My husband never knew that I was the anonymous multimillionaire behind the company he was celebrating that night. To him, I was just his

But her heart began pounding.

The next morning she went to the municipal office. The clerk studied her worn clothes and tired eyes.

“You’re sure you want that place?” he asked skeptically. “The road is terrible. The house is barely standing.”

“How much?” Elena asked.

“Three thousand pesos. Just to clear the back taxes.”

Three thousand pesos.

Almost every cent she had left.

That money was supposed to cover childbirth. Food. The first months of survival.

But without a roof… none of that mattered.

She signed the papers.

Reaching the house took nearly an entire day.

A bus ride to the end of the paved road. Then hours walking along narrow mountain trails.

When she finally saw the structure rising between dusty hills, her heart sank.

It was large—but devastated by time.

Adobe walls cracked open like old scars. Windows without glass. The roof sagging dangerously.

The front door hung crookedly from one hinge.

“My God,” she whispered. “What have I done?”

But there was nowhere else to go.

That night she slept on the cold floor, holding her stomach and listening to wind whistle through broken walls.

She cried until exhaustion took over.

The following days became a battle for survival.

She hauled water from a distant stream.
Swept away decades of dust.
Covered holes with cardboard and old cloth.

At night she stared at the sky, amazed by the thousands of stars she had never noticed before.

And every evening she repeated the same promise to the baby growing inside her.