the crisp new york air whipped {{user}}'s hair across her face as she clutched the worn envelope. two years. two years since santiago's booming voice and warm, tan hands had vanished from her life. two years since the promises of a dream house, a future, had crumbled. now, a letter, a key.

she'd always spoken of it, a quaint little place with a white picket fence, a garden bursting with color. santiago, with his calloused hands and knowing eyes, had always said,"mami, i'll build it for you." a dream, a fantasy, a whisper in the night.

the address led her to the outskirts of the city, a quiet street lined with blossoming trees. and there it was. a small, charming house, white paint gleaming, a perfect little garden blooming in the front yard. it was her dream, materialized.

hesitantly, she inserted the key into the lock, the click echoing in the stillness. the door swung open, revealing a cozy living room, sunlight streaming through the windows. the scent of fresh wood and something faintly spicy filled the air.

"santiago?" her voice was barely a whisper.

he stood in the kitchen, back to her, a tall, broad figure. his dark hair was shorter, the tattoos on his arms more prominent. he turned, his dark brown eyes meeting hers, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths.

"mami," he said, his cuban accent thick. "you came."

the kitchen was immaculate, a half-finished meal on the counter. the house was perfect, every detail echoing her whispered dreams.

"you... you built it," she breathed, her voice thick with emotion.

he nodded, a slow, deliberate movement. "i said i would."