Chapter 30: What Still Haunts Us

Chapter 30: What Still Haunts Us

The morning breeze drifted through the open window. Amelia had gotten up before everyone else. Not out of anxiety or insomnia. Just out of habit. After years of sleeping in fear, her body didn’t fully understand what rest meant.

She walked barefoot to the kitchen, poured herself a coffee, and stood by the window.

The foundation Raíces Libres was expanding rapidly. A new office was about to open in Medellín. There were international support applications, partnership proposals from universities. Julieta spent hours reading case files, drafting initiatives. She had found something that fulfilled her.

And yet, in Amelia, there remained a subtle but persistent sting.

It was no longer anger.

It was a question.

Who was she now that the war was over?

Laura noticed it the moment she saw her that morning.

—You’ve got that look again —she said as she served her some fruit.
—What look?
—The “I want to disappear but hope no one notices” look.

Amelia gave a tired smile.

—I’m not unwell. Just… empty.
Laura sat across from her.
—Have you thought about writing it down?
—Writing what?
—Everything. From the beginning. Not as a testimony for others. As a way to release it. For you.

Amelia fell silent. The idea stirred something inside her. Maybe because it scared her to look back. Maybe because she was afraid of discovering that hatred still lingered in the corners.

But she nodded.

—Maybe I need to.

Julieta sensed it too.

—I know you’re proud of all this —she told her one afternoon, pointing at the foundation’s sign—. But sometimes I feel like you’ve become a statue. Everyone admires you, but no one touches you.

Amelia looked up.

—And you?
—I don’t want a statue. I want Amelia. With wounds. With doubts. Not the woman on the magazine cover.

That shook her. Because it was true. She had become, unintentionally, a symbol. A voice. A representation of a cause.

But who was she when the cameras turned off?

That same week, she received a call from an unknown number.

—Mrs. Amelia Ríos?
—Yes.
—This is Andrea Serrano. I’m Esteban’s sister.

Amelia froze.

—What do you want?

—I want to talk to you. Not to defend him. To understand what happened. To understand what part of my brother I never saw.

Amelia hesitated.

Laura, in the other room, could read the tension in her body.

—Where?
—A café downtown. Just you and me.

She hung up without promises.

—Are you going to do it? —Laura asked.
Amelia thought for a moment.
—Yes. But not for him. For her. For me.

Andrea Serrano was younger than Esteban. She dressed simply, had short hair and nervous hands. She didn’t order coffee. Just water.

—I’m sorry for reaching out this way —she began—. But since this all exploded, I haven’t stopped thinking about how the hell I didn’t see what he was doing.
—You never suspected?
—No. He was my brother. And even though I knew he was cold, I always thought it was just his way of protecting himself. When our father died, he was the one who kept the house afloat. Who paid for my college. But… now it all feels like a lie.

Amelia nodded.

—Sometimes those who cause the most harm are also the ones best at appearances.
—And you? —Andrea asked, barely audible—. How did you survive?

Amelia looked her in the eyes.

—Because I had no other choice.

Andrea swallowed hard.

—My mother is devastated. She thinks she’ll die without seeing Esteban again.
—Most likely, he’ll spend the rest of his life in prison —Amelia said, not harshly, just with certainty.
—Do you hate him?

Amelia went quiet.

—Not anymore. But I don’t forgive him. Those are two different things.

Andrea nodded, her eyes wet.

—Thank you for coming.

Amelia left with a knot in her chest. Because Andrea wasn’t guilty. And yet, she too had been dragged into it.

That night, Amelia began to write.

Not as a testimony for anyone. As a release.

She sat in front of the computer and let the words flow—words she hadn’t realized she still carried inside.

"Sometimes vengeance isn’t a choice. It’s a mechanism. A way to avoid collapsing. I didn’t plan to destroy Diego. I just refused to disappear. And in that refusal, I found a cause bigger than myself."

Laura stood in the doorway, watching her.

—Are you writing it?

Amelia didn’t stop typing.

—I’m letting it out.

Days later, Julieta proposed something unexpected.

—I want to visit Diego.

Amelia looked at her, surprised.

—Why?
—Not for him. For me. I need to see him. Hear him. Understand how much of me could’ve turned out like him.

Amelia wanted to say no. But she understood. She too had needed to see Diego one last time. She had done it quietly, when he was summoned to testify. She had looked him in the eyes. Made sure he no longer held any power.

—Alright —she finally said—. But you’re not going alone.

The visit took place under strict conditions. Diego was thinner. Grayer. His eyes sunken. Yet he still had that gaze that assessed everything like pieces on a chessboard.

Julieta entered with her head held high.

—I didn’t come for you. I came for me —she said before sitting down.

Diego stared at her for several seconds.

—You look like your mother.
—She died believing you’d abandoned me.

Diego didn’t respond.

—I just want to know one thing —Julieta said—. Did you ever think of me?

Silence.

—No —Diego admitted—. I was a coward. I thought ignoring what I had done made me less responsible.

Julieta stood up.

—Then I’m nothing like you.

And she walked away without waiting for more.

Outside, she didn’t cry. She didn’t scream. She just took a deep breath.

—Thanks for letting me do that —she said to Amelia.

Amelia hugged her.

—You’re so much more than he ever could’ve been.

Over time, things began to settle.

The foundation grew.

Laura and Amelia started talking about opening a bookstore café.

Carlos received an offer to work as an international legal advisor.

And Julieta, slowly but surely, decided to begin studying law.

—I want to protect those who have no voice —she said.

Amelia didn’t reply.

She just embraced her.

One afternoon, while walking through a park full of children and laughter, Amelia asked her:

—Does it hurt to carry his blood?

Julieta smiled with sadness.

—Not anymore. Because I learned you can choose which part of your inheritance you want to nurture.

And Amelia knew that, in the midst of everything, what they had built was real.

That the pain hadn’t disappeared.

But it no longer defined them.