“Stay and Soothe My Son,” the Widower Pleaded… She Never Imagined What Would Come Next

Chapter 8

“With pleasure we’ll resolve it as you say,” responded Eustolia without losing her tone of superiority. “But I wanted the town to know the kind of woman they’re letting into their homes, into their lives. A thief who has now apparently gotten herself into the bed of a widower with a small child. With what intentions? Only God knows.”

Ezequiel felt his blood boil at those words.

“I’m going to ask you to watch your words,” he said with a low voice but heavy with warning. “Rosa has lived in my house helping me with my son with complete decency. I will not permit you to defame her in front of the whole town without any real proof.”

“And what do you really know about her?” asked Eustolia, now directing herself to Ezequiel with a venomous smile. “Has she told you her whole story or only the part that suited her?”

An uncomfortable silence spread between them. Ezequiel looked at Rosa, who had tears in her contained eyes, and for an instant doubt brushed him — though he immediately pushed it away.

“I know enough,” responded Ezequiel with firmness. “I know the woman who calmed my son the first night I saw her. I know the one who works from sunup to sundown giving nothing in return. That’s enough for me.”

The official, seeing that the situation could escalate more than necessary, decided to intervene with more authority.

“This will be resolved before Father Cirilo and before me, in an appropriate place — not here. If you have proof, ma’am, you will present it formally. Meanwhile, you have no right to publicly accuse anyone without proven grounds.”

Eustolia, though visibly annoyed at not having achieved the humiliating effect she sought, accepted — knowing that insisting more before the official could play against her.

“Very well,” she said through clenched teeth. “We’ll see each other then where you say. But this doesn’t end here.”

She withdrew with a haughty step, leaving behind a trail of murmurs and curious gazes.

Rosa, still trembling, felt her legs barely holding her. Ezequiel gently took her arm, guiding her away from the crowd to a quieter corner near the plaza.

“Are you all right?” he asked with genuine concern.

Rosa shook her head, unable to contain her tears any longer.

“Nothing of what she said is true,” she said through sobs. “I didn’t steal anything. She threw me out because she didn’t want me near — because I was a hindrance to her plans.”

“What plans?” asked Ezequiel gently, feeling that they were finally approaching the whole truth.

Rosa hesitated a long moment, looking at Miguelito who slept peacefully, unaware of the storm surrounding them.

“My father had lands,” she said finally in a low voice. “Lands that, according to the law, should have passed to me when he died — not to Eustolia. She knew this, and that’s why she wanted me far away before I could claim what was rightfully mine. I never spoke of this because I didn’t want you to think I was seeking something from you — that my presence in your house had another motive.”

Ezequiel listened in silence, feeling that the pieces of a puzzle he had been assembling for weeks were finally fitting together.

“That explains why she hides it so stubbornly,” he said thoughtfully. “It’s not that she cares about you, Rosa. She cares that you disappear before someone remembers who you really are and what belongs to you.”

Rosa nodded, wiping her tears.

“I’m afraid that at the meeting with the official she’ll manage to convince everyone that I’m a thief, a liar. I have no proof of anything I say — only my word.”

Ezequiel looked at her with determination.

“You’re not alone in this,” he said. “We’re going to find out the truth together. Father Cirilo has known many people in this town for years. Perhaps someone remembers something — someone who knew your father and knows the truth about those lands.”

That afternoon, on the way back to the ranch, the road felt longer than ever, weighted with everything that lay ahead.

Before reaching the ranch, Ezequiel decided to detour toward the small parochial house, where Father Cirilo was usually at those afternoon hours tending to his plants and the town’s affairs. The priest, an elderly man with a sharp gaze, received them with his usual warmth, though he immediately noticed the tension on both their faces.

“Something troubles you,” he said, inviting them to sit in the shade of a tree by the entrance. “Tell me.”

Ezequiel summarized what had happened in the plaza while Rosa remained quiet with Miguelito sleeping in her lap. Father Cirilo listened carefully, without interrupting, until Ezequiel finished his account.

“I knew your father, Rosa,” said the priest finally, to the surprise of both. “Don Anselmo was a respected man in these lands. I remember he spoke with pride of his daughter, though I never had the pleasure of meeting her in person, since you lived then with your mother, far from here.”

Rosa raised her gaze, surprised.

“You knew my father?” she asked with a thread of hope in her voice.