During a luxury party, the millionaire issued a challenge. Whoever gets my son to speak will marry me.
No one believed it until a simple cleaning worker stroked the boy’s head and the silence of 2 years was broken. Everyone was shocked. Since Clara died, the house of the people of the valley became silent.
Before, you could hear laughter, running steps through the corridors, songs in the kitchen, voices on the phone. But since she is gone, everything feels dull, as if the air weighs heavier, as if time passes slower.
Julián, her husband, the owner of that huge mansion with windows overlooking the garden full of expensive flowers, has never been the same again. Sometimes it looks like a ghost.
Sometimes it seems like you’re just breathing because your body still allows it. But his soul went clear. Benjamin, her 6-year-old son, did not speak again, either. Not a word, not a syllable. The day his mom closed her eyes for the last time in the hospital, Benjamin let out a scream so loud that it made even the nurses cry. After that, total silence, as if something had broken inside.
They took him to doctors, psychologists, specialists. They said that he had no physical damage, that everything was emotional, but nothing worked. Benjamin watched, listened, walked, ate, but did not speak. And that broke Julián’s heart every damn day. On the outside, Julián was still the millionaire that many admired or envied.
They say that his technology company moves millions of dollars a month, that he is one of the most important men in Guadalajara. that he travels by private plane, that he has investments in Miami, that his fortune is assured for generations, but all that did not matter to him. The money did not help him to save Clara and he could not buy a word for his son. Two years passed like this.
Two years of pretending that everything was fine at social events, of greeting with an empty smile, of entering meetings with a knot in the stomach. Every time someone asked her about Benjamin, she felt like a needle was stuck in her chest. I couldn’t help it. His son was the only thing that was clear to him. And seeing how it went out little by little was the worst thing that could happen to him.
The house had service personnel who hardly spoke because they knew that there was no shouting, no music, no jokes. It was an elegant atmosphere, yes, but sad, cold, as if everyone knew that at any moment someone could break. One afternoon, Julián’s assistant reminded him that he had to organize an important party, a meeting with businessmen from Monterrey, Mexico City, San Diego, strong investors who wanted to get into his new line of medical software. Julián hesitated. He didn’t want to deal with people, but he accepted on business,
because he had to stay on his feet, because he couldn’t let the company collapse. It was the only way to feel like he was still in control of something in his life. That party was scheduled for a Saturday night. Exclusive invitations were sent.
A high-level event agency, international chef, open bar, live music, huge floral arrangements were hired. Everything had to go perfectly. Although inside Julián felt torn to pieces, on the outside everything had to shine. And so it was. That night the house was filled with noise again. Luxury cars arrived one after another. The lights at the entrance illuminated as if it were an award.
Men in expensive suits, women in elegant dresses and perfumes that smelled of another world. Soft music hung in the air, wine glasses clinked. There was talk of business, travel, contacts, future contracts. No one spoke of pain, no one spoke of Clara. Benjamin was in the house. Julian didn’t want to leave him alone, so he had him in a corner of the main room, sitting in a special armchair with a nanny nearby.
The boy watched everything with his big, dark eyes, saying nothing. Some guests looked at him out of the corner of their eyes, others pretended they didn’t see him. It was the child who did not speak, the child who used to run around that same house laughing and who now seemed frozen in time. While this was happening in the main room, in the kitchen and in the back hallways, the cleaning crew moved like shadows, invisible people who cleaned trays, collected glasses, emptied ashtrays, mopped without making a sound.
Among them was Elena, 34 years old, dark-haired, thin, with hair tied back with an old garter. He worked for a cleaning company that sent staff to large events. He had touched that house almost by chance. I barely knew the owner’s history, just the basics. He was not interested in the rich. She just wanted to do her shift and go home to her younger sister, whom she had been caring for for years.
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