Mateo started crying from the next room.
The two burst into nervous laughter, breaking the spell.
Just when their hearts were about to confess their feelings... the past came knocking on their door.
And this time, Elena risked losing not only the love she had just blossomed... but also the land she had fought for her entire life.
Part 2…
Elena ran toward the child, and Tomás, holding one of the twins in his arms, stared at her as if the right words had just escaped him and he still couldn't fully understand them.
The storm was not long in coming.
Two weeks after the quasi-confession, three knights showed up in front of the house.
Elena recognized them immediately: her uncle Eusebio and her cousin Ramiro, distant relatives on her father's side, whom she hadn't seen since her mother's funeral. The third was a lawyer from the town hall, carrying a briefcase under his arm and a stern expression.
Rafael—no, Tomás; be careful not to be coherent. Tomás left the enclosure and, seeing Elena's pale face, ran to stand beside her.
“What do you want?” he asked, without inviting them in.
Eusebio smiled with the falseness of someone who already feels like a winner.
"We have come to settle a family matter . Apparently, these lands cannot remain in the hands of just one woman. We have examined old documents. There is a clause in the deed of succession that allows the men of the family to request administration if there is no legitimate husband to assume responsibility for the ranch."
Elena felt her legs freeze.
—It's absurd.
"Legal, nephew," Ramiro corrected her. "And then suddenly you show up with a stranger and two children, saying you're getting married. It smacks of fraud."
Tomás stepped forward.
—Don't you dare speak like that.
"And who are you?" Eusebio spat. "A nobody without a land, without a notable name, with nothing to offer. How do we know you're not here for the ranch?"
"Because I invited him," Elena said, raising her voice. "Because he's worked these lands more than any of you in your entire lives."
But the lawyer was already taking out the documents.
—If they don't agree to let the family take over the administrative management, the matter will end up in court.
When the men left, Elena slumped into a chair.
"The law might be on her side," she whispered. "In this country, a woman alone almost never wins."
Thomas took his hands.
—Then we will fight.
And they fought.
They went to nearby ranches, asking for witnesses. Doña Candelaria was the first to sign. Then Señor Jacinto, then Don Laureano, then half the entire region, all willing to testify that Elena had supported the land single-handedly for years and that Tomás had come to work, not to exploit it.
The people's attorney agreed to represent them in exchange for a future fee.
"It will be difficult," he warned. "But if the judge sees that the farm is profitable and that your commitment is sincere, we'll have a chance."
Three days before the hearing, under a light rain that had turned the patio to mud, Tomás found Elena in the kitchen busy making coffee.
She looked at him, her eyes bright but serene.
"I'm happy," she confessed suddenly. "Do you know why? Because for the first time in a long time, I'm no longer alone."
The honesty of those words freed Tomás from the last glimmer of cowardice.
He approached slowly. He placed the towel on the table.
"I wasn't even looking for that," he said. "I was just looking for a roof over my head for my children. And finally, I found a reason to live again."
He caressed her face with a delicacy that seemed like a prayer.
—I love you, Elena.
Tears filled her eyes.
-I love you too.
Tomás kissed her with the delicacy of someone afraid of violating something sacred.
And amidst the rain, the smell of coffee, and the uncertainty, Elena felt that life was finally beginning again.
The hearing took place in the municipal capital, in a small and stuffy room.
The judge listened to both sides. He listened to the neighbors, examined the documents, and listened to Eusebius insist on a woman's inability to manage a large estate. Then he listened to Elena stand and speak with the firmness she had quietly cultivated for years.
