My name is Julia Castro, and until a few years ago, my life felt like a tightrope walk on the edge of survival. Christmas Eve descended on Madrid like a veil of powdered sugar, with soft, silent snowflakes capturing the golden glow of the garlands on Calle Serrano. The world shone with a festive magic that felt alien to me, like a show behind glass I couldn’t bring myself to touch. For me, it was just another cold night trying to make ends meet, another night where my greatest luxury was my daughter’s tiny hand nestled in mine.
Lucía, my seven-year-old daughter, skipped by my side, bundled up in a pink coat and a white pom-pom hat that bounced with every step. Her laughter was the only melody capable of drowning out the constant buzzing of anxiety in my chest.
« Mommy, look! » she cried, her nose pressed against the window of a toy shop. « It looks like a fairy tale! »
I smiled, a genuine smile despite the lump rising in my throat. I couldn’t buy her the doll she pointed to with her little mitten. Just as I couldn’t buy her most things. But her laughter, her boundless ability to see wonder in a world that, to me, often seemed gray and hostile… that was my greatest treasure. That was enough.
We continued walking along the snowy sidewalk, leaving behind the jewelry stores whose diamonds seemed to rival the stars, and the cozy cafes from which wafted a dreamy scent of chocolate and cinnamon. Lucía tugged on my hand again.
— Can we walk a little bit longer, Mom? Please.
« Just a little, » I agreed, rubbing his hands together to warm them. « It’s getting late and it’s starting to get very cold. »
It happened in a second. In the blink of an eye that changed the course of my life.
As we walked past the imposing façade of the Suárez jewelry store, someone came out, arms laden with shiny bags and boxes wrapped in silk ribbons. I bumped into him. It was a clash of two worlds, a whirlwind of falling ribbons, expensive wrapping paper, and a disturbingly familiar men’s cologne.
« Oh my God, I’m so sorry! » I gasped, instinctively bending down to pick up the bags scattered in the snow. « I wasn’t looking where I was going… »
— No, it’s me — replied a deep voice. A voice I knew. A voice I had tried to forget for eight long years.
I froze. The air left my lungs.
When I raised my head, time stopped. The hubbub of Calle Serrano vanished into total silence.
Standing before me was Miguel Osborne. The man I had loved with all my being eight years earlier. The man I had left without a single explanation. The man I had never, not even in my wildest dreams, imagined I would ever meet again.
His chestnut hair was dusted with snow, and his eyes, a bluish-gray that had always reminded me of the sea just before a storm, were wide with astonishment. He seemed more mature, sharper, marked by success. Every inch of him screamed the millionaire CEO he had become. But his eyes… his eyes hadn’t changed. They were still the refuge I had decided to abandon.
« Julia? » he breathed, almost incredulous. « Julia Castro? Is that really you? »
My heart was pounding so hard in my ears that I was afraid he’d hear it. — Hi, Miguel.
Eight years of silence, pain, and secrets. And all I could think to say was goodbye.
But before either of us could add anything, a small head wearing a white pom-pom hat poked behind my coat. My daughter’s eyes—large, bright, azure gray with a tiny golden fleck in her left iris—met Miguel’s.
He became as pale as the snow falling around us.
It was like looking at himself in a mirror. A mirror that reflected back a past he didn’t know.
« How old is she? » he murmured in a trembling, cracked voice.
My lips parted slightly but no words came out. Before I could reply, Lucía stepped forward, proud as a peacock.
— I’m seven years old! My birthday is April 15th!
I saw Miguel’s legs wobble. April. Seven years. Conceived in July. The last July we spent together, before I disappeared from his life like a ghost.
He fixed his gaze on mine, and the pain I saw there pierced me. — Why? Why didn’t you tell me?
A huge knot choked me. — Because it was… complicated.
« Complicated? » her voice broke. « You disappeared, Julia. You blocked my number, you moved without a trace. I thought… »
He stopped. The truth, the raw evidence, was already in front of him.
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