The aciapa blinked, confused that someone like him would ask her.
“Rosa…” she answered in a low voice. “Rosa Delgado…”
That name… was like a direct knife wound to a memory buried for decades.
Alejandro took a step back.
His face turned pale.
“It can’t be…” he murmured.
Camila squeezed her father’s hand.
“Dad…?”
Alejandro knelt down—in the middle of the dusty street, under the astonished gaze of everyone.
Uп mυltimillopario… arrodillado freпste a υпa meпdiga.
His voice broke:
“Did you… live in Puebla… more than thirty years ago?”
The acia trembled.
Their eyes opened—for the first time, a spark appeared in them.
“Do you… do you know about that…?”
The air around us seemed to freeze.
And for the first time… after decades… the past was beginning to return.
The air seemed to have stopped between them.
Alejandro didn’t move. He wasn’t even breathing normally.
His eyes were fixed on the face of the woman, as if every wrinkle, every shadow, every gesture… were a piece of a puzzle that his soul had been trying to reconstruct throughout his life.
“Tell me…” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Did you… have a son?”
Rosa Delgado looked at him with confusion, but something in her gaze changed. As if an old door, rusted by the years, began to slowly open in her memory.
“Yes…” she answered in a whisper. “A long time ago… but I lost it…”
Alejandro’s heart gave a sharp thud.
Camila squeezed her hand harder.
“What was his name?” asked Alejandro, barely able to bear the weight of hope.
Rosa closed her eyes for a moment. Her lips trembled.
“His name was… Alejandro.”
