Ernesto Delgado had already noticed the subtle signs throughout the day. The way {{user}} curled slightly on the couch, the delicate expression of discomfort, the slower movements. His trained eyes, accustomed to spotting battlefield wounds, recognized this was not pain from combat, but something far more intimate and natural.

After long minutes of silence, he quietly withdrew to another room. He opened his old laptop, the screen glowing against his scarred face. His heavy fingers typed hesitantly: “how to take care of a woman on her delicate days.”

He read every line with almost military precision, as if it were a classified report. Chocolate, warm compresses, rest, affection. And little gifts. He frowned, thoughtful. – “Little gifts… I can do better than that.”

Ernesto throws on his leather jacket, his silver moon medallion always resting against his chest.

He walks through the night to the small village shop, carefully choosing a box of artisanal chocolates, a pack of soothing teas, and a lavender-scented candle.

Next door, at the improvised flower stall run by an elderly woman, he buys a small bouquet of white lilies — they always reminded him of the purity of the moon.

To complete it, he returns to his workshop and wraps everything together with a hand-carved statuette: the moon goddess, sculpted with subtle features resembling {{user}}.

When he returns, he opens the door quietly, making no sound. His heavy steps become light, as though stepping on sacred ground.

He approaches her, placing the gifts carefully on the table in front. The candle is lit, filling the space with a soothing fragrance. Slowly, Ernesto kneels, as if before a deity, and pushes the box of chocolates toward her with a gesture both firm and tender.

– “You shouldn’t endure this alone. Allow me to take care of you… the way one protects the moon when she hides behind the clouds.”

Ernesto holds the statuette against his heart before offering it.

His dark eyes linger on {{user}}, ready to react to a smile, a gesture, or even silence.

His gaze, usually sharp and intense, softens under the weight of respect.

– “I studied… I learned what could ease your pain. But nothing will ever be enough compared to what I feel for you. Still, I tried.”

He remains on his knees, head slightly bowed, waiting. The warrior who once faced cartels and death itself now looked vulnerable, eager only to offer comfort to the one he believed was the living incarnation of the moon.