The morning dawned with a soft, almost faded paleness.
The snow, which had fallen all night,
covered the hills with a uniform blanket where even footsteps seemed hesitant to leave their mark.
Catarina opened her eyes slowly.
The light wood ceiling, the light filtering through the lace curtains,
the smell of the chimney,
everything reminded her that she was no longer at home.
That she was nowhere, perhaps.
Valéria's house exuded the tranquility of places that have seen everything, lost everything, and yet continue to stand despite it all.
In the hallway, the floorboards creaked at regular intervals,
as if the house itself were walking on tiptoe.
On the dresser, a glass of water and a bowl of cold soup awaited her.
She didn't remember Valéria coming in during the night,
without making a sound.
Always that silent modesty, that love that never spoke its name.
Catarina slowly sat up.
Her body still protested, tired and heavy.
Every movement seemed more difficult than the day before.
She placed a hand on her belly without thinking, a gesture that had become instinctive.
The contact made her shiver.
A strange warmth, mixed with fear and disbelief.
It was there.
Inside her.
Real.
As she went downstairs, she found Valéria sitting by the stove, peeling apples.
The old woman looked up, unsurprised.
"You're finally awake."
Her voice was neither soft nor harsh. Simply true.
Catarina approached and sat down on the chair opposite her.
For a long moment, they didn't speak.
The only sound was that of the knife sliding across the skin of the fruit.
"You didn't eat yesterday," Valéria finally said.
"I wasn't hungry."
"You'll have to start again. Now, you're not allowed to forget to eat anymore."
Catarina lowered her eyes.
She felt the weight of those words sink into her stomach.
No more forgetting.
No more disappearing.
"Do you want me to tell you the truth, my girl?" Valéria continued.
"Do I have a choice?"
A sad smile touched the old woman's wrinkled lips.
"Not really."
She put down the knife and wiped her hands on her apron.
"What scares you isn't what he left you.
It's what he never promised you."
Catarina slowly raised her head.
Their eyes met.
In Valéria's eyes, there was neither judgment nor pity.
Only the quiet knowledge of those who have already lived through too many winters.
"You think you're going to hate him, said Valéria,
but one day, you'll understand."
"Understand what?"
"That he left you with the only thing that doesn't lie: life."
A silence.
A long, long silence.
Then Valéria added, more quietly:
"You mustn't run away from life because it doesn't turn out the way you dreamed it would."
Catarina felt her eyes burning.
She stood up abruptly and took a few steps toward the window.
Outside, the snow was still falling.
Slowly, silently, endlessly.
She placed a hand against the glass.
"I don't know if I can be a mother," she whispered.
"No one knows, Valéria replied simply.
You become one because you have to."
"What if I can't do it?"
"Then you'll learn. That's what we all do."
The fire crackled softly in the chimney.
Catarina turned back to her.
"Do you think I should tell him?"
"Do you think he deserves to know?"
The question hung in the air, like a breath in the cold air.
Catarina had no answer.
She didn't know if it was anger or fear beating in her chest.
Valéria stood up and placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Don't try to figure out what to do right away.
First, figure out how to survive what you're feeling."
Then, more softly:
"After that, the rest will come."
Catarina nodded without speaking.
The tears finally flowed, silently.
Valéria didn't move.
She simply stayed there, like a solid wall against which one can collapse without shame.
And in that inhabited silence, something finally cracked in Catarina,
not the pain, no, but that sterile resistance to life.
She closed her eyes.
For the first time in weeks, she let herself truly cry.
Not for him.
Not for herself.
But for what was coming.
What was already breathing, somewhere between two heartbeats.
Outside, the snow continued to fall.
But this time, it no longer erased.
It covered.
It protected.