It’s been two weeks since I got back from New York after all hell broke loose. I’m pacing my parent’s living room waiting for Lucía and her mother to come down. I’m taking them to the airport. They’re leaving. The last two weeks have been full of planning and putting out fires. As I traveled back from New York, I was in denial. I was sure I would get back and be able to fix things.

I begged Lucía to let me find an option that didn’t include her having to leave. I’d spoken to a lawyer and told her that she could apply for advanced parole while her case was pending. That would have meant she could stay during that time.

She refused. That conversation was, by far, the most heated we’ve ever had. We’d been having breakfast at my house a couple of days after I got back. Her face was still bruised from where Coco had hit her. I wanted to kill him. Not just figuratively. She had a bruise on her breast that wouldn’t fade and I swear I wanted to cut every finger off the hand that put them there. My anger is inconsolable. But so is my fear of her leaving. The panic I felt when I realized that she was determined left me shell shocked. But it was nothing compared to the unnervingly humbling knowledge that she was also right. But I didn’t give up without a fight.

Her response was potent with anger and when I’d brought up the idea of Advanced Parole, she’d said, “I’m not going to be a conditional resident, Reece. I’ve had enough of it and you can’t ask it of me.” Tears trailed down her face and I hurt for her. But, I’d felt like I was fighting for my life in that moment. This woman had begun to feel like the most important part of my life. I loved her. I didn’t want her living in another country where I couldn’t protect her.

When I’d told her as much, her response was laced with a bitterness I’d never heard before. “You can’t protect me here, Reece. If they walked into this house right now and put handcuffs on me, you couldn’t stop them.” She looked away from me, gazing out the window. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping . . . like it was just any other day. And not the worst day of my life.

That truth, delivered like rapidly fired arrows, hit their mark. “I fucking know, Lucía,” I seethed at her. My hands gripping my coffee mug so tightly I’d heard the ceramic protest and threaten to crack. “But I am the man who loves you. I need to try.”

She got up and came to sit on my lap. She looped her arms around my neck and looked at me. Her dark eyes luminescent with a plea for me to understand.

“Try by helping me to leave. Let me go so I can come back to you. I want to be a full partner to you, Reece. I want to travel with you. I want to be able to vote. I want to drive. I want to speed down a deserted highway and know that if I get pulled over by a cop, the worst thing that will happen is that I’ll get a ticket.” She touched her bruised cheek. “I want to be able to call the police when I’m in danger and not worry that it will mean I’ll be thrown out of the country that is the only home I’ve very known.”

I stared at her, my heart pounding as I settled into the realization that I couldn’t stop this. “Okay. Let’s do it.” And then I picked her up, took her back to bed and started saying goodbye.

My parents, very quickly, realized how vulnerable Lucía is. What Coco did to her—the way he violated and terrorized her—shook them. My response showed them, that no matter what they said or did, I wouldn’t be giving up on the woman I love. They have thrown all their weight around as we’ve all worked to help Lucía get ready to leave. My father has been good friends with the Mexican Foreign Secretary since they were both young coeds at Yale. He called him and made sure Lucía wouldn’t have any trouble settling in Mexico. He coordinated with various agencies to get her updated Mexican identification documents.

My mother flew to Baja to look at the house they’d chosen online, herself. She’s also played hostess to Lucía’s mother for the last week.

I look down at my bruised hand and smile at the pain in it as I flex my fingers. I went to Coco’s arraignment this morning.

It was only going to take five minutes, but I wanted to see him, and I wanted him to see me.

He’s lucky the police found him before I did. After I saw Lucía’s bruised eye and arms, I saw red and I went looking for him. I drove to all the places he used to hang out and only stopped when I found out he’d already been arrested.

I watched him as he trudged into the courtroom, accompanied by the police. Apparently, he’s spreading his special brand of charm to his fellow inmates. He looks like he got his ass beat. He’s got black eyes, and a bloody lip. Good, I hope there’s plenty more where that came from.

I didn’t know this kind of rage was possible. I abhor violence. But right now I feel like I could tear Coco apart with my bare hands. He threatened Lucía. He fucking touched her.

I watched him as they led him into court. He scanned the court room as if he’d been expecting someone. His bruised eyes widened slightly when he saw me. His lips curled into a sneer. “She tastes real good, Reece,” he said with a wink. I didn’t care that he was handcuffed and it wasn’t going to be a fair fight. I didn’t give a shit about anything but making him pay. I lunged for him.

My movement caused a commotion in the courtroom, but no one managed to stop me before I reached him and I punched him twice, hard in the ribs. “If you even think about coming near her again, Coco, you’ll wish you were back in jail.”

I say this in his hear as they pulled me off him. He laid there groaning, covering his head. “Fuck you, Reece,” he mumbled as he was helped to his feet. I didn’t even respond; officers cautioned me and told me to leave.

Now, I’m standing here waiting for Lucía to come down. She’s leaving tomorrow. It’s her last night and I’m taking her back to Malibu for the night. We’ve spent the last two weeks planning, house hunting and saying goodbye. After what Coco did, my father did a one-eighty. He still thinks this is the best plan, her leaving, but he also saw the strength of Lucía’s character and how undeserved she is of all the shit she has to deal with because of her status.

She meant it when she said she’d had enough. But she wasn’t giving up. We talked to her lawyer and decided that she would voluntarily depart. She can apply for re-entry in three years and while that’s pending, maybe she’ll be granted permission to enter the country. That’s three years away. But we’re going to conquer that three years. And we’ll conquer anything else that gets in our way. Even if that’s the United States government. This love of ours is an infinite source of stamina. If they put an obstacle in our way, we’ll get over it, dig a hole underneath it, outlast it. We both have the same exact end goal. To be together.

She’s been stoic about this since that morning we argued. The focus has been on logistics. We’ve put our feelings aside so we could do what we needed to do. We hadn’t really talked about what we’d do once she was gone. How often would we see each other?

We bought her a car here that we’re shipping. She needs to take an official driving class, and then she’s got to get her license. She also had to open a bank account and set up her life there.

She’ll continue to write her book. We’ve agreed that she can do remote interviews around the movie’s release and premier. And I’ll be back and forth until we can finally live in the same place.

Three years is a long time to live separately. But if it meant that we could have a lifetime together, we’d do it.

My mother walks into the foyer as I’m waiting. Her normally enigmatic expression is full of sympathy. Her dark hair is pulled back, her mouth smiling, but tense. “Is she ready to go?”

“I think so. We’ll be back tomorrow morning for her mother,” I say staring up at the stairs. Waiting for her to appear. I was hungry for every glimpse of her now. Knowing that I wouldn’t be able to see her every day, or even every week is killing me.

My mother puts an arm around my waist and pulls me in for a rare hug. I hug her back. I need the comfort right now. I’ve never looked to my mother for that before. Lucía was the first person to ever give me any real peace. She’s handled things amazingly well. She’s helped me really believe that what happened to Julian wasn’t my fault. That my role in it was a very cruel coincidence, but nothing more. She’s shown how generous and gracious love can be.

“You’ll be fine. This won’t be easy, but it’s the best thing, Reece.” Her voice is gentle, but I can hear the steel in it, too. She knows the separation will be hard, but she’s sure it’s the only way forward.

I hug her back, the knot in my chest constricting as I’m reminded yet again, that the best thing for me is to send the woman I love to live in another country.

“I know. Thank you for everything,” I say. And I mean it.

She sighs. “I wish I could have done more. But, you’ll be fine. She’s a smart woman. And she loves you. Those will be the secrets to surviving this.”

I look down at her, smiling, but surprised. “I never took you for a romantic,” I say to her.

“Who do you think you got it from?” And with a quick peck on my cheek, she continues down the hall.

Lucía comes down a few minutes later. She’s dressed in a short red top and black shorts that are, as usual, too short.

The shirt is unsubstantial and as soon as I see her, I want to take it off. I know I’ll find her completely naked underneath.

She’s half way down the stairs when she sees me. She goes from walking to running and I meet her at the landing, where she launches herself into my arms. Her legs wrap around my waist and she kisses me like it’s the last time we’ll kiss. And I reciprocate.

I’m scared about her leaving. Terrified for her to be in a new country, having to learn how to navigate all by herself. I know she’s capable of doing it, but it feels wrong that she’s going to be doing this without me. I can’t move to Mexico. My work is here. I head a studio that’s my family’s legacy. No matter how much I need her. No matter how much she needs me.

She understands. This is her home, too. Her life is here and this is just until she can come back. But it’s going to kill me to be away from her. To not be able to protect her. The stories I’ve read this week, of what happens when undocumented people are deported or leave voluntarily. They often end up on drugs, homeless, exploited or dead.

Lucía’s one of the lucky people who can actually afford to leave. She’s got money and she’s got me. She’s also got family in Mexico. She’ll be able to draw on the money in her US bank account anywhere Visa is accepted. She’ll be fine.

Tonight I’m going to have a meaningful talk with my woman, and then I’m going to make love to her. And then, I’m going to let her go.

We’re outside, at my house in Malibu. This has become our place. It’s where we always come when we need to be alone, but together. The fire pit is roaring and we’ve got a thin quilt thrown over us, as we lie together in the cabana I set up outside last month. The fire’s blue and orange flames, our only source of light.

“It feels like I’ve come full circle, Reece. That Ana Maria has won and Lucía’s having to take a back seat. I can’t believe I’m leaving my home. That I may never come back. That I can’t live with you anymore. I’ve lost control of everything.” She’s not crying. Her voice is clear, reflective as she speaks. Almost as if she’s not talking about herself.

“No, Luc. You’re taking control. You’re making decisions. You’re not waiting for them to be made for you. This is necessary. And we know it’s temporary. You’ll be back. One way or another.”

She nestles her head on my chest, but doesn’t respond.

I’d made a mistake a week ago. I asked her to marry me. We’d been eating dinner with Jess and I remembered that she’d married someone to get her citizenship. That night while we were brushing our teeth, I’d brought it up. She only glanced at me in the mirror and finished brushing her teeth. And then said, “If that’s the only reason we’re getting married, then, no.”

I decided to save my protests for later. I cursed my misstep, but knew that any protests to the contrary would be futile right now.

I want to ask her again tonight, but I know that even if we are married, she’d still have to leave in order to petition for permanent residency.

And I don’t want her, or anyone else, to think that that was the reason I wanted to marry her. So, I’ve decided to wait before I ask again. But it’s coming. I want her to settle into her new life first, before I disrupt her rhythm.

I lean over to kiss her and she smiles as she ducks under my arm to sit up. I raise an eyebrow at her, smiling quizzically as she then rises to her feet. Then she lifts her little red top off and reveals her bare, unbound breasts to the night air. They are covered in gooseflesh, her nipples puckered and pebbled. My mouth waters at the sight of her.

“Come here,” I say to her as I reach down, unbutton my shorts, and pull my stiff cock out. I start stroking it while I watch her.

She shakes her head and then reaches down to pull her shorts off. She stands before me, the ocean as her back drop, her hair flying in the breeze. She’s the embodiment of Botticelli’s Birth of Venus. I promise myself that I’m going to plan a trip to Florence, so I can show her that painting.

I shrug my shorts all the way down and pull my top off. Lucía drops to her knees in front of me. Her eyes trained on my hand as it moves in long, leisurely strokes up my cock. She licks her lips and covers my hand with her own and then she takes me in her mouth. She sucks the tip of my cock while our hands work together. Her hand falls away, and mine does too, she takes me all the way to the back of her throat and I can feel it close around my head. I groan and pull myself out of her mouth.

She comes up eagerly wiping her mouth as she climbs into my lap and then lower herself onto to me. She drapes her hands over my shoulders and clasps them behind my neck. She buries her face in my neck and we start to fuck. She’s moving fast, rotating her hips every time she comes down. My hand goes to her clit and I start to rub her. She whispers my name, as she loses her rhythm. And when she starts to come, I pull out of her, flip her back onto the mattress and eat her down from that orgasm and up into another.

When she’s done I pick her up and carry her into the house.

“It’s our last night in this house for a long time. Let’s make love in our bed,” I say to her as I walk us down the hall into the bedroom.

When I lay her down, I just look at her for a long time. I know I’ll see her again in two weeks, but that might as well be a light year. This move is wrong. We’re separating when we should be moving in together.

As if she’s reading my mind she says, “I wish you could come with me.”

I can’t find my voice. I am lost for words. I trail my fingers across her collarbones and trace the curved silhouette of her left breast and let my fingers rest on the tattoo that’s next to her heart. Freedom. It’s what she wants and what she needs and she’s leaving tomorrow to try and find it.

And suddenly I want it, too. When I met Lucía, I’d thought I had everything I could ever want, but I didn’t know what I was missing. She’s been like a mirror of truth for me. I’ve had to look at myself and confront how I live. It’s humbled me to have to stand back and just watch as the woman I love has to break down her entire life and start over again.

“Distance is nothing,” she whispers, in between the kisses she’s pressing on my chest. “We’ll be okay. And in three years, I’ll be back. Now, stop brooding and kiss me. I’m going to have to live on what you give me tonight for the next two weeks. I don’t want to waste time talking.”

“Talking is a waste of time?” I say with a smile, I dot her face with kisses, nipping at her cheeks, her chin and her lips.

“Mmmm hmmm . . .” she mumbles, her eyes following the path of her fingers as she strokes my chest. “Our hearts do all the talking for us. Our bodies do the translating. Who needs words?” She pulls my head down and this time, I don’t stop.

When the sun comes up, Lucía’s spent. And I’ve made some decisions. I have to prepare myself for what’s to come. So, I don’t sleep. I just watch her and whisper promises. That I’ll find a way to close the gap, that I won’t leave her alone for long and that tomorrow is just the beginning of our story.

At the airport, Lucía and I stand and hug. She’s holding me so tight that my breathing constricts. It still doesn’t feel like she’s close enough. We stand there, trying to drag out the last few minutes we have together. I let my hands roam her back, memorizing the way her ribs feel as my hands skim them. I run a hand under the fall of hair that’s hanging down her back and caress the nape of her neck. She’s really leaving and even though we planned for it and talked about it, I’m not ready to let go.

“Please wait for me. Please believe that I’m coming back. I love you.” She says over and over as she cries into my shirt.

Her mother comes to us to remind her that they don’t have much time before they have to board their flight. I can’t go beyond security.

I watch my girl walk away, and my heart goes with her. So beautiful and brave. She’s in the pair of ripped jeans she was wearing the first time we met, her black shirt falling off one shoulder. Her hair flowing, her lips red; I make a mental image.

She turns and gives me one last big, brave smile and blows me a kiss before she disappears into the crowd to her gate. I don’t see her again.

I return to my car and get the bag I’d hidden in the backseat. And then, I head back to the terminal to catch my own flight.