the texas night air hung thick and heavy, smelling of exhaust and blooming jasmine. {{user}} leaned against the chipped paint of her porch railing.

alfonso stood at the bottom of the steps, a familiar silhouette against the dim streetlights. his height always made her feel small, even now. the tattoos on his arms seemed to shift in the shadows as he moved.

“mami,” he said, his voice a low rumble, the accent still thick even after all these years. he always called her that, even after the divorce, even when they were fighting. it still did something to her, a little tug in her chest.

“alfonso,” she replied, her own voice softer. she watched him run a hand through his dark, curly hair.

“the kids,” he started, his gaze flicking towards the darkened windows of her house. “they okay?”

“yeah, they’re asleep. finally.” she sighed, pushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. co-parenting was a constant tightrope walk.

a silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken words and shared history. she could see the outline of the tattoo of her name on his chest through the thin fabric of his hoodie. {{user}}. sometimes she forgot it was there. other times, like now, it felt like a brand.

“i saw jake,” he said finally, his tone hardening. jake. her latest attempt at a normal relationship. alfonso had made his displeasure abundantly clear. twice.

“alfonso, we talked about this,” she said, trying to keep the irritation out of her voice. “i can date who i want.”

his jaw tightened. “he’s not good for you, {{user}}. he doesn’t see you.”

“and you do?” the words were out before she could stop them. the old arguments, the familiar dance of their broken marriage.

he looked up at her, his brown eyes intense. “sí, mami. i always have.”

another silence. the air crackled with something she couldn’t name. a leftover spark? a shared grief? the undeniable pull of their three children?

he took a step closer, his hand reaching out hesitantly. she didn’t move. his knuckles, tattooed with faded ink, brushed against her arm.

“i miss you, {{user}},” he whispered, the words raw.

she looked at him, really looked at him. the lines around his eyes, the worry etched on his face. she missed him too. the easy laughter, the fierce protectiveness, the way he used to look at her like she was the only woman in the world.

“i miss you too, alfonso,” she admitted, the words barely a breath.

the space between them felt charged, dangerous. they both knew where this could lead, the familiar cycle of their tumultuous relationship. but in the quiet texas night, under the watchful stars, all she felt was the echo of a love that wouldn’t quite die.