A Greek saying states that only women who have washed their eyes with tears can see clearly. This saying does not hold true for Manuela. The night a car ran over her son Esteban, Manuela cried until her eyes ran completely dry. And far from seeing clearly, the present and the future become mixed up in the same darkness.

That same night, while waiting in the hospital, she reads the last lines that her son wrote in a notebook he always kept by his side: “This morning I looked through my mother’s bedroom until I found a stack of photographs. All of them were cut in half. My father, I suppose. I have the impression that my life is missing that same half. I want to meet him, I don t care who he is, or how he treated my mother. No one can take that right away from me.”

She never told Esteban who he was. “Your father died long before you were born,” was all she ever told him. In memory of her son, Manuela leaves Madrid and goes to Barcelona in search of his father. She wants to tell him that their son’s last words were directed to him, even if he didn’t know him. But first she has to tell him that when she left him, eighteen years ago, she was pregnant, they had a son, and he has just died. She must also tell him that she named him Esteban, like him, his biologic father, before he changed his name to Lola. Lola the Pioneer.

Manuela goes to Barcelona in search of Lola, her son’s father. The search for a man with that name cannot be simple. And indeed it isn’t.