Rodrigo had always believed the road remembered him kindly.
His horse trotted lazily along the familiar dirt path, hooves tapping a steady rhythm into the warm spring earth. Olive trees leaned just as they always had, fence posts polished smooth by decades of wind and rain, and dust lifted in lazy clouds beneath the sun. This path had shaped him long before contracts, boardrooms, or flights defined his worth.
Beside him, Valetipa spoke of futures as if they were already approved projects. “Once everything finalizes,” she said, “we’ll need a city that reflects growth. Visibility. Influence. It must match who we are.”
Rodrigo nodded, automatically. Agreement had become habit. But his mind drifted elsewhere. He had believed the past was closed—eight years of marriage, one divorce, all edges smoothed and signed. No loose threads. Nothing left behind.
The horse slowed, and Rodrigo realized he had pulled the reins. A sharp pressure hit his chest, a warning he couldn’t ignore.
And then he saw her.
At first, just another figure moving along the property line—firewood in hand, steady steps, ordinary. But when she lifted her head, the world stopped.
Gabriela.
Her hands and face carried the quiet strength of work that demanded no applause. And yet, despite years of endurance, one truth cut through everything else: her belly was full. Pregnant.
Rodrigo’s blood froze. Memory snapped into place: the last weeks before the divorce, their final conversations, the silence that had followed. That child—was his.
Valetipa’s voice tightened. “Rodrigo? What’s wrong?”
Continue reading on the next page…