At night, Elena would hear her crying softly, trying not to wake the children.
As Camila faded, Elena took over everything—caring for her daughter, raising the children, holding the family together.
One early morning before sunrise, Camila held her mother’s hand.
“Take care of them, Mom. Like you took care of me.”
Elena couldn’t speak. She just nodded, tears silently falling.
Camila passed away that same morning. She was only twenty-eight.
Derek knew. Someone told him.
He didn’t come.
He didn’t call.
He did nothing.
From then on, Elena raised the children alone. She worked from dawn to night—growing food, selling goods, doing whatever she could. If there wasn’t enough, she went hungry so the children could eat.
Life was hard—but filled with love.
The children laughed again. Elena told them stories at night. Sofia clung to her grandmother’s shawl like it carried her mother’s presence. Mateo grew up too quickly, trying to protect them.
Years passed—quiet, difficult, but peaceful.
Until Derek returned.
Eight years later, he arrived in that same black truck.
“I’m here for my kids.”
And he took them.
In Houston, his mansion looked perfect—but inside, it was empty.