The road wound its way between the snow-covered hills.
The landscape slowly rolled by, gray and white, like a faded dream.
Catarina hadn't spoken since the train left the station.
She stared at the frost-covered windows, the shimmering reflections of the world outside, and tried to breathe normally.
But every breath hurt.
Every beat of her heart echoed like a reminder: there are some things you can't escape, even by getting away from it all.
The journey to Valéria's house seemed to take forever.
Mountains followed mountains, then plains, then forests again.
Snow clung to the branches, heavy and silent.
With each turn, the world became quieter, more isolated, as if the city, its secrets and its ghosts, had ceased to exist.
When the taxi finally stopped in front of the old house, Catarina remained motionless for a moment.[1]
The house stood there, on the edge of a frozen field, surrounded by wind-twisted pine trees.
The shutters were ajar, and a thin wisp of smoke escaped from the chimney.
Everything was the same as before.
And yet, nothing was really the same.
She got out, wrapped her coat around her, and climbed the steps one by one.
Each step echoed in the air like an echo from the past.
The door opened before she even knocked.
"Catarina?"
The voice, soft and hoarse at the same time, took her back years.
Valeria stood there, her face as beautiful and young as ever, as if time had not touched her. But her eyes were bright.
That look she had always had: the one that saw everything without the need for words.
"My God, my girl..." she whispered, pulling her into her arms.
Catarina let her.
The warmth of her grandmother's body, the smell of wood and coffee, all of it made her tremble.
Not from the cold. From relief.
From that kind of peace you only find when someone hugs you without asking questions.
"Come in, come in. You must be frozen."
The inside of the house was the same as ever.
The worn rugs, the old picture frames, the golden light filtering through the curtains.
A fire burned softly in the hearth, casting soothing shadows on the walls.
Catarina sat down at the table, her hands wrapped around a hot cup that Valéria had just served her.
Silence fell, a dense silence, but not a heavy one.
The kind that is allowed to linger when words would be superfluous.
"You haven't said anything," Valéria said finally.
"About what?" Catarina asked, her voice low.
A slight smile crossed the old woman's face.
"The fact that you never come without a reason."
Catarina lowered her eyes.
Her fingers played with the rim of the cup, looking for a way out.
"I needed... some peace and quiet."
"Peace and quiet, Valéria repeated softly, or oblivion?"
The word hit her harder than she would have thought.
She didn't answer.
Valéria rose slowly and went to put a log on the fire.
The flames flared up, glowing brighter.
"You know, Catarina, silence doesn't heal. It hides. That's all."
"Sometimes hiding is all we can do."
"No, my dear. It's all we think we can do."
The tone was not reproachful, but caressing.
And that made it even worse.
Catarina felt her eyes burning.
She looked away, staring out the window.
Outside, the snow was falling again, thick and persistent.
"I don't know what to do anymore," she whispered.
"Then don't do anything. Drink your coffee.
Breathe. Let the world wait a little."
A fragile laugh escaped her.
It was the first time she had laughed in days.
But the sound died quickly, muffled by something invisible.
She put down the cup, her hands shaking.
"Valeria..."
"Yes?"
"If I told you I made a mistake... a huge one..."
"I would reply that all the women in our family started out that way."*"
Valéria's gaze softened, almost conspiratorial.
"But some mistakes leave more lasting scars than others, don't they?"
Catarina looked up abruptly.
Silence.
The kind of silence that reveals everything without a word.
"How..."
"My child, said the old woman softly,
I carried you in my arms when you were just a cry.[2]
Do you really think I wouldn't know when a soul carries more than one heartbeat?"
Catarina let out a muffled sob.
She wanted to speak, but no sound came out.
Valéria approached and placed her hand on her cheek.
"Hush. You don't have to tell me who, or how, or why.
Not yet. Not if you're not ready."
"I'm not."
"Then don't be. But promise me one thing."
"What?"
"That you won't carry this burden alone."
Catarina closed her eyes.
The tears finally fell, silent and burning.
Valéria took her in her arms, and in that simple gesture, the world seemed to stop.
Outside, the wind moaned through the trees.
The fire crackled softly.
And in this refuge of stone and memory, time, for once, seemed willing to forgive her.
They stayed like that for a long time, without speaking.
Then, when night fell, Valéria went upstairs to prepare the guest room, the one at the end of the hallway, where the floor creaked with every step.
Catarina settled in later, wrapped in a blanket that was too big for her.
The walls smelled of lavender and wood smoke.
She placed her hand on her belly.
Silence enveloped her once again.
Not the guilty silence of the Ashbourne house.
Another kind.
A gentle, almost living silence.
And for the first time in weeks, she fell asleep without fear.
But in her dream, the piano played again.
Not loudly.
Just enough to remind her that even here, at the end of the world, the past had not had its final say.
[1] I wanted to clarify something when I said, "When the taxi finally stopped in front of the old house, Catarina remained motionless for a moment." Valeria, Catarina's grandmother, lives in a remote, isolated place, in a remote village. It's impossible to get there by car alone. So she had to take a train first, a TGV, and then a taxi. I wanted to make that as clear as possible.
[2] A baby