San Jacinto de la Sierra is small enough that secrets can’t hide. People see you walking from your house to Elías’s, day after day, and their imaginations do what imaginations do when they’re bored.
One afternoon, you’re leaving Elías’s place when you hear voices by the tienda.
“Look at her,” a woman mutters. “Already moved in on the widower.”
Another laughs. “She lost her baby, so now she’s trying to take someone else’s.”
The words sting like cold air in your lungs. Your cheeks burn, not because you’re ashamed, but because you’re tired of being judged by people who never lifted a finger to help.
You keep walking, chin up, boots crunching snow like punctuation.
But that night, the gossip finds its way to your front door in the shape of Daniel.
He shows up like a bad memory deciding it deserves a sequel.
He knocks twice, hard, and when you open it, he’s standing there with a smug little smile and a new jacket, like he’s trying on a new life.
“Nati,” he says, as if he didn’t leave you bleeding inside. “I heard things.”
Your stomach twists.
“What do you want?” you ask.
Daniel’s eyes flick over you, judging. “Is it true?” he asks. “You’re… breastfeeding some guy’s baby?”
You stare at him, and it’s almost funny how quickly your love for him evaporated into disgust. Not because he’s wrong to ask, but because he thinks he has the right.
“Yes,” you say. “It’s true.”
Daniel’s mouth twists into a grin that makes your skin crawl. “So you’re playing mommy for another man,” he says. “Guess you didn’t waste any time.”
Your hands clench at your sides.
“Leave,” you say.
Daniel lifts his palms, pretending innocence. “I’m just saying,” he continues, voice slick, “people talk. And if you’re doing… favors… maybe we should talk about the house.”
Your blood goes cold.
“The house is in my name,” you say.
Daniel’s smile widens. “Not all of it,” he replies. “Remember when we signed the loan papers? I’m still listed. And if you’re out here ruining your reputation… well. Maybe you should sell. Maybe you should give me my share.”
Your chest tightens, fury sharpening.
You lean closer, voice low. “You left,” you say. “You walked out the moment life got hard. You don’t get to come back and demand profit from my pain.”
Daniel’s eyes harden. “Don’t get dramatic,” he snaps. “You want me to tell everyone what you’re doing over there? You want your parents to hear it from me?”
You laugh softly, and it scares him because it’s not the laugh of someone fragile.
“Tell them,” you say. “Tell them I’m feeding a hungry baby. Tell them I’m doing what you couldn’t: staying.”
Daniel’s jaw tightens. “You think you’re some saint,” he spits.
You open the door wider and point outside.
“I think you’re done here,” you answer.
Daniel hesitates, then steps back, anger simmering behind his eyes.
“This isn’t over,” he mutters.
You watch him walk away, and you feel something shift inside you.
Not fear.
Preparation.
Because you’ve learned: when someone like Daniel says “this isn’t over,” it means he’s looking for a way to hurt you that won’t make him look like the villain.
The next day, a letter arrives.
Legal paper. Stamped. Cold.
Daniel is filing to force the sale of the house.
Your knees go weak. Your parents are struggling. You have no job since Maximiliano’s complications started. The little savings you had are ashes.
You sit at your kitchen table staring at the letter until the words blur.
Then your phone buzzes.
A message from Elías.
¿Vienes? Sonia está llorando.
You stare at the screen, torn between panic and the sound you can’t hear but can imagine: that thin cry like a string breaking.
You wipe your face and stand.
Because even when the world tries to crush you, a baby still needs to eat.
At Elías’s house, the moment Sonia latches, you feel your breathing slow. The crisis letter is still in your pocket like a snake, but Sonia’s tiny hands don’t care about court documents.
Elías notices your face, though.
“What happened?” he asks quietly.
You try to smile. It fails.
“El papá de mi hijo… came back,” you say, voice thick. “He wants the house.”
Elías goes still, eyes darkening.
“He left you,” he says, voice flat.
You nod.
“And now he wants to take what little I have left,” you whisper.
Elías’s jaw tightens. He looks down at Sonia asleep in your arms, then back at you.
“I’m not going to let him,” he says.
You laugh bitterly. “You can’t stop him. It’s legal.”
Elías stands and walks to the mantel, where a photo of Olivia sits. He touches the frame gently, like asking permission.
Then he turns to you.
