Just waiting—like she had learned to do for so many years.
Ramira took a step forward.
Then another.
And then she was running.
Closing the distance that had never truly been about space.
She dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around her daughter, holding her as if she could somehow reclaim every moment they had lost.
“I’m here,” she whispered through tears. “I’m here now.”
Salomé held her tightly.
“I knew you would come back,” she said softly.
And this time…
Ramira believed it.
Weeks passed.
Then months.
Life did not return to what it had been.
It couldn’t.
Too much had been broken.
Too much had changed.
But something new began to grow in its place.
Something quieter.
Something stronger.
Ramira found a small apartment.
Nothing like the home she had lost.
But it had windows.
And light.
And space for two people who were learning how to live together again.
They talked often.
Sometimes about the past.
Sometimes about nothing at all.
Sometimes just sitting in silence that no longer felt heavy.
Because silence, without fear, becomes something else entirely.
It becomes peace.
One evening, as the sun dipped low outside their window, Salomé sat at the small kitchen table, drawing quietly.
Ramira watched her for a moment.
The way she concentrated.
The way her tongue pressed slightly against her lip.
The small, ordinary details that had once been taken from her.
“What are you drawing?” Ramira asked softly.
Salomé turned the paper around.
It was simple.
Two figures.
Holding hands.
Standing under a sky filled with light.
“It’s us,” she said.
Ramira smiled.
A real smile.
Not forced.
Not fragile.
Just… real.
“It’s beautiful,” she said.
Salomé studied her for a moment.
“Are you still sad?” she asked.
Ramira thought about the question carefully.
Because the truth mattered now.
More than ever.
