I took a deep breath. Maybe she was right. Maybe it was better to give Jimi a bit of space. I was almost smothering him.

As soon as we stepped through the door, Flávia said:

“I’m taking you to eat something. You’re pale. And far too thin.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“If you’re not well, you won’t be able to take care of Jimi. Is that what you want? To end up in a hospital bed, far away from him?”

Before I could answer, she removed my mask, then hers. We looked at each other. I ...