It was a warm, golden Saturday—one of those rare days when everything felt briefly suspended in peace. The garden was bursting with laughter and life as Ethan arrived with Mrs. Bella, Velaria, and Vera, their arms full of gifts wrapped in soft pastels and shiny ribbons. They had co to visit the twins—baby Audrey and baby Andrew—and to finally et baby Isabella, who had quietly beco a part of Mara’s heart and ho.
Mara greeted them with a gentle smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes but was kind nonetheless. Ethan, to his credit, was trying. He crouched beside Isabella with a stuffed bunny and a delicate tenderness in his expression. He didn’t hesitate or hold back—he treated her no differently than he did Audrey, lifting her carefully, tickling her feet, calling her "princess" like he used to with Audrey.
Mrs. Bella, elegant as ever, leaned close to Mara. "She’s a beautiful child," she said, watching Isabella giggle in Ethan’s arms. "You’re doing an incredible thing, Mara. She’s one of yours now. I can see it."
Mara just nodded, her chest tight. She loved Isabella deeply, instinctively. But so wounds still had fragile stitches. She wasn’t quite sure what this visit ant in Ethan’s world, nor how she felt about him showing up so warm, so... dostic.
As the children tumbled across the garden grass—Velaria leading a pretend tea party while Vera tried to tickle Audrey—Mara stepped back. "Excuse ," she said softly, barely heard over the high-pitched giggles and the distant clink of teacups on saucers.
She slipped into the house and made her way to her room, closing the door gently behind her. The sudden quiet wrapped around her like a shawl. She stood by the window for a mont, watching the garden scene from a distance.
There was so much beauty in it. So much warmth. But a part of her still felt like a guest in her own joy.
She sank onto the edge of her bed, her hands folded in her lap, and let herself breathe—slow and deep. She was grateful, of course. For healing. For second chances. For Isabella’s laughter and Steve’s progress, and the garden full of children and life.
But even joy could feel heavy when you carried it alone.
Mara stared at the letter she had been avoiding for days now—its edges worn from being held too many tis, never opened. Maria’s handwriting on the envelope still looked so alive, like a whisper frozen in ink. Her heart clenched as she finally slid her finger beneath the seal, her breath catching in her throat.
Outside, laughter spilled through the windows—the Anderson family playing with the kids, Velaria squealing as Vera chased her with a bubble wand. But here in her room, ti slowed.
Her hands trembled as she unfolded the paper, the familiar script swimming before her teary eyes.
"Rember after our final year, how we planned to rock Salvador? It was our dream—you, the fierce lawyer, and , the finance manager with big city dreams. I used to imagine our life there, Mara. I used to believe in it so much. Sotis I wonder... if I hadn’t married Daniel that night—if I had just listened to you—maybe everything would’ve been different."
Mara pressed the letter to her chest for a mont, as if bracing herself for the ache that was still coming. Then, she kept reading.
"That night, I thought I fell in love. He looked at like I was the only woman in the world. I thought it was real—I needed it to be real. But I was wrong. And stupid. I know that now. If I could rewrite my story, I would have gone with you to Salvador.
We would’ve shared that tiny apartnt, the one with the crooked balcony and the sun that spilled through the windows every morning. I’d have stood by you as your maid of honor, crying happy tears as you married soone who truly loved you. And maybe, just maybe, I’d have found a good man too. I know you wouldn’t let settle for anything less."
Mara could see it—those imagined days. Two young won chasing their dreams, making pasta in a too-small kitchen, dancing barefoot to old songs on the radio.
"We’d get pregnant at the sa ti. Can you imagine? Our children would be like twins—mine is a little girl, and you? You never could decide between a boy or a girl, so I always prayed you’d get both. They would’ve grown up together, like we did. Best friends. Like sisters. Like us."
Mara’s tears ca silently, slipping down her cheeks one by one. The letter blurred in her hands, but she didn’t stop reading. She couldn’t.
"That’s the life I dread of, Mara. That was always my wish. I know I can’t change what’s already happened, but I hope... sohow... you’ll forgive for the pain. And that you’ll live the dream for both of us."
Her hands shook as the final lines of Maria’s letter carved themselves into her soul.
"Wrong choices led down a different path, and I ended up hurting you. I swear, Mara, it was never Ethan’s fault. It was all in my head. I was confused.
He thought he couldn’t have children—I was the one who pushed, who wanted sothing I didn’t understand. He always talked about how much he loved you... And ? He only pitied. But I couldn’t stop.
That night, he didn’t even know it was . He was drunk, and I... I tricked him.
It’s all my fault. Please... forgive , Mara. I’m so sorry. And now, I’ve done the unimaginable— Even in death, I manage to hurt you again.
My daughter, my sweet Isabella. I know you, Mara. I know your heart. You’d do it for a stranger... so pretend I’m a stranger. Please take care of her. And if you can’t, please—have rcy on and ensure she grows up in a ho where love isn’t pain. Where she’s safe. Cherished. Held. If it’s not too much... Could you visit her on her birthday? Tell her about . Tell her I loved her, even if I didn’t get to stay. My dying wish is that she never forgets ... And that you forgive .
Love, Your Maria-Isabel."
The letter slipped from Mara’s fingers as she curled into herself on the bed, sobs wracking her chest. She wept for the dream that never ca true. For the betrayal that now felt like a tragedy rather than a cri. For Maria’s brokenness. For Isabella’s innocence. For her own heart, torn open all over again.
That was when she heard the knock.
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