CHAPTER 14 – THE LAST SHADOW
Almost a year after I came home early, Isabella stopped having nightmares.
Not completely.
But enough.
Then one arrived again.
She came running into my room at 2:13 a.m.
“Daddy!”
I sat up.
“What happened?”
“She was here.”
“Who?”
“Beatriz.”
“It was a dream.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“She was standing in the garden.”
My heart accelerated.
Security checked immediately.
Nothing.
No intruder.
No movement.
But the next morning, Mateo found something beside the hedge.
A white silk scarf.
The same brand Beatriz used to wear.
Police examined it.
No fingerprints.
No usable DNA.
Beatriz was still in prison.
So someone else had placed it there.
Why?
To frighten us.
Inspector Ortega investigated.
Two days later, he found the answer.
Beatriz had been exchanging letters with an old friend.
Carolina Mendes.
Carolina had visited Marbella.
She admitted leaving the scarf.
Beatriz had asked her to.
One final psychological attack.
One final attempt to remind Isabella that she could still reach her.
The prison responded by restricting Beatriz's communications.
Carolina faced charges for harassment and trespassing.
But what mattered happened afterward.
I sat with Isabella.
“They found who did it.”
“Beatriz?”
“She asked someone else.”
Isabella was quiet.
“Why?”
“To scare us.”
“Did it work?”
I thought about the question.
“For a little while.”
She nodded.
“Me too.”
Then she looked toward the garden.
“Can we go outside?”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
We walked toward the hedge.
The exact place where I had hidden one year earlier.
The exact place where everything had changed.
Isabella stood there.
She looked toward the garbage bins.
Then toward the terrace.
I waited.
Finally, she said, “I hate this garden.”
“We can change it.”
“How?”
“Anything you want.”
She thought.
“Can we remove those?”
She pointed toward the trash area.
“Absolutely.”
“And the hedge?”
“This hedge?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you hid behind it.”
I smiled.
“That's technically why I found you.”
“I know.”
She thought again.
“Okay.”
“Keep the hedge.”
“What do we replace the trash area with?”
Her face brightened.
“A garden.”
“It already is a garden.”
“No.”
She rolled her eyes.
“A real garden.”
“Vegetables.”
“Flowers.”
“Strawberries.”
“Sunflowers.”
I nodded.
“Done.”
Over the next month, the place where Isabella had once knelt in garbage became hers.
We planted strawberries.
Tomatoes.
Lavender.
Sunflowers.
She chose everything.
One afternoon, she came running toward me.
“Daddy!”
I instinctively panicked.
“What?”
“Look!”
She held up a strawberry.
Tiny.
Crooked.
Half green.
“It's our first one.”
“That looks terrible.”
She gasped.
“You're terrible.”
“I'm being honest.”
She laughed.
Then she ate it.
Her face twisted.
“Sour?”
“Very.”
We laughed again.
I looked toward the terrace.
For a moment, I could almost see the past.
Beatriz in white silk.
Isabella in the mud.
Me behind the hedge.
Then the image disappeared.
The terrace was empty.
The garbage was gone.
My daughter was laughing.
May you like
The past still existed.
But it no longer owned the garden.
