—Elea said you never loved us— whispered Maria, her voice so weak it hurt to hear it.
“She lied,” Sebastian said, gently lifting her up. “We’re leaving. Together. They won’t be able to hide you anymore.”
The alarms started blaring as they escaped, and the guards were shouting, and the lights were cutting through the trees like white blades.
They ran towards Hector’s car with their hearts in their throats and fear chasing them like a rabid dog.
Inside the vehicle, breathless and trembling, Sebastian felt whole for the first time in years.
Days later, he visited Elea in detention.
She was smaller than her jewels, as if the cell had shrunk her arrogance, leaving her with only the metal and the coldness.
“I did it for you,” she said, frozen. “An illegitimate child with a cleaning lady would have destroyed everything.”
Sebastian looked at her the way one looks at a truth that no longer hurts, it only makes things dirty.
“My legacy isn’t money,” he replied. “My legacy is my children. And you’ve already lost yours.”
He turned around and left without looking back, because some goodbyes don’t deserve an echo.
A month later, light bathed a quiet garden in Coyoacán.
Maria was planting flowers with Alma, and Sebastian was watching from the terrace when his phone vibrated with news that shook his chest.
His lawyer confirmed that he would have custody of Lucas during the summer.
Hope did not explode; it slowly ignited, like a candle that finally finds fire in steady hands.
Alma ran towards him with her hands dirty with dirt, smiling as if the world was finally a safe place.
“Dad!” he said. “Mom says sunflowers always turn towards the light, just like us.”
Sebastian lifted it up, his eyes trembling, and embraced that phrase as if it were a map back home.
“Yes,” she whispered. “And we finally found her.”
What began with rain and sadness truly ended.
Wealth had blinded him, but love had guided him back home, where names could no longer be erased.
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