The Hot Streets of Salamanca
The sun in Madrid beat down like molten lead upon the sidewalks of the Salamanca neighborhood. I, Lucía, just ten years old, felt the asphalt scorching the soles of my bare feet. In my arms, a small wicker basket held the homemade sweets that my mother, Elena, prepared during the brief moments when her illness would ease up. Each step was a struggle—a small sacrifice made in her and my grandmother’s name, as their mounting medical bills loomed large.
My mother was unable to work, bedridden for most of the day, and my grandmother fought bravely in a public hospital severely lacking in resources. Selling sweets was my only weapon in this silent battle. Door after door, mansion after mansion, I faced indifferent stares, firm excuses wrapped in politeness, and the blunt sound of doors slamming shut. Yet, I refused to give up. “Stay strong, my light,” my mother always told me, and her voice served as the fuel that drove my weary legs forward.
A Mysterious Mansion
Then, I saw it—a door that resembled the entrance of a castle. It was made of dark, solid wood and had a lion-shaped brass knocker. Behind it stood a grand mansion, encircled by a garden so lush and perfect, it seemed unreal. I froze, feeling small and insignificant, like an ant in front of a giant. Taking a deep breath, I approached the wrought-iron gate and pressed the doorbell.
The silence stretched to the point where I thought no one was home. Just as I turned to leave, I heard the sound of firm footsteps and the metallic click of the lock. The door opened with a soft creak, revealing a tall man with dark hair slicked back, dressed in a well-tailored black suit. His serious face had a strong jawline, and his piercing gaze scanned me from head to toe in an instant. He appeared to be someone of importance, a figure from another world.
Recalling the manners my mother had taught me, I raised the basket. “Sir, would you like to buy a sweet to help my sick grandmother?” I asked, my voice much smaller than I had intended.
The man, whom I would later come to know as Alejandro Vargas, raised an eyebrow, his expression inscrutable. He didn’t respond immediately. His stare lingered on my thin arms, my dusty, sweaty face, and my bare feet. After what felt like an eternity of silence, a faint smile curved his lips, and he nodded. “Wait here,” he said in a deep voice.
He turned and walked into the mansion, leaving the door ajar. I waited, but curiosity overpowered me. I stepped forward, then another, peeking inside. The interior resembled a fairy tale palace. The marble floors shimmered, reflecting the chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling. The air was fresh, filled with a blend of beeswax and blooming flowers.
My eyes, accustomed to the cracked walls of our small apartment in Vallecas, were awed by the enormous paintings and antique furniture that seemed to be from a museum. I crept further, drawn by the glow of the objects, and then my heart stopped. On one wall of the hallway, framed in an opulent golden frame, was a photograph. It was old and slightly faded, yet the image was clear.
My legs trembled. The woman in the photo, young and beaming, was with the same man who had opened the door. The woman was my mother. There was no doubt about it. I had seen enough old photos of her to recognize that smile, that radiant look that illness had slowly stripped away. In the picture, she looked luminous, joyous, just as I barely remembered her.
I was utterly bewildered. Why was a photo of my mother in this stranger’s house? Why did she appear so happy next to him? A knot formed in my stomach, mixing confusion and an unfamiliar fear.
Seconds later, the man returned, holding several bills. But upon seeing me standing before the photograph, his expression completely changed. He halted abruptly. His face drained of color, and the money he held slowly dropped to his side. I remained frozen, raising my trembling arm to point at the image. “Why… why is my mom’s picture in your house?” I managed to ask, my voice barely a whisper.
Alejandro didn’t reply. His eyes were fixated on the photo as if he was seeing it for the first time. He opened his mouth, yet no sound emerged. The silence became thick, heavy. Finally, he looked at me, and in his gaze, I saw a storm of emotions: confusion, surprise, pain, and perhaps guilt.
He regarded me with an intensity that chilled my blood, as if searching for an answer I didn’t possess. What did all this mean? Why had my mother never mentioned this place or this man? Alejandro stepped towards me, scrutinizing my face as if looking for something. “What’s your name?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper. “Lucía,” I replied. “Lucía Torres.”
At the sound of my name, something shattered in his expression. His jaw tightened, his eyes grew wide, and then softened with immeasurable sorrow. It seemed that the name ‘Torres’ struck him like a slap. I felt the tension rise, but I stood still. I craved answers yet was gripped by overwhelming fear. I had only gone out to sell sweets, and now I was embroiled in a mystery that linked my sick mother to a solitary millionaire.
He crouched down until his eyes matched mine. “Your mother’s name,” he said, almost breathlessly, “is Elena Torres.”
I nodded silently.
He stood again, staring at the photo as if searching for an explanation within it. His hands trembled noticeably. “She never told me,” he muttered to himself. I didn’t understand. “Told you what?” I asked.
He looked at me again, this time with a direct and penetrating gaze. “That she had a daughter.”
I blinked, confused. “What?” was all I could manage to articulate.
His face hardened. “I was with your mother long ago. We were going to get married. We lost contact… I never knew she had a daughter.” His voice was firm, but I could hear the hidden pain behind each word. My heart pounded in my chest. Was this man saying he was my father? It seemed impossible. Mom had always told me that my father had died in an accident before I was born. But now, my entire world was upside down.
Alejandro sank into a nearby sofa, still holding the money but no longer offering it to me. His gaze was lost on the floor. I remained standing beside the photograph, unsure of what to do. A part of me wished to run away and never look back. Another part, the stronger one, needed to stay and understand everything.
Finally, he spoke. “How is she?” he asked, without looking at me.
I lowered my gaze. “Sick,” I said quietly. “And my grandmother too. We don’t have money for her medicines.” My voice broke at the end.
He nodded slowly, lost in thought as though trying to piece together an impossible puzzle. “Come with me,” he said gently. I hesitated. “I won’t hurt you,” he added. “I just want to help.”
I followed him to an office where he handed me a sum of money I had never seen before in my life. There were so many bills that I could barely hold them. “Take this to your mother,” he said. “And tell her Alejandro wants to speak with her.”
I gripped the money tightly, my hands shaking. Everything had changed in an instant. That morning, I had left my small and humble home to sell sweets. Now, I had stumbled upon something far greater—a truth that had been hidden from me for my entire life.
I turned to leave, still in shock, my mind a whirlwind of unanswered questions. As I stepped outside, the sun continued to blaze, and the world appeared unchanged, but inside me, I was someone entirely new. I had gone out seeking a few coins and discovered a secret that had the power to alter our destinies forever.
Alejandro’s Realization
I walked away from the mansion, the money pressed against my chest and a storm brewing in my mind. My feet still ached, and I remained tired and hungry, but now something new stirred within me: a blend of hope and fear. I glanced back one last time at the grand house. The door had closed, but I knew it had not merely opened the way to a mansion. It had cracked open a part of my past that could never be closed again.
Alejandro stood paralyzed in the middle of the living room, fixated on the photograph that Lucía had pointed out. The money he had taken out for sweets remained in his hand, forgotten. He gazed at the photo as if encountering it for the first time, even though it had hung in that hallway for over a decade. Slowly, he turned toward Lucía and, with a trembling voice, said: “This woman was my fiancée. She died over ten years ago.”
Lucía frowned. “She’s my mom,” she replied, her small voice firm.
The words struck Alejandro as if he had been hit with a hammer. His legs gave way, and he collapsed onto the sofa. He covered his face with his hands, saying nothing. The silence in the room was absolute. Lucía remained standing, holding her basket, her eyes wide open. She didn’t comprehend what had just occurred, but she felt that something was terribly wrong.
She glanced toward the door, tense. This strange man, who lived in a palace and claimed that mom had been his fiancée, was now on the verge of breaking down. How could mom be dead if she was still alive, though sick, at home? And why did this man believe that? Fear enveloped her. Without saying another word, she tightened her grip on her basket and backed away.
<p“Please wait,” Alejandro said, attempting to rise. His voice was more robust, but still trembling. “Tell me more. Where is she? Where is Elena?”
But Lucía was already running. Her bare feet echoed on the polished marble, and she did not look back. She dashed out the door, back into the sweltering street. She ran as fast as her little legs could carry her, her heart racing, confused and frightened.
Alejandro reached the door, but she had already vanished. He looked around desperately, but the street was empty, with only the gate swaying slightly. His hands trembled. He slowly closed the door and leaned against it. His mind was a chaos. The girl had said her name was Lucía. She had said Elena was her mother. That meant Elena was alive.
But how could that be? His own mother, Doña Isabel, had told him about the accident. She had shown him the funeral preparations. He remembered sitting in the front row at the church, petrified by grief, unable to cry. It had been a closed casket. No one saw the body. He accepted it, though a part of him never felt complete. He had lived with that emptiness for over ten years. He never married. He never forgot. And now, this.
He returned to the sofa and sat down. His mind was spinning. He thought of Lucía’s face, the shape of her nose, her eyes, the way she spoke. She reminded him so much of Elena; she was a miniature version of the woman he had loved more than anything in the world. Could it be true? Could Elena have survived and built a life far away from everything and everyone? And if so, why had she never contacted him? Why had she allowed him to believe she was dead?
He required answers. And the only person who could provide them had just fled from his home.
Days of Desperation
The following days were agony for Alejandro. He canceled meetings, ignored calls, and stopped eating. He hired his private security team to search for a girl selling sweets in the humbler neighborhoods. He provided them with every detail he remembered. But days turned into weeks, and there was no news.
Meanwhile, Lucía continued her routine of poverty and struggle. Every morning, she left with her basket. Her mother remained gravely ill. She never mentioned the mansion nor the man to Elena. She didn’t know how. Besides, mom always avoided discussing her past. Any questions about her father or youth were met with, “It’s best not to talk about that, my light,” or “The past is behind us.” But those answers were no longer sufficient for Lucía.
One night, while they shared a piece of bread, Lucía almost told her, but when she saw her mother’s tired eyes, she fell silent. Yet, the questions grew in her heart like a wild vine.
In his mansion, Alejandro was in despair. He ascended to the attic—a space he hadn’t visited in years. Dust blanketed everything. He opened old boxes filled with Elena’s memories: photos, letters, trinkets. And then he found it. An old letter in Elena’s handwriting. Trembling, he read it. It spoke of how much she missed him, her confusion, and then one sentence left him breathless: “If I had known about the pregnancy, perhaps things would have been different.”
He froze. Pregnancy. Elena had been pregnant. He reread the line over and over. It was there, clear as day. She was expecting a child when she vanished. And no one ever told him.
He sat down on the dusty attic floor. If Elena was pregnant, that meant Lucía was his daughter. His own daughter, living in poverty while he resided in luxury. He recalled how his mother, Doña Isabel, had handled everything after Elena’s supposed “death.” She had been cold, controlling. She told him it was better not to see the body, that it would bring him more pain. He had trusted her. But now, doubts assailed him. What if Elena didn’t die? What if she had been forced to leave?
That night, he didn’t sleep. He had spent years building an empire, but now none of that mattered. He had to find Lucía. He had to speak with Elena. He had to know the truth, no matter the cost.
Facing the Truth
Lucía stood again at the mansion’s gate. Her heart raced, but this time it wasn’t out of fear but determination. She could not continue living with doubt. She had to return. She opened the gate and stepped inside.
Alejandro was in the garden, reading some papers. Upon seeing her, he jumped up. “You’ve returned,” he said, relief and anxiety blending in his voice.
But Lucía didn’t beat around the bush. She walked straight toward the portrait. “That’s my mom. I’m sure of it,” she declared with a firmness that surprised them both. Alejandro stood by her side. “That’s Elena,” he said softly. “She meant everything to me.”
He led her into his office and showed her more photos: Elena laughing, Elena at the beach, Elena embracing him. Lucía examined them in silence, feeling as though she was spying on a secret life of her mother. Then something caught her eye. In one of the photos, her mother wore a necklace—a small heart with a blue stone. “That necklace,” Lucía said. “My mom still wears it. Every day.”
Alejandro was stunned. It was the same necklace he had given her the night he proposed. “I gave it to her,” he whispered. He sat down, overwhelmed. “Is your mother alive?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer.
<p“Yes, she lives with me. It’s just the two of us.”
The truth hit him with all its might. Lucía had to be his daughter. “She never told me she was pregnant,” he said, his voice breaking. “No one told me anything.”
Lucía watched him closely, observing the pain in his face. “She never speaks of the past,” she explained. “She always says my dad died before I was born.”
That lie hurt Alejandro more than any other—not out of anger toward Elena, but because he understood the depth of her fear. “Where do you live?” he asked. Lucía provided him a rough idea of their neighborhood. He took note. He needed to see her. He needed to hear her side of the story.
<p“I should go,” Lucía said. This time, Alejandro didn’t try to stop her. “Thank you for coming,” he replied. “Please, tell your mother… tell Elena that Alejandro wants to see her.”
When Lucía got home, she found her mother resting. “Mom, I have to tell you something,” she said and recounted everything. Elena’s face grew pale as Lucía spoke. As she finished, the room fell into a deathly silence.
<p“He was the love of my life,” Elena whispered as if talking to herself. “But I had to disappear.”
<p“Why, mom? Why?”
Elena’s eyes filled with tears. And for the first time, she told the truth. “When I discovered I was pregnant with you, your father’s mother, Doña Isabel, found out. She was a powerful and cold woman. She never liked me. One night, she summoned me and threatened me. She said if I didn’t leave Alejandro, she would destroy us. She said if I told Alejandro about the baby, she would come for you and me. She said she would kill us if I stayed. I had no choice, Lucía. I had to run to protect you. His mother lied to Alejandro, saying I had died in an accident. She faked everything. I lived in fear for years.”
Lucía looked at her, incredulous. “He never knew about me?”
<p“No,” Elena said, her face drenched in tears. “I left before I could tell him.”
Tears rolled down Lucía’s cheeks. She felt sad, angry, confused. “She lied to him,” she said. “She took everything from us.”
<p“Yes,” Elena nodded. “And I allowed it because I thought it was the only way to keep you safe.”
They held each other for a long time, crying together for the truth that had finally come to light. “What will we do now?” Lucía asked.
Elena took a deep breath. “I don’t know. But I think it’s time to stop running.”
A New Beginning
The next morning, Alejandro drove to his late mother’s old house, which had been empty since her passing. In his study, he discovered a locked wooden box. Inside was a letter in Elena’s handwriting. “If you’re reading this, perhaps love has finally triumphed over fear. Protect our daughter.”
Tears filled his eyes. His mother had known everything. He kept that letter knowing that Elena was alive and that she had been pregnant. And still, she had lied. An immense rage and sense of betrayal filled him. He stored the letter and drove straight to the neighborhood Lucía had described.
The streets were narrow, bustling with life. People stared at him with suspicion. A group of men blocked his path. “Lost, rich man?” one of them asked. Just as the tension escalated, a voice broke the silence. “Mr. Alejandro!”
It was Lucía. She ran toward him and jumped into his arms, wrapping him in a desperate embrace. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry for not being there.”
<p“You didn’t know,” she said softly. “It’s not your fault.”
They held each other like that, as the world around them vanished. At last, he had the truth. And at last, he had her. “I told my mom,” Lucía said. “I think she wants to see you.”
The following days were a whirlwind of emotions. Alejandro requested a DNA test. Not because he didn’t trust them, but because he needed absolute certainty after so many lies. Elena agreed. As they awaited the results, Alejandro began spending every day in the neighborhood. He brought food, medicines, and paid hospital bills. Slowly, he started getting to know his daughter, to speak with Elena again. They pieced together the bond they had lost, bit by bit.
One week later, the envelope arrived. 99.9% match. Alejandro wept with relief and joy. She was his daughter. No doubt about it.
He invited Elena to the mansion. She arrived, standing in the garden where they once dreamed of a future together. He stepped forward to meet her. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, his voice trembling.
<p“I know,” she said. “But I didn’t know whom to trust.”
He took her hand. “You’re not alone anymore. I swear I will never let you hide again. I’ll take care of both of you.” And then, he enveloped her in his arms.
From within, Lucía watched them. Seeing them embrace, she cried tears of happiness. The lies were over. Her family, long fractured, was finally whole again.
A few days later, Lucía and Elena moved into the mansion. The place, once cold and silent, filled with life and laughter. Lucía’s drawings adorned the walls. They ate, talked, and laughed together. One evening, during dinner, Alejandro lifted his glass. “To the lies that fell,” he said, “and to the truth that set us free.” Elena clasped his hand across the table. “To the truth,” she whispered. Lucía smiled, resting her head on her father’s shoulder.
One morning, without thinking, Lucía called him “dad.” Alejandro paused, then beamed, the widest and most genuine smile he had shown in years. The past would always be a part of their story, but it no longer defined them. Now, they had a future to build together.
One night, Alejandro couldn’t sleep. He went down to the living room and found Elena there. “Will you forgive me, Alejandro?” she asked softly. He took her hand. “I’ve loved you all this time,” he said. “I never stopped.”
At that moment, they heard footsteps. It was Lucía, descending the stairs half-asleep. She nestled between them on the couch and drifted off. Alejandro and Elena exchanged smiles. He rested his head against hers. They were home. Love, despite the distance, the lies, and the pain, had found its way back. They had a second chance, and this time, they weren’t going to waste it.