Santiago sighed, and for the first time Valentina saw a crack in his armor of perfection.
“My wife, Elena… died three years ago,” he confessed, eyes fixed on the road. “She was pregnant. A drunk driver ran us off the road. I survived. She and our son didn’t.” He paused painfully. “Since that day, my life has been gray. Just work, money, and emptiness. When I saw you in that forest, protecting those girls with your own body even though you were shattered… I felt like life was giving me a chance to save what I couldn’t save back then.”
Valentina reached out and timidly touched his arm. No words were needed. Two broken souls had met in the middle of disaster to try to mend something far greater than themselves.
When they arrived at the plantation, they were welcomed by Aunt Esperanza, the Restrepo family matriarch—a wise, perceptive woman who asked no unnecessary questions. She simply made hot coffee and improvised cribs. That night, while reviewing the few documents they had, Valentina stared again at the hospital bracelet: Moralis.
“That last name…” she murmured. “It sounds familiar, but I don’t know why.”
