Isabella had barely finished the sentence when Eduardo felt his legs give way.

He looked at the paper again.

Then another one.

And one more.

The children’s names were there.

Mateo Vargas.

Jesus Vargas.

Guadalupe Vargas.

Same blood.

Same last name.

Same father.

**Arturo Vargas.**

His father.

The man whom the people called honorable.

The man whose photograph hung in the main office of the estate.

The man who had taught Eduardo to speak of respect, surname, and authority.

“No…” he murmured, stepping back. “No. That can’t be true.”

Isabella did not try to touch him.

She didn’t cry any louder.

He did not kneel.

She just stood still, like a woman who had carried a pain for too long that could not be explained with words.

“I knew you wouldn’t believe me at first,” she said. “That’s why I kept everything. That’s why I hid the letters. That’s why I endured the insults. That’s why I let everyone think the worst of me.”

Eduardo held up one of the photos.

Isabella appeared much younger in it.

She had a rounder face, a clear, almost childlike gaze.

Beside him were three small, skinny, frightened children.

And behind it, partially cut off by the image, you could see the old stable of the Vargas estate.

“Since when?” he asked, his throat tight.

Isabella swallowed.

—Since I was fifteen years old.

That answer broke his heart.

Eduardo felt nauseous.

—My father did that to you…

She closed her eyes.

“The first time he told me that if I spoke, my mother would lose her job and we’d be thrown out on the street. The second time he told me that no one would believe a poor girl over the landowner. The third time he didn’t even threaten me. He already knew he had me broken.”

The room was filled with an unbearable silence.

Outside, the party music had almost died away.

Only a few distant voices remained, and the wind was banging against the windows.

“The children…” Eduardo said, almost breathless. “Where are they?”

Isabella took a few seconds to respond.

—Alive.

That single word brought his pulse back.

-Where?

—Hidden.

Eduardo stared at her.

—I need you to tell me everything. Now. Without hiding anything from me.

Isabella nodded slowly.

And it began.

She told him that her mother had worked for years on the farm.

That Arturo Vargas saw her grow up.

They were gifts at first.

Then favors.

Then orders.

When she became pregnant for the first time, he sent her away for a few months with a midwife from the neighboring village.

When Mateo was born, he did not allow him to be registered publicly with his surname.

He gave money to the official.

He pulled strings.

He left everything hidden.

The same thing happened with Chucho.

And with Lupita.

But the cruelty did not end there.

To prevent anyone from suspecting that the children were his, Arturo invented another story.

He started saying that Isabella was a nobody.

A promiscuous woman.

A disgrace.

A crazy woman.

And the people did what they always do: they believed the powerful man.

“And my mother?” Eduardo asked, feeling a cold worse than the fever that almost killed him.

Isabella lowered her head.

—Your mother knew about me.

Eduardo remained motionless.

—No.

“I don’t know if he knew everything at first. But over the years he found out. One night he called me to his office. I thought he was going to help me. I thought that finally someone was going to defend me. But he said something I could never forget.”

Isabella’s voice broke.

—He told me: “Shut up and at least your children will eat.”

Eduardo felt like something inside him had just broken.

All his life.

His entire house.

All of his blood.

Rotten.

“The scar?” he asked, looking at the old wound that crossed his skin.

Isabella pressed her lips together.

“I wanted to leave with the three of them four years ago. I had already saved some money. I thought that, even if it meant cleaning houses in another city, I could provide for them. But your father found out before dawn.”

Eduardo didn’t want to listen anymore.

But I needed to do it.

He dragged me back to the stable. We argued. I was carrying Lupita in my arms. Mateo and Chucho were crying. He tried to take them from me. I resisted. Then he pushed me against a broken sheet of metal. He cut open my side. I lost so much blood that I thought I was going to die right there.

Eduardo clenched his fists until his nails dug in.

—And the children?

—He locked them in the tool shed for three days. So they would understand who was in charge.

Eduardo’s breathing became heavy.

—I’m going to kill him.

Isabella looked up abruptly.

—No.

—After all this, you’re asking me to do nothing?

—I ask you not to become like him.

Eduardo stepped aside.

She ran her hands over her face.

Crying seemed insufficient to her.

Shouting is useless.

Killing is insufficient.

“Then tell me why you told me today,” she finally said. “Why wait until tonight?”

Isabella looked at him with a mixture of shame and courage.

—Because today I learned it was the last chance.

He frowned.

She took another card out of the little bag.

She wasn’t old.

It was recent.

Very recent.

Eduardo recognized his father’s handwriting instantly.

She opened it.

And he ran out of air again.

“After the wedding, the girl will no longer be a problem. The children must be sent away before dawn. Someone has already taken care of that.”

Eduardo read the sentence three times.

Then a fourth one.

The letters were already moving because of the tears and the rage.

—What does “se encargue” mean? —he asked, his voice turning to stone.

—It means they were going to make them disappear.

His heart hit so hard it hurt.

“Where are my…?” he stopped, swallowing hard. “Where are the children?”

Isabella trembled.

It was the first time Eduardo had almost called them what they were.

Not your load.

Not your shame.

The children.

The children of the monster who raised him.

“I hid them in the old mill house,” he said. “A widow friend of mine is looking after them. But if your father has already moved people, we don’t have much time.”

Eduardo didn’t think twice.

He grabbed the shirt he had left on a chair, took the cards, put away the minutes, and headed for the door.

Isabella followed him.

—Eduardo…

He turned around.

—If this is true, tonight it all ends.

They went down the back staircase to avoid the last guests.

The hacienda was still half awake.

A drunk man was laughing in the courtyard.

A maid was collecting glasses.

Nobody imagined that, a few meters away, the Vargas family name was crumbling.

Before they reached the garage, a voice stopped them.

—Where do newlyweds go with that face?

Doña Mercedes was standing next to a column.

Elegant.

Cold.

Perfectly styled.

As if I had been waiting for them.

Eduardo remained still.

“Separate yourself, Mother.

She didn’t move.

Her eyes went down to the small bag he was carrying in his hand.

And for the first time, his mask broke for barely a second.

—So he already told you—he said.

There was no surprise in his tone.

Just tiredness.

And that was worse.

Much worse.

—You knew it —Eduardo whispered.

Doña Mercedes held his gaze.

—I know more than is good for you.

Isabella took a step back.

Eduardo felt such a pure hatred that it almost gave him peace.

—They’re going to kill those children.

Her mother lowered her voice.

—Don’t talk nonsense. They’re just going to be sent far away. It’s for the best. For everyone.

“For everyone?” he roared. “They’re children!”

—They are living proof of the filth your father committed. And of the shame this family has hidden for years.

—Then they’re not the ones who are shameful! You are!

Doña Mercedes looked at him harshly.

—You don’t understand how this world works.

Eduardo approached until he was just inches away from her.

—No. I was the one who didn’t understand. But I understand enough now.

She left it behind.

He got into the car with Isabella.

The engine roared.

And they shot off towards the old mill under a black, moonless sky.

The dirt road was slippery from the afternoon rain.

The tires were skidding.

Isabella was silently clutching the rosary between her fingers.

Eduardo was driving too fast.

Not out of bravery.

Out of terror.

When they saw the mill in the distance, they knew they were late.

There was a van parked outside.

Two men.

And a woman crying at the entrance.

Eduardo stopped abruptly.

He jumped out of the car before the engine had even finished shutting off.

The widow had a split lip.

“They took them away!” he shouted when he saw him. “They came a few minutes ago! They said they had orders from Mr. Vargas!”

Isabella let out a muffled, almost animalistic sound.

“Where to?” roared Eduardo.

The woman pointed to the river’s path.

—Towards the ravine.

Eduardo felt ice in his blood.

I knew that place.

Too good.

The ravine was deep.

Dark.

And perfect for erasing anything that bothered you.

He went back to the car.

He stepped on the gas pedal.

The branches were hitting the sides.

Night swallowed the road.

And then they saw them.

The pickup truck.

A few meters from the edge.

A man forcibly taking Mateo down.

Another one holding Chucho.

And Lupita crying with a blanket over her shoulders.

Eduardo slammed on the brakes, opened the door, and ran like he’d never run in his life.

“LET THEM GO!” he shouted.

One of the men turned around.

The other one too.

And behind them, slowly emerging from the shadows as if he had been waiting for that moment forever, Arturo Vargas appeared.

His father.

With a serene face.

With a shotgun in his hands.

And with a monstrous calmness in his voice, he said:

—If you take one more step, son… I’ll shoot them first.