My parents explained that they couldn’t accept the situation and that they believed it was best for me to start a new life away from the village. They said we all needed time and distance to cope with what had happened.
His words hurt me more than I ever imagined.
I packed a small backpack with some clothes, a few childhood photos, and the old notebook where I used to write down my dreams. Before leaving, I took one last look at my room. Every corner held a memory that I probably wouldn’t see again for many years.
When I crossed the threshold, I felt like I was leaving my entire life behind.
The first few months were extremely difficult. An older woman named Rosa, an acquaintance of a friend of my mother’s, rented me a small room on the outskirts of Guadalajara for a nominal fee. She never asked too many questions, but she always found a way to leave a cup of hot soup outside my door when she sensed I was having a bad day.
His help was more important than she imagined.
As the weeks went by, I found a job at a nearby café. In the mornings, I cleaned tables and served breakfast; in the afternoons, I continued my studies through a distance learning program. It wasn’t the life I had imagined, but I was determined not to give up.
Months later my daughter was born.
When I first held her in my arms, I understood that, despite all the difficulties, I would never allow her to grow up feeling alone.
I named her Valentina.
From that moment on, she became the center of my world.
The years began to pass quickly. I learned to manage every penny, to work tirelessly, and to seize every opportunity that came my way. At night, I crafted small handmade accessories that I sold online. At first, I only received a few orders, but each satisfied customer recommended my work to someone else.
Without realizing it, that small project began to grow.
