Nothing, in fact, I probably lose. Renata Salazar resigned to protect me. She left before I could stop her, and I haven’t been able to find her for two weeks. Her voice cracked slightly, but I learned from her that some things matter more than winning. Doing the right thing matters more than protecting your reputation. Justice matters more than money.
“Do you love her?” The question came from a young reporter in the front row. Sebastián hesitated, then nodded. “Yes, I love her, and I hope she’s watching this because she needs to know her name is clear, that the world will know the truth, that she didn’t fight alone.” The cameras captured everything. By 6 p.m., the story dominated every newscast. By 8 p.m., Pizarro’s company stock had fallen 40%.
By 10 a.m., three banks had called to demand loans. Ernesto Pizarro saw his empire collapse in 14 hours. On the 22nd, the prosecutor filed formal charges: 15 counts of fraud, forgery, and defamation. An arrest warrant was issued. Pizarro was arrested in his office, and the arrest was broadcast live. Sebastián saw it on television.
He felt a hollow victory because Renata was still missing. On the 25th, the board called an emergency meeting. Ricardo Fuentes spoke first. “Sebastián, your resignation still stands. 30 days. I gave you my word. We want you to reconsider.” Sebastián blinked in surprise. “Why?” “Because you were right. About Renata, about prioritizing integrity. You embarrassed us all.” The other 11 members nodded. “We withdraw the ultimatum.”
Renata Salazar can return whenever she wants. With a public apology from this board. She resigned voluntarily. So convince her to come back. Pacífico needs architects with her integrity. Sebastián felt something loosen in his chest. Thank you, but first I have to find her. He spent three days looking for shelters, hostels, places where Renata could hide. Nothing. Day 28.
Álvaro called. I think I found her. Where? Yungai neighborhood. There’s a cooperative of young architects. Fair Architecture. Renata is a founder. Sebastián drove immediately. The cooperative occupied a converted old house, with a modest sign. Through the window, he saw half a dozen people working on blueprints, and there, bent over a drawing table, her blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, was Renata, alive, working, rebuilding again. Without him, Sebastián pushed open the door. A bell rang.
Renata looked up. Their eyes met. Time stood still. “Hi,” Sebastian said. “Hi,” Renata replied. The other architects watched curiously. “Can we talk in private?” Renata hesitated, then nodded, leading him to a small backyard with potted plants, a table and chairs, and autumn sunlight filtering through the trees. “How did you find me?” she asked.
I wasn’t easy. You’re good at hiding. I had practice. Awkward silence. I saw the press conference, Renata finally said. On television. What you did was incredible. It was the right thing to do. You risked everything. Not everything. I still have a company. The board withdrew the ultimatum. Pizarro is under arrest. Maritza resigned and will testify. And your reputation remains intact.
Maybe better. Turns out principles matter more than I thought. Renata smiled slightly. I told you so. Yes. You did it. Another silence. Sebastián looked around. What is this? Fair, cooperative architecture. Five of us are victims of Pizarro. Two others had similar experiences with different companies. We decided to work together.
Small projects, clients that big firms ignore. But it’s ours, it’s impressive. It’s survival. Again, Renata. No, he raised his hand. I know you’re going to say I should come back, that the board wants me back, that everything is forgiven, and I’m not coming back, not as an employee. Sebastián felt his heart sink.
Why not? Because I spent 28 years proving my worth to others—to professors, to Pizarro, to the board, to you. He stopped, looking directly at him. Here I don’t have to prove anything. These architects know me, they respect me. We’re equals. I understand. Do you understand? I truly believe you do. That Christmas night I thought I was saving you. I didn’t understand until later that it was me who needed saving. Renata looked at him in surprise.
You taught me that building isn’t just about buildings. It’s about dignity, purpose, creating spaces where people can live with respect. Sebastián approached me. And you taught me that some things are worth more than money. Like truth, like justice, like love. Sebastián, I didn’t come to ask you to come back as an employee. I came to propose building a society.
What? Pacífico Construction has a massive budget for social housing. Your cooperative has vision and talent. Let’s work together as equals. Partners. Renata Parpadeo. Are you offering a contract? I’m offering a partnership. Your cooperative designs all our social projects. 5050 in profits. Complete creative autonomy. That’s generous.
It’s not generosity, it’s smart business, and it’s a way to fix a broken system. Renata walked to the table, sat down processing, and we finally asked, “What are we?” Sebastián knelt before her. We are whatever we decide to be. If you want just a business partnership, I accept. If you want friendship, I accept. If you want more, what is more? More is dinners together.
What matters most is that Luciana can call you Mom if she wants. What matters most is that we build something that isn’t a building, it’s life. Tears streamed down Renata’s face. I’m scared. Me too. The last time I trusted someone, they destroyed me. I know. And I can’t promise I’ll never hurt you. I can only promise I’ll try not to, and if I do, I’ll fight to fix it.
Renata gently touched her face. You said you loved me. In the hostel, every word was true, even knowing all the baggage I carry, especially because of that, because that baggage made you who you are, and who you are is extraordinary. Renata laughed through her tears. You’re impossible. That’s it. Yes. Maybe.
Give me time to think about it, both society and everything else. You have all the time you need. She stood up and walked to the door. Sebastian called Renata. He turned around. “Thank you for fighting when you didn’t have to, for believing when no one else did.” “Don’t thank me. You saved me first; it just took me a while to realize it.” He left, leaving her with the resolve that she would change everything.
But for the first time in weeks, Sebastián felt hopeful. Because Renata hadn’t said no, she’d said maybe, and maybe that was enough for now. Six months later, the spring sun bathed the vacant lot in Puente Alto. Renata held the ceremonial shovel, smiling at the cameras. “Project Renata,” the mayor announced. “150 sustainable homes.”
A model for the future of social construction in Chile. Renata had protested the name. Sebastián insisted, “Your design, your vision, your name.” Now, surrounded by press, authorities, and residents who would soon live here, Renata allowed her pride to blossom. Sebastián was by her side, always by her side these last few months. Luciana between them, holding both their hands.
“Can I break dirt too?” the little girl asked. “Of course.” Renata handed her the small shovel they had brought especially for her. Luciana dug the shovel in with all her six-year-old strength. The crowd applauded. “I did it, Renata. I did it.” “Yes, you did, little one.” Renata hugged her.
Above Luciana’s head, Sebastián caught Renata’s eye. Something happened between them. Something warm and promising. Six months. So much had changed. Flashback to June. Renata signing the partnership agreement. Her hands trembling slightly. “Are you sure?” Sebastián asked. “No, but I’m going to do it anyway.” The agreement was simple.
Just Architecture would design all of Pacífico Construction’s social housing projects for five years. 5050 in profit. Complete creative autonomy. This changes everything, said one of the cooperative’s architects. That’s the idea, replied Renata. The first design meeting was tense. Sebastián’s team was used to total control, Renata’s cooperative used to being ignored, but they found rhythm, mutual respect, and a shared purpose.
By August, the first project was underway. The Puente Alto housing project. Flashback to July, dinner at Sebastián’s house. Renata had agreed to move back into the guest apartment. Temporarily, she insisted, until I get my own place. Temporarily became indefinite. Luciana was euphoric.
Her therapist reported a dramatic improvement. The nightmares almost disappeared. “Do you know why?” the therapist asked Sebastián. “Why?” Because Luciana finally has what she needed. No, a surrogate mother, a complete family, consistent love. That night, after Luciana went to sleep, Sebastián found Renata on the terrace. “What are you thinking?” “That six months ago she was sleeping in a cheap hostel.”
Now I’m here. It’s surreal. Do you want to leave? No, that’s what scares me. I don’t want to leave. Sebastián sat down next to her. Then don’t leave. What are we, Sebastián? We live together, but in separate rooms. We raised Luciana together, but we’re not officially a couple. It’s a strange limbo. Do you want it to be official? Renata looked at him.
“Do you want to?” I asked first. She laughed. “Yes, I do, but I’m afraid of ruining it.” “Me too, but I think it’s worth the risk.” They finally kissed. Six months of tension dissolving in that kiss. When they parted, Renata whispered, “Go slowly with me, please, as slowly as you need.” Flashback to September. Ernesto Pizarro’s trial. Renata testified.
Eight other architects also came forward, finding courage after Sebastián’s press conference. Pizarro was sentenced to 12 years in prison and ordered to make restitution to all the victims. It wouldn’t bring back stolen years, destroyed careers, or ruined lives, but it was justice. It was something. Maritza also faced trial, testified against Pizarro, and fully cooperated.
She received three years of probation and community service. She had to return all the embezzled money. Her career in corporate finance was over. Sebastián saw her one last time after the sentencing. “What will you do now?” “Start over. Maybe teach accounting at a community college. Something simple.” “Maritza, no.”
She raised her hand. “I don’t need an apology speech. I did what I did. I’ll pay the price. End of story.” She paused. “But I hope you’re happy. You deserve happiness with her. You do too. Someday, when I’ve atoned enough.” She left. Sebastian never saw her again. Back to the present, opening ceremony ending.
The press wanted interviews. Renata handled it with a grace that surprised Sebastián. Six months ago, she avoided cameras. Now she faced them with her head held high because her name was cleared—more than cleared, restored. A specialized magazine named her architect of the year. Her design for Puente Alto was studied at universities. Three more companies wanted to commission her fair architecture.
Renata Salazar didn’t just survive, she thrived. “Cans?” Sebastián asked when they were finally free. Exhausted, but happy, Luciana tugged on Renata’s hand. “Can we go this way?” Dad promised. “Dad promises a lot of things,” Renata said, looking at Sebastián with amusement. “And Dad keeps his promises,” he replied. They went to Luciana’s favorite ice cream shop.
Sitting on the terrace, spring unfolding all around, Luciana devoured chocolate ice cream. Renata ate strawberry. Sebastián watched the two women in his life. “Renata,” Luciana said suddenly. “Can I ask you a question? I can always call you Mom.” Renata’s ice cream stopped halfway to her mouth. She looked at Sebastián, panic in her eyes. He nodded slightly. “Your choice, Renata.”
She put down her ice cream and knelt beside Luciana’s chair. “Are you sure? Because ‘Mom’ is a big, important word.” “I’m sure. You already have a beautiful name, Renata, but I also want to call you ‘Mom.’ Is that okay?” Tears streamed down Renata’s face. “That’s more than okay. It would be an honor.”
Luciana hugged her, staining Renata’s blouse with chocolate. “I love you, Mom.” “I love you too, sweetheart.” Sebastián gazed at his own heart, too full for words. His family was finally complete, not in a traditional way, not in the way society expected, but real, true, won through struggle, sacrifice, and unwavering love. That night, after Luciana had fallen asleep, Sebastián and Renata sat in his study.
“There’s something I want to ask you,” Sebastián said. “It sounds serious, it is. Sort of.” Renata waited. “We’ve been officially a couple for six months, but we’ve known each other for nine. Luciana calls you Mom. We live together. Sebastián, where are you going with this?” He took a small box out of his pocket. Renata stopped breathing.
“I’m not asking for an answer right now,” she said quickly. “I just want you to know that this is real for me, that when I look to the future, I see you in it—you and Luciana, and maybe eventually more children if you want.” She opened the box. A simple, elegant ring, a modest diamond.
Someday, when you’re ready, I want to marry you, but there’s no rush. I just wanted you to know. Renata took the box with trembling hands. “Are you proposing to me without actually proposing?” “Exactly, it’s a practice proposal. A dress rehearsal.” She laughed through her tears. “You’re ridiculous.” “Is that it?” “No, it’s not. I don’t know. Let me think. Take all the time you need. A month, six months, a year. I’ll be waiting.”
Renata looked at the ring, then at Sebastián. What happened to the calculating SEO who never took risks? He met a woman searching through trash. She taught him that some risks are worth it. I didn’t teach you anything. You chose to take the risk because you showed me how they kissed. Deep, promising.
When they parted, Renata whispered, “Ask me again in six months.” “And what will you say?” “I don’t know yet, but I want to find out.” “That’s enough for me.” Six months later, on the land where Renata’s project now had its first buildings nearing completion, Sebastián asked her again, this time on his knees, this time with Luciana holding flowers, this time in front of the 150 families who would soon live in the homes Renata designed.
Renata Salazar, will you marry me? She looked around at sustainable buildings gleaming in the sun, at smiling families, at Luciana bouncing with excitement, at Sebastián kneeling, vulnerable, hopeful. “Yes,” she said, “a thousand times yes.” The applause was thunderous, but Renata only heard the beating of her heart. Finally, finally at peace, finally home—not in a place, but in person, with family, in love that survived garbage, betrayal, pain, and fear, and emerged stronger.
As sustainable architecture, they built something designed to last—not perfect, but real—and that was all they needed. What did you think of Sebastián and Renata’s story? Leave your comments below on a scale of 0 to 10. How would you rate this story? Subscribe to the channel and turn on notifications so you don’t miss any of our stories
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