PART 2
The hour-long ride in Vicente’s old pickup ended in front of a modest but immaculate ranch, surrounded by endless stretches of blue fields. At the rumble of the engine, seven children sprinted toward the wooden fence. Clara, the eldest at 14, froze when she saw Alma step out, apron dusted with flour, eyes dark with resentment. Behind her, the 12-year-old twins peeked out, followed by Miguel, 11, Rosa, 10, Ana, 8, Tomás, 5, and Isabel, 3.
“Children, this is Alma. She will live with us and help us,” Vicente announced, cradling little Isabel in his strong arms.
Clara took a step forward, fists clenched until her knuckles turned white. “We don’t need anyone to take care of us. I can manage my family on my own.” Without another word, she turned and disappeared inside, leaving a tense, biting silence.
The first days were grueling. Alma rose at 4 a.m. to light the stove, hand-roll dozens of tortillas, and prepare beans in a large pot. Clara ignored her completely, the twins hid her tools, and Miguel watched her with open distrust. But Alma knew hard work. She did not attempt to replace their mother with empty words; she simply cleaned, cooked, mended clothes, and listened.
One early morning, little Isabel awoke screaming from a nightmare. Alma rushed to her side, scooped her up, carried her to the warm kitchen, and sang soft traditional huapangos until the child drifted into sleep on her chest. Clara watched from the hallway shadows, and the next day, without a word, she quietly showed Alma how to fold the blankets just as her late mother had. Gradually, the wall of ice began to thaw. The children started seeking her out, learning to trust her, and the youngest ones began calling her “Mom.”
But peace shattered one Sunday afternoon. A sleek black SUV screeched to a halt in front of the ranch, and Leticia, the children’s aunt and sister of Vicente’s late wife, stepped out. Her face was hard, etched with envy, and a lawyer in a gray suit flanked her.
“I’ve come for my nephews, Vicente,” Leticia shouted, drawing the attention of the farmhands. “I will not allow the sacred memory of my sister to be sullied by a woman cast aside at the altar, a barren woman, the laughingstock of all Jalisco. For her to raise these children is an intolerable disgrace!”
Alma felt her chest tighten; she struggled to breathe. The humiliation of her past surged like a ghost, threatening to overwhelm her. The seven children scattered in fear across the yard.
“Enough!” Vicente bellowed, stepping in like an unmovable wall.
But Clara ran forward, planting herself directly in front of Alma, a human shield. “You’re not taking her! You never loved us, Auntie. Alma truly cares for us, she listens to us, and she loves us. She’s our family now!” The other six children ran to grasp Alma’s skirt, forming a protective fortress around her.
Leticia’s smile was cold and cruel. “They’re just children; they don’t know what they’re saying. Tomorrow, I’ll come with the judge and the police. A woman who has been dragged along with no legal husband has absolutely no rights over them.”
When the dust settled after Leticia’s departure, terror hung heavy over the ranch. Alma wept quietly in the kitchen, packing her bag, prepared to leave so she wouldn’t risk the tragedy of the children being taken from her. Vicente entered, snatched the suitcase from her trembling hands, eyes blazing with fierce determination.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Vicente said firmly. “We’ll marry first thing tomorrow. If you’re my wife before God and the law, no one can take these children from you. And Alma… I swear to you that in these past months, I’ve come to love you with all my heart.”
Alma opened her mouth to speak, but the world spun violently. A brutal dizziness struck, and she collapsed unconscious onto the dirt floor, leaving Vicente frantically calling her name.
