I'm approaching him at the bar where I usually go after finishing my workday, Román, the maintenance manager of the building where I work.

I'm already on my second cognac, and it won't be the last one.

"Are you still here? I thought you'd be home by now," he says with his deep, husky voice.

"It's true, I should be home by now. But I've preferred to get drunk."

"Is everything okay?"

I shrug, and Román furrows his brow, showing concern for me.

"Is it about your separation?"

"No, the separation was resolved well, all things considered."

He sits down on the stool next to me and orders another shot of pacharán for himself.

"So, what's going on?"

I'm burning with desire to tell him everything, like someone expelling a venom that's corroding them from the inside. But...

"I know we're not exactly close, but you know me, and you know I'm not a gossip," he argues. "If I'm asking, it's because I've seen you acting strange for a while now, and I'm worried about you. You're one of the few people in that damn building who doesn't look at me like I'm inferior."

His kind disposition and friendly demeanor overcome my reluctance.

"I'm seeing someone," I confess.

"You mean a serious relationship or...?"

"I mean pure, hard sex."

"Whoa! And what's wrong, that it's hitting you very hard?"

"More than I imagined."

"And what's the problem? Is she married, a minor, or does she do whatever she wants with you...?"

I look at him while taking a good swig of my drink.

"I'll tell you if you swear you won't tell anyone. And, more importantly, if you promise not to judge me."

"You have my word. And if I can help you with anything, count on me."

I observe his kind face. He's a genuinely nice guy. It makes you want to ask him for a hug with those powerful, hairy arms.

"I'm seeing a guy," I confess.

Román falls silent, processing what I've just told him.

"Surprised?"

"Very. You've left me speechless. But are you into that kind of thing?"

"It's never happened to me before."

"And how did you get into this situation? What happened?"

"I promise not to judge you. What you tell me stays here."

I decide to continue my confession.

"When I got separated, I looked for an apartment, something modest and ready to move into. I found it in the upscale neighborhood and settled in quickly. But you already know this part, don't you?"

"Yes, but it doesn't matter."

"We're a small group of neighbors, twenty in total. I've met them in the elevator or on the stairs, and that's how I got to know them. One day, about six months ago, I came home from work, picked up the mail from the mailbox, and went up to my apartment in the elevator. Distractedly, I opened the first letter, and surprise! It wasn't for me. The...