Cecilia covered her mouth. The ring shimmered in the dim light.
“I’m Diego,” he said gently. “And if you allow me… I’m your father.”
Cecilia took a small step toward him. Ximena sobbed.
“You were never a tragedy,” Diego said. “You were the best thing that ever happened to me. And if destiny gives us a second chance, I won’t waste it.”
Diego moved heaven and earth. He transferred Ximena to the best hospital in Querétaro—treatments, clinical trials, new medications.
Months later, the doctor smiled: the tumor was shrinking.
They married in a small ceremony. Ximena wore the same ring. Cecilia was maid of honor in a blue dress matching the topaz.
“Eternally,” Diego whispered as he kissed Ximena.
“It was always eternally,” she replied.
Later, they moved near the sea in Nayarit. Cecilia had a room with an ocean view, a scholarship, and Diego learned to do simple things: drive her to school, listen, be present.
One afternoon, watching the sunset from the terrace:
“Can you imagine if you hadn’t gotten out of the car?” Ximena asked.
“I don’t like to think about it,” Diego replied.
Cecilia ran along the sand, laughing, the ring shining on her hand.
“Eternally,” he repeated.
“Eternally,” Ximena said.
For the first time in sixteen years, Diego finally felt he was home.
