I closed my eyes.
—No, darling. Forgive me for leaving you alone with something so important.
He rested his head on my shoulder.
—Now we are alone.
And for the first time in that whole war, I knew I was reasoning.
The clock struck exactly four in the morning when Mateo, a seventeen-year-old boy, woke up in his small room with a rusty tin roof.
She got up carefully, walking stealthily across the cold cement floor so as not to disturb her mother, who was sleeping exhausted.
Rosa had worked double shifts cleaning bathrooms in a public hospital, and her exhausted body could barely withstand another day of constant effort.
The frigid November air seeped through the cracks in the house, passing through the thin walls and making every corner of the humble dwelling tremble.
Mateo approached the small sink in the courtyard and washed his face with cold water to remove the dirt accumulated on his body.
The deep dark circles under his eyes reflected sleepless nights, the result of endless days of demanding studies and exhausting jobs necessary to survive.
Working three different jobs while maintaining an outstanding school average wasn’t easy, but Mateo knew he had no other choice.
The rest of his life came around every five days, and anxiety slowly grew inside him like a persistent and inevitable shadow.
On the worn plastic table were two letters that would define the course of his life in the next decisive months.
The first letter confirmed her admission to the university of her dreams, accompanied by an academic scholarship that rewarded her constant effort.
The second letter was an invoice detailing the initial expenses: eight thousand pesos for tuition and the materials needed to start classes.
Mateo felt a mixture of joy and despair, aware that the opportunity was right in front of him, but it seemed completely unattainable.
She had sent fourteen applications to different foundations seeking additional financial support, but all had been rejected without explanation.
Added to that burden was the monthly cost of her mother’s diabetes medication, which amounted to three hundred and forty pesos.
Each number represented additional pressure, an invisible weight that threatened to collapse everything Mateo had built with so much effort.
That night, during her shift at the modest restaurant where she worked, the weather changed unexpectedly and turned purple in the city.
A violent storm began to fall, accompanied by icy winds that transformed the streets into rivers of dirty and dangerous water.
Mateo was cleaning the last tables when the door of the establishment suddenly opened, letting in a gust of wind and freezing rain.
Upa apciapa eptró staggered, completely soaked, her face pale and her lips blue from the extreme cold she endured.
Her gray hair dripped water, and her elegant coat contrasted sharply with her vulnerable state and evident mental disorientation.
Mateo reacted immediately, running towards her to hold her up before she collapsed on the cold floor of the premises.
The woman murmured weakly that she was very cold and didn’t know where she was in that moment of confusion.
Mateo gently helped her sit down, watching her condition with growing concern as he tried to calm her with soothing words.
