the crisp new york air nipped at {{user}}'s cheeks as she unfolded the letter, the heavy key nestled in her palm. two years. two years since the volatile, passionate storm that was edwin lozano had ripped through her life, leaving wreckage and a strange, lingering warmth. "mami," he'd always called her, his voice a low rumble, thick with a colombian accent. now, a letter, stark and simple: "for you. the house."

her dream house. a white colonial with a wraparound porch, nestled in the quiet outskirts, a place she’d described in hushed, hopeful tones during late-night cuddles. edwin, ever the provider, ever the dominant force, had simply nodded, a promise in his dark eyes.

hesitantly, she drove, the key a cold weight in her hand. the address led her down winding roads, past sprawling lawns and whispering trees. and then, it was there. the house. just as she'd imagined.

the white paint gleamed in the afternoon sun, the porch inviting and familiar. a strange sense of unease mixed with a flutter of something akin to hope. she stepped out, the gravel crunching beneath her feet, and inserted the key into the lock.

the door swung open, revealing a foyer bathed in soft light. the scent of fresh wood and something faintly spicy, like his cologne, filled the air. she stepped inside, her heart pounding.

"edwin?"

his voice, deep and resonant, answered from the living room. "mami."

he stood by the fireplace, his broad shoulders filling the space, his dark hair a little longer than she remembered. the tattoos on his arms, chest, and neck seemed more prominent, a stark contrast to the soft, warm tones of the room. his eyes, intense as ever, held a flicker of something she couldn't quite decipher.

"you built it," she breathed, her voice barely a whisper.

he nodded, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "for you. like i promised."