The cold rain soaked the streets that November afternoon, while Sebastián Rojas stood under a flickering lamppost, water running down his face, indistinguishable from his tears.
At forty-three years old, Sebastian seemed to be achieving success, but that day success had no shape, no weight, no consolation.
He was the founder and CEO of NovaPay Group, wearing a tailored Italian suit, and a luxury watch shone on his wrist like a promise fulfilled before the world.
From the outside, her life looked perfect, polished, invulnerable, as if nothing could break it.
But at that time, he wasn’t a corporate titan.
He was a devastated father, empty inside, like a big house after the child is taken away.
Exactly one year had passed since his ex-wife disappeared in Spain with their son Lucas, without prior notice, without consent, without saying goodbye.
Three hundred and sixty-five days of unanswered calls, canceled video calls, and legal battles that never healed any wounds.
A crucial meeting with foreign investors had already begun downtown, but none of that mattered.
No fortune could protect him from the void of absence, from the silence that bites when night falls.
A small voice pierced the fog of her pain.
—Sir… are you also crying because you are hungry?
Sebastian lowered his gaze and remained motionless, as if he didn’t know if he was hearing a child or a hallucination.
In front of him stood a little girl, no more than seven years old, with huge, serious dark eyes, and her face stained with dirt.
She had uneven braids that framed her cheeks, and a huge sweater hung off her small shoulders like a blanket borrowed from the world.
He handed her a half-eaten piece of bread, wrapped in a crumpled napkin, with a solemnity that was painful.
“You can keep it,” the girl said seriously. “I know what it feels like to have a stomachache from not eating.”
Shame hit Sebastian like a punch, because he, surrounded by luxury, was receiving food from a girl who had nothing.
“No,” he replied softly, wiping his face. “I’m not hungry. I’m crying because I miss my son, and I haven’t seen him for a year.”
The little girl nodded as if she understood perfectly, as if that phrase belonged to her too.
“I miss my mom,” she whispered. “I haven’t seen her in a year either.” She ate some candy they gave her and started acting strangely, and the doctors took her away.
“He never came back,” he added, and those two words fell between them like a shared sentence.
Two losses.
The same date.
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