They rejected the pregnant widow, but the grandmother who took her in had a secret.

Chapter 5

Don Rosendo did hire a lawyer.

The man arrived two weeks later — a city lawyer in an expensive suit, carrying a leather briefcase and an air of superiority.

He spent an hour going through the documents I provided. He asked questions, took notes, made phone calls.

In the end, he packed up his briefcase and stood to leave.

“The documents are in order,” he said stiffly. “There’s nothing to contest. The land is yours.”

After he left, I sat on the porch with Nana Concha and laughed until I cried.

We’d won.

Not because we’d fought. But because Ernesto had loved me enough to make sure I couldn’t lose.

With the legal battle settled, I could finally start thinking about the future.

The money in the bank account was more than I’d expected — enough to build, to plant, to establish something real.

But I didn’t want to rush. I wanted to do it right.

Nana Concha and I spent evenings planning. She knew the land, knew what would grow well, what the mountain could support. I knew how to manage money, how to negotiate with suppliers, how to keep records.

Together, we made a plan.

First, we would build a proper house — not large, but solid, with room for me and the baby and Nana Concha. A house with a good roof and strong walls and windows that let in the morning light.

Then we would start working the land. Corn and beans first, the staples. Then vegetables for selling in town. And eventually, we’d expand into herbs and medicinal plants — the knowledge Nana Concha carried, turned into something sustainable.

It would take time. Years, maybe.

But we had time now. That’s what Ernesto had given us.

Time, and land, and a future we could build ourselves.