Chapter 1: The woman who died alone

"Mr. Castillo, she's dead. Mrs. Reyes is dead."

The words were delivered calmly, almost professionally, yet they lingered in the air long after the caller had finished speaking.

Gabriel Castillo sat motionless behind his desk, his fingers tightening around the phone as he stared through the floor-to-ceiling windows of his office. From the thirty-fifth floor, Guadalajara looked peaceful. The afternoon sun cast a golden glow over the city, and the streets below buzzed with life as people hurried from one destination to another. None of them knew that a woman had died that morning in a prison cell, and even if they did, most would not have cared.

Sofia Reyes had been forgotten a long time ago.

"When?" Gabriel finally asked.

"Early this morning, sir. The prison authorities said she passed away in her sleep. They are requesting that the family come to identify the body."

Family.

The word felt strangely unfamiliar.

Gabriel thanked the caller and ended the conversation before leaning back in his chair. For several minutes, he remained there, listening to the quiet hum of the air conditioner and watching the traffic below. He had imagined this moment many times over the years. Whenever news about the prison appeared on television or his secretary informed him that another year had passed, he occasionally wondered what he would feel when the woman who had given birth to him finally died.

The answer, it seemed, was very little.

His gaze drifted toward a framed photograph resting on the corner of his desk. It was old enough for the edges to have faded slightly. Five children stood in front of a large mansion, smiling brightly at the camera. Gabriel recognized himself immediately. Beside him stood Mateo, Daniel, Elena, and Lucía.

He stared at the picture longer than necessary.

What troubled him wasn't what was in the photograph.

It was what wasn't.

Neither of his parents appeared in it.

A strange emptiness settled over him as he realized that he could remember every detail of that day—the weather, the garden, the photographer's impatience—yet he struggled to remember his mother's face. He could recall fragments of her existence, a gentle voice humming somewhere in the distance, the faint scent of lavender, a pair of hands smoothing wrinkles from his school uniform, but her face remained frustratingly blurred.

Time had stolen it from him.

Or perhaps he had allowed it to be stolen.

The soft buzz of the intercom interrupted his thoughts.

Gabriel pressed the button.

"Maria, come in."

The door opened a moment later, and his secretary stepped inside carrying a tablet. She had worked for him for nearly ten years and knew better than most people how to read his moods, yet today, she seemed uncertain.

"You called for me, sir?"

"My mother died this morning."

The statement left her visibly surprised.

Although Gabriel rarely discussed his personal life, rumours had always followed him. Some believed he had been raised by relatives. Others believed his parents were already dead. Very few people knew the truth.

His mother had spent more than two decades in prison for murdering his father.

Maria recovered quickly and nodded.

"I'm sorry for your loss."

Gabriel wasn't sure whether condolences were necessary, but he appreciated the gesture.

"Please contact my siblings. Tell them we'll meet at the Castillo estate tomorrow afternoon."

"The old house?" she asked.

"Yes."

Maria hesitated before speaking again.

"Will you be attending the funeral personally?"

Gabriel considered the question.

The honest answer was that he didn't know.

He wasn't avoiding the funeral out of anger. Whatever resentment he had once carried had faded years ago. The problem was that Sofia Reyes had become little more than a distant memory. She was a woman whose face he could barely remember and whose voice had long since disappeared from his mind.

Yet she was still his mother.

"I'll decide when the time comes," he said.

Maria nodded and left the office.

Once alone again, Gabriel walked toward the liquor cabinet positioned in the corner of the room. He poured himself a glass of vodka and stood by the window, watching as the sun slowly disappeared behind the skyline.

His father had always loved sunsets.

The thought surfaced unexpectedly.

Gabriel frowned.

For years, he had remembered his father as a respected politician, a devoted family man, and a victim whose life had been cut short by a jealous and unstable wife. That was the story everyone knew. It was the story newspapers had repeated countless times.

And yet, for reasons he couldn't explain, the memory suddenly felt incomplete.

He finished his drink and set the glass aside.

By tomorrow evening, he and his siblings would be standing inside the old Castillo estate for the first time in years. The property would eventually be sold. There was no reason to keep it. The house contained nothing except dust, old furniture, and memories nobody wanted.

Or so he believed.

Hundreds of miles away, in a room that had remained locked for decades, a leather-bound diary rested at the bottom of an antique wardrobe beneath folded dresses and yellowing blankets Its pages had grown brittle with age, and a layer of dust covered its faded cover.

No one had touched it in twenty-two years.

No one knew it existed.

Hidden within those pages was a truth powerful enough to destroy everything the Castillo family believed about their past.

The diary had waited patiently for more than two decades.

Now, at last, it was about to be found.

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