PART 2
Three days after my birthday, Rodrigo had not spoken to me again.
Everyone at the mansion was talking about my song. They said I’d sung beautifully, that the guests had given me a standing ovation, that the lady with the pearl necklace had looked mortified. But all I cared about was one thing: Rodrigo had left before the last chord.
I thought I had offended him.
Perhaps he couldn’t stand that “the aid” had more soul than his famous artists.
I was cutting wilted flowers in the garden when I heard his voice behind me. Music and sound
—Where did you learn that song?
He didn’t sound arrogant. He sounded… scared.
I turned around with the scissors in my hand.
—My mom showed it to me. Her name was Luz Elena López.
Rodrigo stopped breathing for a second.
—Elena Light?
—Yes. He died with my dad when I was eight years old. Guitars
He sat down on a bench as if his legs had given out.
“When I was a child,” he said slowly, “a woman approached me outside a school in Guadalajara. She was crying. She hugged me and sang me a song. That song. My adoptive mother came running and pushed her away. She told me she was crazy.”
I felt a horrible cold on my back.
—What are you saying?
Rodrigo looked at me, and for the first time I didn’t see the millionaire, or the boss, or the man who knew how to humiliate with a smile. I saw a lost child.
—That melody has haunted me my whole life, Mariana. I never heard it again until you played it.
I grabbed onto the back of the bench.
—My mother had a son before me. My grandfather always said that she never recovered from losing him. According to the doctors, he was stillborn.
Rodrigo closed his eyes.
—I was told I was adopted in Monterrey. That my biological mother wanted nothing to do with me.
The pieces didn’t fit. Or maybe they fit too well.
That same afternoon we went to see my grandfather Ernesto at the nursing home in Toluca. Mateo insisted on coming with us. No one spoke the entire way.
We found Grandpa by the window, with a blanket over his legs. Sometimes he recognized me, sometimes he called me by my mom’s name.
I knelt in front of him.
—Grandpa, it’s Mariana. I need to ask you something.
His eyes wandered over my face, then fixed on Rodrigo.
The fourth one remained motionless.
The grandfather began to tremble. He raised a wrinkled hand toward him.
—Santi… —she whispered. People and society
Rodrigo took a step back.
—What did he say?
The grandfather’s eyes filled with tears.
—My child… my Santiago… they told us that you had died.
I felt like the world was breaking apart beneath my feet.
—Grandpa, are you sure?
He didn’t look at me. He was only looking at Rodrigo. (Music and sound)
—Your mother’s eyes. Luz Elena’s song. I knew you weren’t dead. I told her… I told everyone…
Rodrigo covered his mouth, as if he were about to cry or scream.
Mateo squeezed my arm.
-Mother…
But before we could say another word, Grandpa added something that left us speechless:
—The rich lady… the one from the hospital… she took him away.
And that’s when we understood that the truth wasn’t just going to break our hearts: it was going to destroy someone else. Biology
