The sky hung low and gray over Los Vinania. Clouds moved slowly, as if mourning too, draping the earth in a muted silence that matched the mood of everyone gathered beneath them.
The funeral was small.
Private.
Just as Maria would’ve wanted — not for lack of people, but because so few had truly known her.
A few chairs lined the gravesite, their legs sinking into the soft soil. A white casket rested under a canopy of lilies, roses, and baby’s breath — flowers chosen by Ethan, who stood off to the side in a black suit, hands clasped in front of him, face unreadable.
Rafael stood near him, his tie crooked, his hair ssy, as though even grief hadn’t given him the strength to bother fixing it. He glanced back once, scanning the road with a nervous edge.
And then he saw her.
Mara.
She walked slowly across the grass, cradling Isabella in her arms, the little girl dressed in a simple navy blue dress and tiny white sweater. Her hand clung tightly to Mara’s collar, her cheek resting on her shoulder. She was too young to understand the permanence of today — but not too young to feel the weight of it.
As they approached, the mourners stepped aside to make room. No words were needed.
Mara stood at the head of the casket.
She didn’t cry — not loudly, not today. Her face was calm, but her eyes were oceans. Wide, quiet, and deep.
The priest spoke softly, reciting a brief prayer in both English and Spanish. He didn’t ntion the scandal, or the headlines. He didn’t talk about her sins, or her suffering. He only spoke of grace. Of rcy. Of peace.
Ethan stepped forward first to lay a white rose on the casket.
"You can finally rest now," he murmured under his breath. Then Rafael laid his flower. "For the friend I never really knew," he said quietly. "But always respected."
Then it was Mara’s turn.
She hesitated.
And for a mont, the air itself seed to hold still.
She stepped forward, pressing a soft kiss to the top of the rose before laying it gently on the smooth white surface. Isabella shifted in her arms, half-asleep, her fingers tangled in Mara’s shirt.
Mara looked at the casket.
"I forgive you," she whispered. "And I love you." The wind blew gently through her hair, like a quiet nod from sowhere beyond.
"She was my sister," Mara said aloud, turning her head slightly toward the others. Her voice didn’t shake. "We weren’t born into the sa family, but we chose each other. She was my sister long before I knew who I was. And I’ll carry her with every day forward."
She stepped back. The casket was lowered.
Soil thudded softly, one handful at a ti. No grand ceremony. No speeches. Just the earth welcoming one of its own.
When it was done, Mara stood for a long ti in silence. Isabella was asleep now, heavy in her arms. She pressed her cheek to the girl’s hair.
"I’ll tell her stories about you," she whispered. "All the good ones. The ones where we laughed till we couldn’t breathe. The ones where you danced in the rain. She’ll know the best parts of you, Maria. I promise."
As the others began to drift away, Mara stayed until the last flower was settled on the fresh soil. Until the quiet reclaid the cetery.
Then, without a word, she turned and walked back toward the car — carrying the only piece of Maria that remained alive.
****
The plane humd quietly above the clouds, a gentle rhythm beneath the heavy silence shared between the four souls inside.
Mara sat by the window, Isabella curled against her side, her tiny head resting on Mara’s lap. The child’s cheeks were still tear-stained, but sleep had wrapped her in peace, shielding her from the sorrow left behind.
Rafael sat beside them, his hands folded, eyes turned toward the aisle. Across from him, Ethan leaned back, silent, staring not at them, but through the small window beside him — as though the clouds held answers he hadn’t found in the courtroom, or the cetery.
There was so much left unsaid.
The tension was there, but dulled — not like anger, more like a bruise that no longer throbbed, only reminded.
Rafael had used every favor he was owed to get Isabella a temporary travel passport. Her old one couldn’t be found, and the bureaucracy would have delayed them for days — sothing Mara simply couldn’t bear. She didn’t want Isabella spending another night in that hospital. Not in that city. Not surrounded by mories that whispered Maria’s na with every corner turned.
There was ti, Mara knew, to ask questions.
To ask Ethan why he hadn’t told her Maria had co back. Why he kept quiet while she sat in the dark for weeks, wondering what beca of the girl she once called sister. But she also rembered the day Ethan had ntioned her na. The fury. The betrayal. The silence that followed.
So conversations weren’t worth resurrecting, she thought quietly, brushing a strand of hair from Isabella’s face.
She was too tired. Too broken. And now, too needed — by soone small and innocent, who didn’t deserve another mont of instability.
So she sat still, eyes turned toward the clouds, one hand resting protectively over Isabella’s back.
Rafael stole a glance at her. She didn’t notice.
He had always imagined returning to Mara after all this — after the court cases, after Maria’s safety was secured. He pictured coming back to her when the world had stopped spinning and offering her sothing stable again. Sothing new.
He never imagined it would end like this.
That Maria would be gone. That her child would now be part of Mara’s life — and heart.
When the plane finally landed in Salvador, the sky had turned a deep violet, the city glowing in scattered lights below. It was late, and the airport felt like a quiet shadow of itself. A van waited just outside, arranged by Stefan.
Mara stood slowly, shifting Isabella in her arms as the child clung to her without waking.
She didn’t say much.
Only turned to Rafael, her voice quiet but firm.
"I’ll go first."
Then, she glanced toward Ethan, not with anger, but with clarity — a soft nod that held weight.
Don’t follow . Not tonight. Rafael gave her a small nod in return. Ethan didn’t say a word.
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