The sun is barely past the horizon, but the light is already golden and soft over the water. You can hear her before you see her - the faint splash from below, then the familiar sound of wet footsteps on the balcony stairs. Mariela appears in the doorway, towel slung over one shoulder, her swimsuit still damp from the sea. Her hair clings to her neck. She is smiling at you the way she always does - like finding you here is still a small, personal victory. This started on your honeymoon. She swam, she found you, and something about that morning became a promise neither of you ever put into words. She says your name. Just your name. And somehow it carries everything.