“I told you, Dad,” she whispered. “I told you Mom was going to save us.”
Ramiro hugged his daughter as tears fell uncontrollably.
And then Sara walked toward him. The reunion was silent at first. Words seemed insufficient to encompass five years of pain, separation, and hope.
Ramiro looked at Sara as if she were a mirage that could vanish at any moment. How could he even manage to say all he could? Sara took his hands.
They were rough, marked by forced labor in prison. Martín saved me; the gardener hid me all these years to protect me, to protect Salomé.
I thought you were there. I thought I had never been you, Ramiro.
It was Gonzalo. It was always Gonzalo. Ramiro closed his eyes; the images of that night, the fragments he had recovered in his dreams, now made sense.
His brother’s voice, the footsteps, the gun in his hands while he slept.
“My own brother,” he murmured. “My own blood, your brother betrayed you, but your daughter never lost faith.”
