The rain fell heavily on the cobblestones of San Miguel de Allende that June afternoon. From the tinted window of his black SUV, Diego Salazar watched the water trickle down in long rivulets, as if the sky were spilling years of accumulated secrets.
At thirty-six, Diego had built a technological empire from scratch. He bought buildings, companies, silence… but he carried in his eyes a shadow that money couldn’t erase: the shadow of having lost the most valuable thing one can have.
The traffic light was red. Her driver was waiting. Diego was about to say “let’s go” when he saw her.
A girl of about fifteen walked barefoot along the flooded sidewalk, hunched over to protect a basket covered with a soaked white cloth. The water lashed at her face, her dark hair clung to her cheeks, but she pressed on with a silent stubbornness, as if what she carried was more important than her own comfort.
“Stop,” Diego ordered, unaware of how hoarse his voice sounded.
The driver looked at him in the rearview mirror, hesitating.
—Sir, it’s raining…
—Stop it.
The truck pulled up to the curb. Diego got out into the storm. The rain soaked through his expensive jacket in seconds, but he didn’t care. He walked slowly toward the girl, so as not to frighten her.
She saw him and froze. He had those big, brown eyes, like a cornered animal.
“Are you selling bread?” Diego asked, softening his tone as if he could diminish his size, his suit, his presence.
The girl barely nodded, lifting the cloth slightly to show the still-warm shells and bread rolls, carefully wrapped.
Then Diego saw his hand.
On her left ring finger gleamed a silver ring with a blue topaz in the center. It wasn’t just any ring. The silver was finely crafted, almost artisanal, and the topaz had that light blue that sparkled in the light.
Diego’s world went dark.
He had that ring made himself. Unique. One of a kind. With a tiny engraving inside:
“D and X. Forever.”
He had given it to Ximena , the woman who disappeared sixteen years ago, three months pregnant, with a letter that Diego knew by heart.
“What’s your name?” he managed to ask.
—Cecilia… sir —she whispered.
Cecilia.
Ximena always said that if she ever had a daughter, she would name her Cecilia, like her grandmother. Diego bought the whole basket without hesitation, paid triple, and gave her an extra bill that Cecilia tried to refuse.
—No, sir, it’s too much…
“It’s not much,” he said. “If you or your mom need anything… anything at all… call me.”
He handed her his card with a direct number. Cecilia took it as if it were fragile.
Diego stood there, soaked, watching her walk away barefoot. He wanted to shout a thousand questions, to snatch off the ring to confirm the engraving, to run after her and say, “I’m your dad”… but he didn’t. He just stood there with a trembling heart…
That night, in his apartment in Polanco , the city lit up beyond the glass, Diego couldn’t sleep. He took out a yellowed letter from Ximena, folded until it seemed about to break. The delicate handwriting still stung him:
“My Diego… forgive me for not telling you to your face. If I look you in the eyes, I won’t leave. I have to leave to keep you alive. My brother Damián got mixed up with dangerous people… I’m three months pregnant. Don’t look for me. Please…”
For years he hired investigators, followed false leads, changed names. He never married, never loved another person without feeling like he was betraying a ghost.
And now, a girl with Ximena’s ring had appeared selling bread in the rain.
The next day, Diego called a discreet man, one of those who don’t ask questions:
—Find Cecilia. But carefully. Without scaring her. Don’t let her know anything.
Three days passed that felt like three months. The report arrived: Cecilia lived on the outskirts of San Miguel with her mother. Her mother worked cleaning houses, was ill, and the registered last name was Salazar. There was a photo. Cecilia was smiling, with features identical to Ximena’s.
Diego didn’t wait any longer. He arrived at the house one cloudy afternoon, the path was dirt and puddles, chickens pecked among old cans, but there were flowers: bougainvillea climbing the fence, white roses in makeshift pots. He knocked on the wooden door.
“You… the bread man,” Cecilia whispered.
—Yes… I need to talk to your mom.
Ximena appeared, thinner, her face marked, her eyes sunken, trembling as she held the curtain. Their eyes met, and the world faded away once more.
“Diego…” she whispered.
“Why didn’t you ever come back?” her voice broke.
Ximena told everything: fear, danger, cancer. Diego knelt before her, holding her cold hands:
—You have no right! I’ve been dead inside for sixteen years… and she… she’s our daughter.
Cecilia covered her mouth, and the ring shone in the sad light of the house.
“I’m Diego,” he said carefully. “And if you’ll allow me… I’m your dad.”
Cecilia took a small step toward him. Ximena sobbed.
“You were never a tragedy,” Diego said. “You were the best thing that ever happened to me. And if fate gives us a second chance, I’m not going to waste it.”
Diego moved heaven and earth: he took Ximena to the best hospital in Querétaro, arranged treatments, clinical trials, and new medications. Cecilia and Diego began to get to know each other. The girl studied, made crafts, and read with passion.
Months later, the doctor smiled: the tumor was receding. Ximena cried tears of joy, Diego hugged her, and Cecilia joined them.
They married in a small ceremony, Ximena with the same ring, Cecilia as bridesmaid with a blue dress matching the topaz.
Diego kissed Ximena and whispered to her:
-Eternally.
“It was always eternal,” she replied.
Later, they moved near the sea, in Nayarit . Cecilia had a room with a water view, a scholarship at school, and Diego learned to do simple things: take her to classes, listen to her, be there.
One afternoon, watching the sunset on the terrace:
“Can you imagine if you hadn’t gotten out of the car?” Ximena asked.
“I don’t like to think about it,” Diego replied.
Cecilia ran on the sand, laughing, the ring shining on her hand.
“Eternally,” he repeated.
—Eternally —Ximena said.
For the first time in sixteen years, Diego felt that he was finally home .