never had time to study. More than that, I started to enjoy what I was doing with my uncle and wanted to stay. I helped him with contracts with partners, suppliers, in almost everything. He had no children, just two nephews of exactly the same age – me, who was his older brother's son, and my cousin, who was his sister's son –, and we both became his right-hand men. And it was exactly for Isis's dream that I lost her. She actually went into the public defender's office, took the case of a poor man, who was accused of killing his boss, and was murdered because she beat him. A shot to the chest is what took her from me. Murdered. The word still seemed too unreal to me. It wasn't the kind of thing that happened to two normal people. With two people who loved each other and had plans for a future. That they were planning to have children and... No – I interrupted my thoughts myself. We could talk about it, but I knew it would take some time. Even though we were both thirty-two, my life was too focused on work to have room for anything other than Isis. And even her, I knew I was neglecting. I never got a chance to apologize to you for that. I never got a chance to say goodbye. Standing in front of her tombstone, with the damn geraniums in my hands, I couldn't even cry. It had been a while since my tears seemed to have dried up. And I hadn't been to the cemetery for a while, but it was her birthday, and I never missed it on that date. April 30th. Five years ago it was the worst day of the year for me. The one about her death too, but her birthday... she loved it. She liked to celebrate, whether with all her friends – and she had many – or just with me, at a romantic dinner. On the day of her death, he had fallen on a Friday. The flowers I bought, as our tradition, were never delivered, because she was killed in the underground parking lot of a building, where she had gone to visit a client's wife. That was how her story ended. Our history. I placed the flowers on the grave, in silence. What could I say? She wasn't there. It was just a grave, with the remains of what my wife once was. I crouched down, just to play her name, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath. I spent a few moments there and was already walking towards the exit when my phone rang in my pocket. It was Fernando