The tears, hot and silent, continued to trace paths down Lysandra's cheeks, a testament to the pain of discovering those shadows in her father's past. The bitter taste lingered in her mouth. For an instant, she considered closing the diary, letting Julian's secrets remain buried under the weight of years. But a stronger force, a visceral need to understand the entirety of the story, however painful, compelled her to wipe the tears with the back of her hand and continue reading, her violet eyes fixed on her father's handwriting, now with a mixture of apprehension and a somber determination.
She turned several pages, entries detailing more of the tension with Colonel Vance, the way Elara fought to defend their love, and Julian's growing resolve not to give up on her, no matter the cost. And then, an entry, written in slightly darker ink, as if penned with a particularly intense emotion, stopped her cold.
"August 15th. I spoke with Elara today about Lía. About my little Lía. I couldn't keep that secret any longer, not if I want our future to be built on truth, however painful. Seeing her eyes, the compassion mixed with a sadness that wasn't for herself, but for me, for my lost child… it was as if a weight I've carried for years began to lighten. Lía. My first daughter. So far away, so unreachable now. A life that barely began alongside mine, and that circumstances, and my own misguided decisions, snatched away from me. How could I have been so young, so blind? Elara listened, she didn't judge. She just took my hand and told me that the past doesn't have to be an eternal condemnation, but a lesson. But how does one overcome the absence of a daughter you barely knew, yet whose ghost haunts you in the silences of the night?"
Lysandra felt the air leave her lungs. Lía? A sister? Her father had had another daughter, a daughter she didn't know, whose existence no one had ever spoken of? The word "lost" echoed in her mind with a terrifying coldness. Lost how? Dead? Taken away? The diary offered no more details in that entry, only the echo of a father's pain for an absent daughter. A new abyss opened before Lysandra, the revelation of a family member whose existence was a specter, one more secret in the already intricate web of her lineage.
With her heart pounding wildly, she continued reading, searching for answers, fearing what she might find. And a few entries later, the truth, even more raw and disconcerting, struck her with the force of a hurricane.
"September 28th. Colonel Vance has played his last card. Today, in front of Elara and her mother, he all but called me a bigamist. He revealed what I tried so hard to keep in the shadows, not out of shame before Elara, for she already knows the truth, but because of the scandal, the unnecessary pain. Yes, when I met Elara, when that 'fever' I write to her about consumed my soul and made me see I couldn't live without her, I was already married. A youthful mistake, an impulsive and empty marriage to Annelise in Amsterdam, when I was barely twenty and desperately seeking an anchor in a world that seemed chaotic to me. A union that was already dead long before Elara's eyes met mine and brought me back to life."
Lysandra let out a choked gasp. Her father. Married? Married when he met her mother? Colonel Vance's disdain, his hostility, the accusations of a "dark past"—it all made terrible, clear sense now. It wasn't just rumors of shady business dealings or questionable company; it was the shadow of an existing marriage, a betrayal in the eyes of society and, above all, in the eyes of a protective father like the Colonel.
The entry continued, Julian's handwriting reflecting the storm of his emotions:
"Elara didn't flinch before her father. She looked at him with that strength I so admire and told him that my past was mine, and that the love we felt was our present and our future. But I know this has hurt her, put her in an impossible situation with her family. Annelise… she never meant what Elara means. It was a mistake, the misjudgment of a lost young man. And now, because of that mistake, the love of my life suffers. I've made a decision. I can't go on like this, I can't ask Elara to live in the shadow of my past. Tomorrow, I will begin divorce proceedings. I'll leave everything. My share of the small import company in Amsterdam, the house, everything. I don't care. All I want is Elara, to build a life with her, free from these ties, even if we have to start from scratch, even if we have to face the whole world. She is my only truth, my only north. And for her, I am willing to navigate any storm, to undertake any adventure, however uncertain and full of challenges the destiny that awaits us may be."
Lysandra closed the diary, her hands trembling. The afternoon sun filtered through the leaves of the ceiba tree, creating patterns of light and shadow on the pages, but she only saw the complexity, the pain, and the unrestrained passion that had marked the beginning of her parents' story. A lost sister. A previous marriage. A love that had been born amidst transgression and scandal, but which had also driven her father to make radical decisions, to leave everything for the woman he loved.
The bitter taste in her mouth intensified. It was no longer just for her father's "dark past," but for the immense burden of secrets, for the hidden truths now coming to light, completely reconfiguring the image she had of Julian and Elara. Their love had not been a simple idyll; it had been a battle, a constant choice, forged in the fire of adversity and past mistakes. And she, Lysandra, was the fruit of that complex and passionate union, heir to a story far more turbulent and extraordinary than she had ever suspected. The tranquility of the lagoon now seemed a distant, almost ironic echo against the tempest that had been unleashed within her.