Chapter 40 - The Open Horizon
The weekend after the book launch, I took Mateo to the coastal town of Tulum for a short vacation.
We stood on the white sandy beach, the warm, turquoise waves crashing gently over our bare feet. The salty ocean breeze blew through my hair.
Mateo, now a vibrant, joyful six-year-old, ran ahead of me, chasing a flock of seagulls into the surf. His laughter carried over the sound of the ocean, wild and completely free.
I stood there, watching him, feeling the warm sun on my face.
I thought about the dark, suffocating room where Diego had tried to crush my spirit. I thought about the heavy, black girdle that had nearly ended my life. Those memories felt like they belonged to another lifetime, a dark nightmare that had evaporated in the morning sun.
Diego was rotting in a maximum-security cell, entirely forgotten by the world. Doña Carmen had passed away in a sterile hospice bed, consumed by her own bitterness.
And I was here.
I touched my waist, running my fingers over the light cotton fabric of my sundress. The scars were still there, permanently etched into my ribs. But they didn't hurt anymore. They were simply the foundation upon which I had built an empire of grace, strength, and salvation.
"Mama! Look what I found!" Mateo yelled, running back to me with a beautiful, intact seashell in his small hand.
I knelt down in the sand, accepting the shell, and kissed his sun-warmed cheek.
May you like
"It is beautiful, mi amor," I smiled.
We looked out at the endless, open horizon. There were no walls, no locked doors, and no heavy silence. There was only the vast, beautiful world, waiting for us to explore it. And we were finally, completely, unbroken.
