—Yes. You’re still here.
She tried to sit up. The pain forced her back down, but this time there was no panic in her eyes. Only determination.
“They’re coming,” he said, his voice weak but firm.
Don Mateo held her gaze.
—Let them come.
Lucia frowned. She hadn’t expected that answer.
—You don’t know me.
—I don’t need to know you to know that what they did to you was wrong.
Silence settled between them, but it was no longer an empty silence. It was one filled with something new.
Nascent trust.
San Isidro soon found out.
The rumors traveled faster than the desert wind.
That Don Mateo had picked up the girl.
That he had her at his house.
That he was defying certain men.
One afternoon, as the sun beat down heavily on the corrals, three horses kicked up dust on the road.
Don Mateo saw them from afar.
He didn’t lower his gaze.
The men dismounted unhurriedly. Clean boots. Crooked smiles.
“Good afternoon, Don Mateo,” said the taller one, adjusting his hat. “We’ve come for something that’s ours.”
Don Mateo crossed his arms.
—There is nothing here that belongs to them.
The man let out a short laugh.
—That woman crossed lines she shouldn’t have. It’s a matter for the people.
“No,” replied Don Mateo. “It’s a matter of justice.”
One of them spat on the ground.
—Since when do you get involved in problems that aren’t yours?
Don Mateo stepped forward.
—Since they stopped being just theirs.
The air grew tense.
Lucia watched from the window, still weak but standing upright.
Her heart was pounding. She didn’t want anyone else to pay for her existence.
Then he did something no one expected.
He opened the door.
He walked, slowly but steadily, until he stood next to Don Mateo.
The men looked at her in surprise.
They didn’t expect to see her standing.
They didn’t expect to see her alive.
“I am not their property,” Lucia said clearly. “I am nobody’s business but my own.”
The man in the hat looked at her coldly.
—You know what you saw.
Lucia did not lower her gaze.
—And you know what you did.
The silence fell like a blow.
There was more to that sentence than met the eye.
There were secrets.
There was fear.
Don Mateo understood.
She was not just any stranger.
I was a witness.
The men exchanged glances.
They weren’t so sure anymore.
“This isn’t over,” one of them murmured before mounting the horse.
But they left.
And that was the first time they retreated.
That night, Lucia told her story.
She didn’t cry.
It did not tremble.
He spoke with a clarity that was surprising.
She had worked in the accounting department of a local company that served as a front for shady dealings. She had seen records, names, and transactions that implicated “respectable” men from San Isidro.
When she decided to speak out, they tried to silence her.
They didn’t succeed.
Don Mateo listened without interrupting.
When it was over, the ranch seemed smaller.
“You can’t stay here forever,” he finally said.
“I don’t want to hide,” she replied.(u vcant rubb me)
—Then we will fight.
Lucia looked at him with something that was no longer fear.
It was hope.
The following weeks changed the rhythm of the ranch.
Lucía regained her strength.
She learned to ride again.
She helped in the corrals.
Don Mateo watched her from a distance.
