Chapter 2
The warmth of Elena’s small hands slowly began to fade, not from a loss of affection, but from the chilling realization of their fleeting reality. Mateo remained on his knees, his posture stiff yet trembling as the weight of the past year pressed down upon his shoulders. The immaculate black suit, tailored for boardrooms and formal galas, felt entirely out of place in this theater of personal devastation. He looked up, his gaze locking onto the innocent face of his daughter, searching for any sign of fear. Instead, he found a profound, unsettling peace.
Elena tilted her head slightly, her white dress catching the ambient glow of the room. She did not pull her hands away, nor did she cry. Her composure was a stark contrast to the tempest raging inside Mateo’s soul. "You promised we would see the mountains again, Dad," she whispered, her voice barely a murmur above the hum of the distant city traffic outside the tall windows. The words struck Mateo like a physical blow. The mountain trip was supposed to happen last autumn, before the doctor’s grim prognosis shattered their calendar and replaced their future with a countdown.
Across the room, Sofia lowered her hands from her chest, letting them fall limply to her sides. The golden dress she wore seemed to mock the darkness consuming them, its brilliant sheen a cruel reminder of happier celebrations long past. Sofia walked slowly toward them, her steps hesitant, as if she were afraid her presence might disrupt the delicate bridge connecting Mateo and Elena. When she reached them, she knelt beside Mateo, her knees pressing into the unforgiving marble. She placed a trembling hand on Mateo’s shoulder, offering a silent lifeline.
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"We can still go, cariñito," Sofia said softly, directing her words to Elena, though her voice cracked with the desperate lie. Everyone in the room knew the truth. Elena could no longer travel, could no longer walk the rugged trails they had dreamed of conquering together. Yet, in this house of mirrors and heartbreak, hope was the only currency they had left to spend.
Mateo turned his head to look at Sofia. Their eyes met, communicating a language forged through years of shared devotion and unspoken sacrifices. In that brief exchange, they acknowledged the futility of the promise while honoring its intent. Mateo tightened his grip on Elena’s hands, a silent vow passing between them that physical distance could never sever what they shared. The grand salon seemed to close in around them, the beige curtains darkening as the sun dipped below the horizon, plunging the room into twilight.
