Chapter 10 - The Stars Over Guadalajara
The celebration had ended, and the alley had returned to its quiet, peaceful self under the cool evening sky.
I stood on the balcony of Carmen’s house, looking out over the sparkling lights of downtown Guadalajara. The air was soft, carrying the scent of lavender and fresh earth from the garden below.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the shaky, blue-ink letter Carmen had left for me. I read it one last time, my fingers tracing the uneven letters of her name.
Be the good man you already are, Diego. I will be watching you from the stars.
I looked up at the sky. The stars were bright and clear, shining down on the narrow alley like a thousand tiny lanterns.
I felt a deep, profound warmth spread through my chest. I was twenty-one, my studies were almost complete, and I had a life ahead of me that was filled with purpose, with love, and with the clean, unshakeable peace of a promise kept.
I wasn't the broke college student who had knocked on her door six months ago, looking for 200 pesos.
I was Diego. I was her son in spirit, the keeper of her memory, and the guardian of her light.
May you like
"Thank you, Carmen," I whispered to the quiet night.
And as the wind rustled the red roses in the garden below, I could swear I heard her weak, beautiful voice whispering back through the dark, telling me that the dust was finally gone, and the house was finally clean.
