The next morning, I mentioned the blackout to Mrs. Alvarez downstairs.
She paused.
Then she sighed.
“You know his wife passed last year, right?”
I didn’t.
“She was sick for a long time,” she continued gently. “She became afraid of the dark toward the end. He kept every light on so she could move through the apartment without fear. He promised her she’d never feel alone at night.”
The words landed heavier than I expected.
“After she died,” Mrs. Alvarez added, “he never turned them off. Says it makes the silence easier.”
And during blackouts?
“He uses candles,” she said softly. “He keeps his promise—even when the electricity fails.”
