“It’s over,” the girl whispered.

Ramira closed her eyes.

—No, my love. It’s just beginning.

And it was true.

Because being free didn’t bring back what was lost.

She didn’t give back birthdays.
Nor the baby teeth that fell out without a mother.
Nor Salomé’s nightmares under the roof of an aunt who bought silence with sweets.
Nor Ramira’s nights talking to herself in a cell so as not to forget the tone of her daughter’s voice.

Freedom doesn’t cure.
It only restores the right to try to heal.

Colonel Mendez observed the scene from a few steps behind.

He wasn’t wearing his dress uniform or his usual stony expression this time. He just looked old. Very old. When Ramira stood up with Salomé still clutching her waist, he approached.

I didn’t know how to start.

That was already strange in a man like him.

“Mrs. Fuentes…” he finally said.

Ramira looked at him.

For years she dreamed of hating him.
And a part of her still did.
Because it wasn’t enough that he had finally corrected something. He had also been part of the machine that almost killed her.

Méndez barely lowered his head.

—I don’t expect forgiveness. I just wanted to tell you that I should have hesitated sooner.

Ramira held his gaze.

-Yeah.

It wasn’t cruel.

It was true.

He nodded, like someone receiving a just sentence.

-I know.

He then took out a small paper bag. Inside was something wrapped in cloth.

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