I clearly remember his gaze and the aversion he showed towards me, as if I was the key that would open the trunk where he hid all his fears. He didn't care that I was just a girl. He didn't care that I was away from home and he certainly didn't care how vulnerable I felt at the time. His hatred was disturbing.It was 2020, the year of the first pandemic when, as I arrived in Europe, the pilot gave the message that would lead me to remain in exile: "...flights are canceled to prevent further spread of the virus..." I couldn't go home to my family. Getting to Gray Hills seemed like the only option, and there I would remain.He didn't care that I had taken this dangerous journey in search for help. Nor did he seem to care that there were people dying from the disease all over the world. There was however one thing that did matter to him: my incessant coughing.This novel is dedicated to all the victims of the 2020 pandemic. Not only to the thousands of victims but also to all those who after weeks in hospital, managed to defeat the disease. To the young people who spent months away from their families with the sole intention of protecting them, to our elders, who lived in fear of the possibility of contagion and its consequences, to all those who suffered financial difficulties as a result of the confinements, losing their jobs or closing their businesses. We also want to dedicate this book to our heroes: health workers, security forces, supermarket clerks, transporters and cleaning staff ... Thank you all for protecting us by assuming the risk that this pandemic entailed.Lest time dilute our memory, lest we repeat our mistakes.