A millionaire was taking his fiancée home when he saw his pregnant ex-wife carrying firewood.
Dust rose on the dirt road as if the town itself wanted to warn Alma Villaseñor that something bad was coming her way.
It was almost three in the afternoon, and the sun of San Jerónimo del Valle beat down with a white fury on the parched hills. Alma moved slowly forward, a bundle of firewood tied to her back, one hand supporting her enormous eight-month pregnant belly. The other hand held the faded blue shawl that covered her head. Each step caused a sharp pain in her waist, but she kept walking. There was no gas at home, and the child she carried—or children, because the town doctor had suspected there would be twins—weren’t going to wait for her to rest.
Then the truck appeared.
Black, shiny, so polished it seemed out of place on that dirt road. It braked in front of her, kicking up a dry cloud that hit her face and got in her mouth. The tinted window rolled down with a soft whir, and Alma felt the blast of icy air from inside, smelling of expensive leather, imported perfume, and a life she once thought would be hers too.
Behind the wheel was Mauricio Salgado.
Her ex-husband.
Light-colored suit, outrageously expensive watch, dark glasses. Everything about him screamed wealth, but Alma knew all too well the rottenness behind that facade.
« Get out of the way, » he snapped. « You’re going to fill my truck with dust. »
In the passenger seat, a blonde woman with perfect lips and red nails watched her with disgust. She wore a cream dress, enormous glasses, and a diamond bracelet. She was one of those women who didn’t seem to touch the ground when they walked.
« Is she the ex? » she asked in a honeyed voice. « I thought you were exaggerating, Mau. She looks worse. »
Alma didn’t answer. She barely straightened her back, though the weight of the firewood and her pregnancy burned in her spine. Her dark eyes fixed on Mauricio with a calmness that instantly irritated him.
He hated that look.
She remembered the last night they spent together, when he announced that “things were going to change” and that he needed her to sign some papers “to expedite a project.” Alma refused. Two weeks later, Mauricio disappeared with the money from the account her father had left and with documents he should never have touched. From then on, everyone in the valley thought he had won: he bought land, closed deals with investors from Monterrey and Guadalajara, promised luxury hotels, golf courses, and “progress.” And meanwhile, Alma survived alone in a small adobe house.
What nobody knew was that Don Hilario Villaseñor, his father, had been more cunning than all of them.
« Are you going to move or not? » Mauricio shouted, hitting the steering wheel.
Alma took a deep breath.
—The road belongs to everyone.
The blonde let out a contemptuous giggle.
—Oh, how brave. My love, tell him to step aside. Either you tell him, or I will.
Mauricio was about to get out when the truck’s Bluetooth beeped. An international call appeared on the dashboard screen. He instantly paled.
« Answer me, » the woman ordered. « It must be about the reservation in the city. »
Mauricio pressed the button with tense fingers. A man’s metallic voice spoke in Spanish with a foreign accent.
« Mr. Salgado, the board has already reviewed the deeds. There are inconsistencies. If you do not submit the original waiver of rights, signed by the rightful owner, today, before midnight, the trust will be canceled. Furthermore, our attorneys will proceed with legal action for document fraud. There will be no further extension. »
The call was cut off.
A thick silence fell inside the truck.
The woman slowly turned towards Mauricio.
—What does fraud mean?
He did not answer.
And then his eyes went to Alma, no longer with contempt, but with something worse: need.
Alma felt the rustle of the paper hidden beneath the lining of her shawl, right at her chest. There, hand-sewn, she carried the true deeds to the spring, the highlands, and the old mill. Everything Mauricio believed he had stolen from her.
« Get in, » he finally ordered, getting out of the truck. « We’re going to settle this in the plaza. »
—I’m not going anywhere with you.
—Yes, you’re going. Because if you don’t sign, I swear you won’t just lose your house. I’m also going to pull strings to take those children away from you as soon as they’re born. Do you understand?
The threat chilled her blood.
Not out of fear of him.
But because he had just touched the only point that could break it.
Alma looked at him silently for a second. Then she continued walking toward the plaza, unhurried, without bending. Not because she was obeying, but because she had already decided that today everything would end.
San Jerónimo Square was half empty because of the heat, but as soon as the black pickup truck parked next to the kiosk, people started peering out from their doorways. Don Chuy stopped fixing bicycles. Doña Tomasa came out of the grocery store with her hands full of flour. The boys playing dominoes put away their tiles. In just a few minutes, the whole town seemed to be holding its breath.
Mauricio wanted to put on a show.
I needed it.
He wanted to humiliate her before begging her.
He opened the passenger door and let his fiancée get out first. The woman—whose name was Rebecca, according to what Alma had heard when Mauricio introduced her in town a few days earlier—adjusted her glasses, looked at the crowd, and smiled like someone entering a theater.
—Well, here she is— said Mauricio, raising his voice. —The mistress of misery and drama.
He took a leather folder out of the glove compartment and then a wad of bills.
« There’s more money here than you’ll ever see in your entire life, Alma. Sign the resignation, take this, and disappear from the valley. »
The banknotes fell to the dusty ground in front of her.
Nobody moved.
Alma looked down at the banknotes, then at Mauricio, and finally at the town hall, where under the shadow of the arch stood Don Lázaro Méndez, the town notary, with his old briefcase under his arm.
He barely nodded.
It was the sign.
Rebeca, impatient, grabbed the glass of iced coffee she had been carrying from the road and threw it at Alma’s sandals. The sweet, sticky liquid soaked her feet and stained the hem of her dress.
« So you can clean yourself up, even if it’s just a little, » he said with a grimace.
An indignant murmur swept through the square.
Mauricio didn’t stop his fiancée. On the contrary, he seemed to enjoy it.
—Sign it now, Alma. Don’t waste my time.
She lifted her face.
—Money can’t buy honor, Mauricio. And even less the honor you’ve already lost.
The phrase landed dry, precise.
Mauricio’s smile broke.
