Chapter 3 - The Winter Diego Forgot
Nine years earlier, Diego Alcázar had gone to San Aurelio to disappear.
He was supposed to spend one week inspecting a failing textile factory owned by the family. Instead, a snowstorm closed the mountain road, damaged the telephone lines, and trapped him in the village for nearly a month.
The boardinghouse had six rooms, one fireplace, and a roof that leaked above the dining table.
Marisol worked there for her aunt.
She was twenty-four, sharp-tongued, proud, and unimpressed by the expensive watch Diego kept checking even after the telephone stopped working.
“You cannot make the storm end by looking at the time,” she told him.
“I have meetings.”
“The snow does not respect meetings.”
“My family will send someone.”
“The mountain does not respect your family either.”
He should have disliked her.
Instead, he began waiting for the sound of her footsteps each morning.
She taught him to knead bread, though he ruined the first three loaves. He repaired the boardinghouse generator with instructions shouted by an old mechanic over a crackling radio. They played chess beside the fire, walked through snow-covered orchards, and argued about everything from politics to whether cinnamon belonged in coffee.
Diego had spent his entire life surrounded by people who wanted something from him.
Marisol wanted him to chop wood correctly.
For the first time, he felt seen without being measured.
On the nineteenth night, the electricity failed.
The guests gathered in the dining room with candles. Someone found an old bottle of wine. Marisol’s aunt played a waltz on the piano until her hands became tired.
Diego took her place.
He played badly.
Marisol laughed.
“Is there anything the great Alcázar heir cannot do?”
“Apparently, everything that matters in this village.”
He played the melody again, slower.
Marisol stood beside the piano.
“You missed a note.”
“Then sing it.”
“I don’t sing.”
“You criticize professionally?”
“Only rich men.”
“An important public service.”
The others drifted away one by one.
At midnight, snow pressed against the windows, and the fire burned low.
Marisol sat beside him on the piano bench.
“You will leave when the road opens,” she said.
“Yes.”
“You sound unhappy about it.”
“I am expected to be unhappy in more comfortable places.”
She looked at him.
“What are you expected to do?”
“Join the board. Marry someone appropriate. Preserve the family name. Avoid scandal. Produce heirs in a respectable order.”
“That sounds romantic.”
“My grandfather calls romance a temporary illness.”
“Do you believe him?”
“I used to.”
The silence between them changed.
Diego touched her face.
She could have moved away.
She did not.
The next morning, the mountain road opened.
Diego received six messages from Madrid and one from his grandfather ordering him home immediately.
He stayed another week.
On the day he finally left, he gave Marisol the top button from his blue coat.
It had loosened during their first walk, and she had teased him about being unable to sew.
“Keep it,” he said.
“Why?”
“So I have a reason to return.”
“You could return without a reason.”
“In my world, reasons are useful weapons.”
She closed her fingers around the button.
“I don’t need a weapon.”
“You may.”
He kissed her beneath the boardinghouse awning.
“I will send for you.”
Marisol believed him.
Three weeks later, she discovered she was pregnant.
She wrote to Diego at the Alcázar mansion.
No answer came.
She called his office.
A secretary told her Señor Alcázar was abroad.
She sent a second letter.
Then a third.
Finally, a woman called her.
The voice was young, elegant, and cold.
“My name is Paulina Serrano,” she said. “Diego has asked me to handle this matter.”
Marisol gripped the telephone.
“What matter?”
“Your claim.”
“I am not making a claim.”
“You are pregnant.”
“How do you know?”
“Nothing sent to Diego remains private.”
Marisol’s skin turned cold.
“I need to speak to him.”
“He does not wish to speak to you.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“You were an amusement during a snowstorm. Do not turn it into a tragedy.”
“He gave me his word.”
“Diego gives people what they need in the moment. You needed a promise.”
“I am carrying his child.”
“You are carrying a problem.”
Marisol hung up.
Two days later, a car arrived at the boardinghouse.
A man named Esteban Varela stepped out.
At the time, he was Don Rafael’s private secretary.
He wore a gray coat.
A thin scar crossed his left cheek.
He asked to speak to Marisol alone.
“Don Rafael knows about the pregnancy,” he said.
“Then Diego knows?”
“Señor Diego has been sent to New York. He has been informed that you accepted money and ended the pregnancy.”
Marisol stared at him.
“That is a lie.”
“Yes.”
“Why would his grandfather do that?”
“Because the Alcázar family is negotiating a merger with the Serranos. A marriage between Diego and Paulina will secure it.”
“I don’t care about a merger.”
“Don Rafael does.”
“Tell Diego the truth.”
“I cannot.”
“Then I will.”
Esteban placed photographs on the table.
They showed Marisol’s aunt walking to the market. Her younger brother leaving school. The boardinghouse at night.
“This is not a negotiation,” he said.
Marisol’s fear became rage.
“You threaten my family?”
“I explain the reach of the people you are challenging.”
“What do they want?”
“You will leave San Aurelio. You will not contact Diego. You will raise the child away from the Alcázar name.”
“And if I refuse?”
Esteban looked toward the window.
“Accidents occur often on mountain roads.”
Marisol wanted to throw him out.
Then she saw her brother in the courtyard, laughing as he carried firewood.
She understood that courage could become selfish when other lives paid for it.
“Give me one promise,” she said.
Esteban’s expression did not change.
“What promise?”
“Diego will never know I betrayed him.”
“He will believe you chose money.”
“No.”
“That is necessary.”
“Why?”
“Because if he searches for you, Don Rafael will search harder.”
Marisol felt something inside her break.
“How much did I supposedly accept?”
“Enough to make him hate you.”
She left San Aurelio the next morning.
The Alcázar family told Diego she had taken two hundred thousand dollars and disappeared.
He believed them because every letter he sent was returned.
Marisol never received those letters.
Nine months later, Valentina was born in a clinic outside Toledo.
Three days after the birth, Don Rafael died.
A package arrived at Marisol’s apartment.
Inside were the golden button, a sealed envelope, and a note in Esteban’s handwriting.
Don Rafael changed his mind too late.
Keep the child hidden until it is safe.
May you like
Marisol had spent nine years waiting for safety.
It had never come.
