I didn't know her last name, or even if Raquel was her real name. For a while I scanned the newspapers, looking for her face in a story of a mob hit or in the obituaries. I wondered for weeks if her husband had found her and killed her, or if she'd finally decided to run. I've always kinda hoped she turn up one day at my doorstep or send me a letter in the mail. But then again, she didn't know anything about me either. I still believe she's out there somewhere, in some small town, because anything else is too hard to believe. I even wondered she'd made up the whole thing. Somehow it didn't matter. She'd given me something rare and precious: a second chance to really believe in love. And now, I intend not to waste that chance. I've been given something special, something worth sharing. It's like all the pain and rejection and mistakes had been erased from my life, all the way back to the first time I was dumped in high school, and all that remained were the lessons learned. I was free.