Her family sold her as barren, but a man from the mountain impregnated her in three days and loved her. Isabela’s family did not see a daughter, but a problem they no longer wanted. They told everyone that she was broken, that her womb was dead earth incapable of giving life. That’s why they sold it for a handful of coins and empty promises to a man who lived like a ghost in the mountains.

He didn’t want a wife, he was just looking for a way to silence the echo of his empty cabin. But in the solitude of the mountain, where the air is purer and wounds can begin to heal, a life that everyone thought impossible began to flourish.

Now let’s get started. Isabela felt the weight of the gaze on the back of her neck as if they were small, sharp stones. In the town of Alborada, words had more force than the truth and the word that had stuck to his skin was sterile. The women whispered it to him in the market while they bought garlic and onions.

The men told him this with a mixture of pity and contempt when he passed by the canteen. And worst of all, his own mother shouted it at him. He hates with the silence of his disappointment every morning. At 22 years old, Isabela was a walking shame for the Ramos family. Her older sister, Catherine, had married the baker’s son and already had two stout men running around the square, two living proofs of her worth as a woman.

Isabela, on the other hand, had been married for 3 years to a man she barely remembered, a young farmer who had died of a sudden fever. before she was a year into their marriage, a year in which her womb had remained as empty and dry as the earth in the midst of a drought. Widowhood was a misfortune, but a widowhood without children at dawn was a curse.

The village doctor, an old man with trembling hands and old-fashioned knowledge, had once examined her, pressed by her mother, and had pronounced in a grave voice. There are women who are simply not made to bear fruit. That phrase became his epitaph in life. Her father, Ricardo, a man of weak character and slumped shoulders due to debt, began to see her not as his daughter, but as one more mouth to feed, an infertile field that took up space in his small and humble house. The family’s economic situation had become

untenable. The corn harvest had been lost due to a plague and the town’s moneylender, a man with a graceful smile named Ramiro, gave them no more deadlines. Desperation was chewed in the air of the house, thick and bitter as unsweetened coffee. It was one night during a silent and tense dinner when his father cleared his throat and dropped the news as if it were a stone in a well.

Marco, the man of the mountain, has made an offer, he said, not daring to look at Isabela. He needs a woman to take care of his cabin and keep him company. He does not ask for children. He knows about your condition. Isabela felt the piece of bread in her mouth turn to sand. an offer as if it were a mare or a cow. His mother, Elodia, didn’t even blink.

He is a widower. He lost his wife and son in childbirth years ago. He doesn’t want to go through that again. It’s a good arrangement, Ricardo. He will forgive us the debt you owe him for the skins and he will also give us two dairy goats. His mother’s voice was cold, practical, as if they were discussing the price of grain.

Catherine, his sister, smiled maliciously over her plate. You’ll finally be good for something, little sister. A wild hermit won’t mind if it’s dry inside. Tears burned in Isabela’s eyes, but she refused to shed them. It would not give them that satisfaction. I’m being sold,” she whispered and her voice sounded strange, distant, as if it belonged to someone else.

“And what did you expect?” his mother snapped. “We have taken care of you, we have fed you. You are no longer a child and you are not going to give us grandchildren to ensure the surname. At least that way you will take a burden off our shoulders and solve our problems.” The word charge hit her with the force of a punch. That’s how they saw it.

Not like Isabela, his daughter, his sister, but as a burden, a defective object that they could exchange for the forgiveness of a debt and a couple of goats. The next morning, there were no fond goodbyes or hugs, just a little one tied up in two old dresses and a wooden comb. Marco, the man from the mountain, arrived on time.

He was taller than Isabela had imagined, with broad shoulders and large, calloused hands that seemed capable of splitting a log in half. His dark hair was long and somewhat matted, and a thick beard covered half of his face, but he couldn’t hide the deep sadness in his gray eyes. A blis that was reminiscent of the sky before a storm. He didn’t smile, he just nodded in the direction of his father.

A brusque gesture, almost a formality. His eyes fell on Isabela for a moment, a look that was non-judgmental, but also did not offer comfort. It was a blank stare. that of a man who had made peace with loneliness and no longer expected anything from life. The journey to the mountain was silent.

Marco walked ahead with a confident step, carrying his little one tied up as if it weighed nothing, while she followed him, stumbling over the roots and stones of the steeper and steeper path. The air became fresher, cleaner, smelled of pine and damp earth. For the first time in many years, Isabela took a deep breath and felt the knot in her chest loosen a little.

The town was left behind. a blur of brown roofs in the valley and with it the looks, the whispers and the label of sterile that had defined her for so long. Marco’s cabin was nestled in a clearing, surrounded by gigantic trees that seemed to touch the sky.

It was made of dark, sturdy logs with a small stone fireplace from which no smoke came out. It was a lonely place, isolated from the world, but strangely peaceful. This is your home now. Marco said, his voice deep and raspy from disuse. These were the first words he had spoken to him since they had left the village. He opened the door and let her in first.

The interior was simple and austere. A large wooden table in the center, two chairs, a blackened fireplace, and a kitchen area with hanging iron pots. There was a door that led to what he assumed was the bedroom. Everything smelled of wood, cold smoke and an ancient solitude. “That’s your room,” Marco said, pointing to a small cot in a corner of the main room covered with a bearskin.

“I sleep inside. I won’t bother you. There is food in the pantry. The rules are simple. Help with homework. Don’t leave the cabin without telling me and don’t expect from my conversations that I don’t want to have. He took a leather bag from his shoulder and set it down on the table. He turned to look at her, and for the first time his gray eyes seemed to focus on her. Really see it.

I know why you are here and you know why I accepted you. Let’s not pretend that this is something else. I needed someone to ease the silence and your family needed to get rid of you. We are two strangers sharing a roof. That’s all. With that, he turned and went into his room, closing the door behind him.

Isabela stood in the middle of the room, the echo of her words echoing through the air. The brusqueness of his speech hurt her, but it also set her free. There were no false hopes, there were no expectations that I could not meet. Here, in this hut, she wasn’t the barren one, she was just a woman, a stranger. And for some reason that was a relief.

That first night was the longest of his life. She lay down on the cot, wrapped in the heavy bearskin, and listened to the sounds of the mountain, the hooting of a owl, the rustle of the wind through the trees, the occasional rustle of the wood of the cabin. He didn’t hear any sound coming from Marco’s room.

It was as if a ghost lived on the other side of that door. At dawn, when a pale light filtered through the only window, he got up. Marco was already awake, sitting at the table, sharpening a long, curved knife with a stone. He didn’t say good morning, just pointed his head to the fireplace, where a case with water was beginning to smoke. Isabel understood.

He made coffee, cut some bread and cheese, and put it on the table. They ate in silence. It was a silence different from that of his parents’ house, which was full of reproaches and tension. This was a neutral, heavy, but not aggressive silence. It was the silence of the mountain, the silence of two souls who had given up waiting. That’s how the first day passed.

Isabela cleaned the cabin, tidied up the pantry, found a small vegetable garden behind the house that needed attention, and set about weeding. Marco disappeared for hours, probably hunting or checking his traps, and returned at dusk with two rabbits hanging from his belt. He taught him, with gestures and few words, to skin them and prepare them for dinner.

His large hands moved with surprising dexterity. Once, his fingers brushed against hers as he passed the knife and an unexpected current ran through her. He pulled his hand away quickly, as if burned, and a shadow crossed his face. It was that night when everything began to change.

While they were preparing the stew, Isabel wrote down a small carved wooden box on a high shelf covered in dust. Curiosity overcame her. He climbed on a chair to reach her. Don’t touch that. Marco’s voice sounded like thunder behind him. The fright made her stagger. She was about to fall when two strong arms wrapped around her waist, holding her firmly against a hard, muscular chest.

Isabela gasped. I could feel the warmth of her body through her dress, the constant beating of her heart against her back. His beard brushed against his rough, strangely comforting cheek. The smell of pine, leather and man enveloped her. For an instant he forgot where he was, who he was.

“I told you not to touch it,” he repeated, but his voice was softer now, almost a hoarse whisper in his ear. Her hands did not let go, on the contrary, she felt that her fingers clung a little more to her waist. Isabela turned her head slowly to look at him. Their faces were inches apart. He saw the torment in her gray eyes, a pain so deep that it sank his heart.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I just.” He interrupted her, his gaze fixed on hers. “They were my wife’s, Elena’s.” He let go of her suddenly, taking a step back as if the physical closeness hurt. She ran a hand through her fluttering hair. She liked these things. Small boxes, dried flowers. Nonsense.

It’s not nonsense, Isabela said softly. They are memories. He looked at her in surprise at her audacity, but he didn’t get angry. He nodded slowly and sat down at the table with his head in his hands. For the first time since I’d met him, he seemed vulnerable, a man crushed by the weight of his past.

Isabela approached and, without thinking, put a hand on his shoulder. He tensed up at first, but then, to his surprise, he didn’t pull away. He spoke more that night than in the whole of the previous day. He told her about Elena, how her laughter filled the cabin, how they planned to have three children and fill the clearing with life. she told her about the birth, about how a complication took her and the baby, a boy they were going to call Mateo.

She spoke with a broken voice, stripping off her armor of rudeness, and Isabel listened to her, not as the woman she had been sold, but as someone who understood the pain of a void that cannot be filled. That night, the invisible wall that separated him cracked. The next day something had changed. Marco was still a man of few words, but his silences were no longer hostile.

There was an awareness of the other in the air. While they were collecting firewood, he watched her noticing how the wind played with the loose strands of her brown hair, how her cheeks blushed from the effort. Isabela, for her part, found herself admiring the strength of his arms as he cut through a log, the way her gray eyes lightened as she looked at the mountain tops.

The physical attraction, which had been a spark the day before, was now simmering between them. a palpable tension in the fresh mountain air. It was the third day, as a gentle rain drummed on the roof of the cabin, creating an intimate and secluded atmosphere, when the tension became unbearable. They were sitting in front of the fire, the stew bubbling in the fireplace, the heat of the flames painting their faces shades of orange.

Neither of them spoke, but their gazes met and held each other longer than necessary. “Isabela,” he finally said, and the sound of her name in his deep voice sent shivers down his spine. She looked at him, her heart pounding. He got up and walked over to her, kneeling in front of the chair where she was sitting. He took his hands in his.

His palms were rough, but his touch was surprisingly gentle. “I’m not a good man for you,” his voice said hoarse with excitement. “I’m broken. My heart is full of ghosts.” “I’m broken too, Marco,” she replied, her voice barely a whisper. “Everyone in the town thinks that I am good for nothing, that I am a valid land.

He raised one of his hands and stroked her cheek with the backs of his calloused fingers. His gaze was intense, ardent. “I don’t see a worthless land,” he said, his voice lowering in tone, becoming deep and sensual. I see a beautiful, strong woman, with eyes that hide more stories than she tells. I see lips begging me to kiss them from the moment I saw you. Isabela’s heart skipped a beat.

No one had ever said anything like that to him. No one had looked at her that way, as if she were the most desirable woman in the world. “And what’s stopping you?” she dared to ask her own voice loaded with a longing she didn’t know she possessed. “The fear,” he admitted, the fear of feeling something again, the fear of destroying the only good thing that has come into this cabin in years.

Isabela leaned toward him, shortening the distance between them. “Sometimes, to heal a wound you have to risk opening it a little,” he whispered against his lips. “It was all he needed. The control he had held so tightly was broken. His mouth met hers in a kiss that was neither tender nor delicate.

It was a desperate, hungry kiss, filled with years of loneliness, repressed pain, and overwhelming need. He took her in his arms, lifting her from the chair as if she weighed nothing, and carried her to his room without ceasing to kiss her. The room was as austere as the rest of the house, dominated by a large bed with a solid wood frame, he laid it on the fur blankets and hovered over her, his large, powerful body framing his.

Isabela was not afraid. For the first time in her life she felt desired, adored. He stripped her of her simple dress with reverent urgency, his hands exploring every curve of her body as if he were discovering sacred territory.

His lips followed the path of his hands, leaving a trail of fire on his skin. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured against her neck, his warm breath bristling on her skin. “Tell me you love me, Isabela. Tell me you want this as much as I do.” “I love you, Marco,” she replied. his voice trembling with emotion and desire. I want you here. I love you. There was no awkwardness in their union, just a deep, instinctive connection.

It was as if their bodies and souls had been waiting. Two broken halves that finally found a way to fit together. It was a total surrender, an explosion of sensations and feelings that left them both breathless, clinging to each other in the darkness of the cabin, while the rain continued to sing its lullaby on the roof.

They made love over and over again that night with a passion that healed, that erased the wounds of the past and the cruel labels of the world. He whispered things in her ear, bold and tender words that made her blush and desire him even more. He told her how soft her skin was, how sweet it tasted, how amazing it felt to be inside her, how every part of him claimed her as his own.

She, in turn, lost all her inhibitions, responding to her passion with her own, discovering a side of herself that she did not know existed. She was a sensual, vibrant woman, capable of giving and receiving immense pleasure. In the arms of that rough mountain man, the woman who thought herself barren felt for the first time incredibly alive and whole.

As they fell asleep, embracing, legs intertwined, Isabela rested her head on Marco’s chest, listening to the calm rhythm of his heart. The silence of the cabin was no longer a silence of solitude. Now it was a silence full of promises, of peace. In just three days, her life had changed in a way she could never have imagined.

He had come to the mountain as an object of exchange, a burden that his family had gotten rid of. But now it felt like it had finally found its home. She did not know what the future would hold, but as she lay safe and loved in Marco’s arms, she felt a strange little vibration in the depths of her being, a whisper of life, a hope that defied all logic and all judgment.

It was too early to tell, too unbelievable to believe. But at that moment Isabela was certain that something miraculous had happened. The seed of love that had just blossomed between them had already taken root in a much deeper and more literal way than either of them could suspect. The man of the mountain, who was only looking for a companion for his solitude and the woman who had been called infertile.

They had just begun a journey that would shake the foundations of their lives and of all the people who had despised her. Because nature has its own rules and love is sometimes the most powerful and fertile of them all. Weeks turned into a month and then two. Life in the mountains took on a rhythm of its own, a peaceful routine that was a balm for Isabela’s soul.

Mornings began with the warmth of Marco’s body at her side, his arms encircling her possessively, even in dreams. They made love in the first light of day, in a slow and tender way, which was an affirmation of their place in each other’s world, very different from the desperate passion of the first night, but just as intense. Then they would prepare breakfast together, moving around the small kitchen in a synchronized dance, their bodies brushing against each other, sharing stolen kisses that tasted like coffee and promises.

Marco taught Isabela the secrets of the mountain. He taught her to identify animal tracks, to distinguish edible plants from poisonous ones, to read the sky to predict the weather. Together they worked in the vegetable garden, which under Isabela’s care had become a mosaic of vibrant greens, promising tomatoes, peppers, and pumpkins.

She discovered a strength inside her that she never knew she had. Her hands grew stronger, her skin tanned from the sun, and her lungs filled with the purest air she had ever breathed. But the most significant changes weren’t the external ones, they were the ones that were happening inside her. The first sign was subtle, a persistent tiredness that forced her to take afternoon naps, something she’d never done before. Then, morning sickness.

At first she chalked it up to something she’d eaten, but when the smell of rabbit stew, her favorite dish, made her run out of the cabin, an incredible, almost terrifying suspicion began to form in her mind. She tried to ignore it, to tell herself it was impossible. All her life she had been told that her body was defective.

The sterile word was engraved in her identity so deeply that she could not conceive of any other reality. Marco noticed her pallor and her lack of appetite. “Are you okay, my love?” she asked her voice hoarse with concern, as she stroked her forehead with the back of her hand to check if she had a fever. “You look pale. It’s just tiredness.” She lied, forcing a smile. The work in the garden is harder than it seems.

But suspicion grew, becoming a mixture of fear and hope so fragile that she feared it would be shattered just by breathing it. The day her suspicions became an overwhelming certainty was a sunny afternoon. She had gone to do laundry in the nearby creek and as she bent down, a sudden dizziness came over her. She had to sit on a rock breathing deeply.

She put a hand on her belly and that’s when she felt it. It wasn’t a movement, not yet. It was a sense of wholeness, a deep connection, an energy that wasn’t her own. Her whole being seemed to scream the truth that her mind refused to accept. She was pregnant.

Tears welled up in her eyes, tears that were not of sadness or fear, but of a joy so immense and pure that it seemed as if her heart was going to burst. She was pregnant. She, Isabela, the barren one. The whole world had been wrong. Her family, the doctor, the whole town, they were all wrong.

Laughter mingled with her tears, a sound that welled up from the depths of her soul. A sound of pure liberation. a son, a son of Marco, a fruit of his love that had been born in the most unexpected place, far from judgment and contempt. He waited for Marco to return from checking his traps that night. He prepared his favorite dinner, a venison stew with aromatic herbs, and lit a candle he had made with beeswax, filling the cabin with a soft, warm light.

Marco came in tired, but with a small smile on his lips that always appeared when he saw her. He stopped in the doorway, surprised by the atmosphere. “What are we celebrating?” he asked, approaching her and giving her a deep kiss. Isabela took her large calloused hands and brought them to her belly. Marco frowned in confusion. Marco, she began, her voice trembling.

I think, I think I’m not as broken as everyone thought. He looked at her blankly at first. Then his gray eyes widened, an expression of astonishment and utter disbelief streaming across his face. His gaze descended from Isabela’s eyes to her belly, where her own hands rested. Isabela whispered his barely audible voice.

You’re telling me, tears of joy running down her cheeks again. We’re having a baby, Marco. A baby of ours. For a long moment, he said nothing. He stood motionless, staring at her belly as if he were seeing a miracle. Fear took hold of Isabela.

And if he didn’t want it, he had told her that he didn’t want to go through that again, that the pain of losing Elena and Mateo was too great. But then he saw a lonely tear roll down Marco’s cheek, getting lost in his thick beard. He fell to his knees before her, resting his forehead on her belly, and his shoulders were shaken by silent, heart-rending drowsiness.

“A baby,” his broken voice repeated. Elena, she, we tried for so long. Isabela knelt with him, hugging him, stroking his hair. He understood that his tears were not of sadness, but of overwhelming emotion, of the healing of a wound that he thought would never heal.

After a while, he raised his head, his gray eyes shining with a light she had never seen before. A light of pure, unaltered happiness. This, that is, is you, Isabela. You are my miracle, she said, taking her face in her hands and kissing her with a tenderness that made her melt. A son, our son. That night they didn’t talk much more. They lay down on the bed, hugging Marco’s hand resting protectively on Isabela’s belly throughout the night.

She felt him tremble from time to time, overwhelmed with emotion. The man who had closed in on himself from the pain of loss, was now being reborn along with the new life that grew within the woman he loved. However, the pure joy of his private miracle could not remain isolated on the mountain forever.

A few weeks later, as Isabela’s pregnancy became more apparent, they ran out of salt and flour. It was inevitable. One of them would have to go down to the village. I’ll go, Marco said firmly. You will not move from here. I don’t want anyone to bother you, I don’t want anyone to look at you badly. But Isabel shook her head. No, Marco, I’m not going to hide.

I’m not ashamed. I want everyone to see it. I want my family to see it. There was a new strength in her voice, a confidence that Marco’s love and the life within her had given her. We will go together. Marco hesitated, his protective instinct fighting against the determination in her eyes. He finally nodded.

I knew she was right. This was something they had to face together. The morning they went down to the village, the air was fresh and the sun was shining. Isabela wore a simple dress that could no longer hide the soft curve of her belly. Marco walked beside her, his hand never leaving the lower part of her back. His imposing presence was a shield against the world.

The first person to see them was the blacksmith’s wife, who dropped her basket of vegetables with her mouth open. Then the murmur began. It spread through the cobblestone streets like wildfire. It is Isabela, the daughter of the bouquets. Look at her belly. You are pregnant. But it is sterile. The windows opened, the doors ajar.

The people of Alborada stopped, witness to the impossible. Isabela held her head high, her hand on her belly, ignoring the whispers and gaping glances. He felt invincible with Marco by his side. They went straight to their parents’ house. It was Catherine who opened the door.

His face went from bewilderment to sheer disbelief and then to an expression of venomous envy as his eyes fixed on Isabela’s bulging belly. What kind of witchcraft is this, he hissed? Ricardo and Elodia appeared behind her, their faces pale with shock. Her mother was the first to speak. His voice trembled with disbelief and strange anger.

What does this mean, Isabela? Have you disgraced this man? Whose son is that? It’s mine. Marco’s voice boomed deep and threatening. He stepped forward, placing Isabela slightly behind him. He is our son. And I’ve come to tell you not to go near my wife ever again. They treated it like trash, but it turns out that the only rotten soil here is the one in their hearts.

She blossomed as soon as I took her away from you. Elodia’s face contracted into a mask of fury and humiliation. Lie. It’s impossible. The doctor said it was sterile. Well, it seems that his doctor is a fool. Or maybe the problem was never her, Isabela said, her voice clear and firm. He looked directly into his mother’s eyes. The problem was this place.

The problem was contempt and sadness. In the mountain I found peace and in the arms of this man I found love. And love, mother, can sometimes work miracles. Without saying another word, he turned around. Marco gave them one last warning glance before following her.

As they walked away from the house, leaving her family gaping and humiliated at the door, Isabela felt the last chain that bound her to her painful past break. She was no longer the despised daughter, the defective woman. It was Isabela, Marco’s wife, the future mother of his son. She was a beloved woman and for the first time in her life she was free, but she knew that this was not the end, it was only the beginning.

The news of her miraculous pregnancy would shake the town of Alborada to its foundations, arousing envy, resentment, and perhaps old secrets that some would prefer to keep buried. and his family, publicly humiliated, would not sit idly by. The battle for her happiness and that of her son had only just begun. The return to the mountain was much quieter than the descent.

The tension of the meeting in the village vibrated in the air between them. Marco walked around with a frown, his hand still on Isabela’s back, but now his touch was possessive, an anchor in a world that suddenly felt hostile. His jaw was so tight that it looked like it was carved out of granite. Isabela, on the other hand, felt a strange calm.

The fear I had anticipated had not arrived. In its place was a cold, hard resolution. He had seen the true face of his family stripped of any pretense of affection and instead of breaking it he had strengthened it. She had broken the last invisible bonds that bound her to them. When they reached the final path that led to the hut, Marco stopped and turned to face it, taking her face in his large hands.

Her gray eyes were two miniature storms, filled with a protective fury that shook her to the core. “Are you okay?” his voice asked a suppressed roar. If you want me to go back there and break everyone’s heads, just tell me. Your father for being a coward, your mother for being a viper, and your sister for breathing.

Isabela smiled, a genuine smile that seemed to surprise him. She put her hands on his that still held her face. I’m fine, Marco. Better than good. For the first time I am free from them. I don’t owe them anything anymore, not even my sadness. The fury in his eyes softened, replaced by deep admiration. “You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met,” she whispered.

“It makes me want to lock you up here, where no one can ever hurt you again. And it makes me want you to,” she replied in a knowing whisper, moving closer until their lips almost touched. “But only if you lock me up with you.” The tension was broken, replaced by one of another kind, much more familiar and welcome.

He kissed her right there in the middle of the path, a deep, possessive kiss that spoke of ownership, protection, and overwhelming desire. “You’re mine, Isabela,” he murmured against her lips. You and this baby are my territory and there is one who tries to set foot in it. Words that might have seemed controlling to another woman sounded like the most beautiful of promises to her. It was the promise of a warrior’s refuge by his side.

She hugged him tightly, burying her face in his chest. I will always be yours, he said, and he said it with absolute certainty. That night, in the safety of the cabin, they made love with renewed intensity. It was an act of reaffirmation, a way of reclaiming their space and their happiness in the face of the ugly world they had left in the valley.

Marco adored her with his body, his hands, and his mouth, memorizing every curve, every moan, whispering in her ear how perfect she was, how incredibly fertile and full of life she was. “Look at you,” he said as they became entangled in the sheets, his hand outstretched over the soft mound of her belly. “You gave life to me before you gave it to our son. I was dead inside and you resurrected me.

How can I repay you for such a miracle? Just stay by my side,” she replied. “Love me like this always.” And he did. But while they took refuge in their sanctuary of love, in the village, the seed of hatred they had sown took poisonous roots. In the bouquet house, the initial shock had turned into a furious humiliation.

Elodia paced up and down the small room like a caged animal. How dare you? How dare he come here and rub his faith in our faces as if it were a trophy if it were his hands clenched and he that savage talking to us as if we were the scum after we did him the favor of giving him a wife, Catherine laughed bitterly and cruelly. Don’t worry, mother.

No one is going to believe it. Everyone knows that it is sterile. It is crystal clear what has happened. That fox has wallowed with another, probably with a hunter who was passing by. Her husband’s savage is so stupid and desperate that he’s bought into the story that the bastard is his.

Ricardo, the father, who had been drinking brandy in a corner, raised his head. We shouldn’t talk about it like that. She is your sister. She’s not my sister,” Catalina shouted, her face contorted with envy. “That thing has humiliated me. Do you know what they say now in the market? Look, there goes the sister of the miraculous one. They laugh at me. My husband Adán has thrown it in my face.

It seems that the flawed one was not your sister,” he told me last night. “It’s making my life hell.” The idea of Catherine, so vile and twisted, caught on in Elodia’s mind. It was the only explanation that saved his pride. It was the only way to regain control of the narrative. “You’re right,” the ododia said slowly, a malicious light shining in his eyes.

“You’re absolutely right. She has deceived him. He has stained our surname with a bastard. You have to make everyone know that. You have to make that mountain man see the kind of snake he has put in his bed. The next day, Catalina went to the market, not to buy, but to sow.

Speaking in whispers to her friends, the town’s gossip queens, she dropped the truth about her sister’s pregnancy. Poor Marco,” he said, feigning a sadness he didn’t feel. He is so lonely that he has believed the lie, but we know the truth. Isabela was always weak in character, a lost hunter, a passing stranger, who knows, “My mother is broken. It is a terrible dishonor.

The story was juicy, outrageous and, most importantly for bored villagers, far more believable than a miracle. It spread like a virus, infecting conversations in the canteen, at the door of the church, in the river, while the women were washing. The people were divided. The most cynical and envious clung to the version of infidelity.

Others, those who remembered Isabela’s sweetness before bitterness consumed her, hesitated. One of those who doubted was Ana, the old herbalist of the village. A wise woman, with eyes that saw beyond appearances. He had always had a special affection for Isabela and had never fully believed in the sentence of old Dr. Morales.

A few days later he prepared a basket with soothing teas for nausea and balms for stretch marks and set out on the long road to the mountain. He found Isabela in the orchard, her face lit by the sun, singing softly as she removed the weeds. I had never seen her so radiant, so full of life.

My girl,” Ana said with a smile. “The mountain suits you. You look like a flower that has finally found the sun.” Isabela stood up and hugged her tightly. “Ana, it’s a joy to see you. Come in, please.” Marco is inside fixing some skins. While they were having tea in the cabin with Marco watching in silence from his corner, Ana delicately told him the rumors that were circulating in the village.

Isabela’s smile faded and helpless rage nestled in her chest again. Marco, hearing the vile accusations, jumped up. His hands clenched into fists. A vein beating in his 100. I’m going to go down right now and I’m going to rip out your sister’s tongue,” he growled. His voice was thunder. The frame, “No,” Isabela exclaimed, standing in front of him.

“Don’t stoop to their level. Violence will solve nothing. I would only agree with them. They would say you are a savage, but they are staining your honor. And our son’s, he roared, his self-control on the verge of breaking. Our honor is not in their dirty mouths, Marco said Isabela, putting her hands on his chest, forcing him to look at her.

He is here, in this house, among us. As long as we know the truth, what they say is just noise. Ana nodded. Admired for the maturity of the young woman. You’re right, Marco. The best way to fight poison is with the truth. And the truth is, over time it always comes to light. But you must be careful.

A lie repeated many times can become dangerous. Anne’s words proved prophetic. Isabela’s humiliation was not enough for Elodia. He wanted his daughter back under his control, even if he had to destroy her first. A week later, accompanied by Catherine, she went up the mountain.

They arrived unannounced, finding Marco and Isabela, sitting outside on a wooden bench he had built enjoying the afternoon sun. “Isabela, my daughter,” he began, his voice soaked in a false sweetness that turned Isabela’s stomach. I have come to beg your forgiveness. We were shocked, we didn’t know what we were saying.

Isabela remained silent, her gaze cold. Marco got up. His body was a barrier between his wife and those two women. What do they want here? he asked. His tone did not admit of games. We want to help her, Catalina intervened. His smile did not reach his eyes. You’re pregnant, alone up here with him.

A pregnancy needs care, the advice of a mother, of a sister who has already gone through it. You can’t stay in this wild place. It is dangerous for the baby. My wife is safer here than anywhere else in the world, Marco replied. I am here to protect her. It doesn’t need anything, least of all the poison you distill. It’s not poison, it’s concern,” Elodia insisted, taking a step forward.

“Daughter, think about it. In the village you will have the doctor, your family. Come home at least until the child is born. Then you can decide what to do. We will make everyone believe that you have forgiven your husband for his mistake, that you have decided to take care of another man’s baby. People will admire your generosity. It can be fixed. Isabela couldn’t believe her ears.

The audacity, the cruelty of his plan. They weren’t even pretending to believe him. My husband hasn’t made any mistakes,” Isabela said, her voice cutting like ice. And this baby, she said, putting a protective hand on her belly, is as much hers as mine. It is the fruit of our love, a love that you could never comprehend because your hearts are dry and rotten.

Now get out of my house. They are not my family. My only family is this man and the son in me. Elodia’s face transformed. The mask of sweetness fell to reveal the cold fury underneath. You will regret this, insolent child, Hiss.

When that savage gets tired of you and leaves you with your bastard, don’t come crying at my door. By then it will be closed forever. They turned and left, leaving a trail of malice in the pure mountain air. Isabela collapsed on the bench trembling with rage and pain. Marco knelt before her, hugging her tightly. Shhh.H. My love, it’s over.

They won’t come near you again, I swear. But the visit had left a wound. The doctor’s mention had sown a seed of uneasiness in Isabela’s mind. A couple of nights later he woke up with a sharp pain in his belly. She screamed in terror and Marco woke up instantly, panic reflected on his face in the moonlight.

“Marco, it hurts,” she said, clinging to her belly. The pain was intense, stabbing. The worst nightmares of both of them crowded into the darkness of the room. Losing this baby was unthinkable. Marco, moved by adrenaline and fear, took her in his arms. Don’t worry, breathe. I’ll take you to the village. To the doctor. No, Isabela gasped. Not to Morales. I won’t trust him.

He will say anything to prove that he was right. The pain, luckily, began to subside, transforming into a dull discomfort. Probably just a cramp, a stretch of the ligaments, but the scare had been real. He had shown them how vulnerable they were, how isolated they were.

Ana told me about a new doctor,” Isabela said when she caught her breath, still curled up in Marco’s arms. “In the neighboring town, in vista hermosa. They say that he is young, that he studied in the city. They say it’s different.” Marco looked at her. To go to a doctor meant to expose oneself, to subject one’s miracle to the cold scrutiny of science. But seeing the terror in Isabela’s eyes that night had been worse than any rumor.

Okay, he said firmly. We’ll go see that doctor. We will not take any risks, neither with you nor with our child. The decision was made, but in the meantime life went on and Marco threw himself into making the cabin a nest for his family. One of his self-imposed tasks was to build a crib.

He spent days choosing the best oak wood, cutting and sanding it with a patience and devotion that Isabela had never seen him through. One afternoon, while he was carving small animals on the head of the crib, she sat next to him sewing a small blanket with pieces of old cloth.

What are you thinking about?, she asked him, seeing the concentration on his face. He looked up and a soft smile softened his hard features. I thought about his face. If she will look like you with your big brown eyes or if she will inherit this frown of mine. I hope I have your strength, she said smiling. And your nobility.

Although if you look like me, you will have a better chance of getting what you want with a smile. He laughed, a deep, genuine sound that filled the cabin with warmth. He put down the piece of wood and walked over to her, pulling her into his lap, careful not to crush her growing belly. He kissed her softly and then rested his rough cheek on hers, watching the work of her hands.

“You know what?” he whispered in her ear, his breath tickling her neck. “Sometimes I look at you sitting here with that light in your eyes and our child growing inside you, and I feel like my heart is going to burst. It’s too much, too much happiness for a man like he thought his life was over. “Nonsense,” she replied, turning her head to kiss him on the chin.

“You deserve all the happiness in the world, Marco.” And this is just the beginning. He nibbled on her earlobe, and his voice became hoarse, full of desire. Seeing you like this, so maternal and yet so incredibly sexy, drives me crazy. It makes me want to take you to bed and remind you that before you are a mother you are my wife.

Isabel makes a river feeling the heat spread through her veins. “I don’t think I’m opposed to that plan, lord of the mountain,” he said mischievously. But first the bear ends. Our son needs a bear to protect him. But the peace of their refuge was about to be threatened again and in a much more dangerous way. In the town, Ricardo Ramos had hit rock bottom.

Debts suffocated him and public shame had turned him into the asmerry. And in that desperation he made a fatal mistake. he went to Ramiro, the moneylender, the man his wife had mentioned at the beginning. Ramiro was not like Marco, he was an unscrupulous man, with weasel eyes that saw the world in terms of gains and losses.

He listened to the story of Isabella’s miraculous pregnancy, not with disbelief, but with calculating interest. “So your useless daughter is suddenly some kind of miraculous saint,” Ramiro said, rubbing his chubby hands together. That’s interesting, Ricardo. Very interesting. Miraculous things are sometimes worth a lot of money.

There are rich people in the city who pay fortunes for a special baby, especially if they can’t have their own. Ricardo turned pale. What are you suggesting, Ramiro? Oh, nothing, nothing,” said the lender with a gracious smile. “I’m just saying that your daughter could be the solution to all your financial problems.

A baby like that, born in the mountains, the son of a sterile woman, has a good story and good stories, my friend, sell very well.” The thought was monstrous, but in Ricardo’s rotten mind, a dark seed was planted. Meanwhile, old Dr. Morales, feeling his reputation threatened by Isabela’s pregnancy, decided to take matters into his own hands.

He published an advertisement in the small regional newspaper, an article of medical interest where he warned the population about the dangers of female hysteria and false pregnancies, citing cases of women who, desperate to have children, developed all the symptoms of a pregnancy without a real fetus. Although he did not name Isabela directly, the whole town knew who he was referring to.

He was giving a patina of medical credibility to Catherine’s rumors. The announcement came into the hands of Ana, the herbalist, who indignantly climbed the mountain again to warn the couple. “This is no longer market gossip, children,” he said gravely, showing them the newspaper clipping. “This is a direct attack.

Do they want to declare you crazy? Isabela is the only way they have to explain what they cannot understand and to save their own pride. Marco clenched the paper in his fist until it crumpled. The rage that had kept Raya in check threatened to boil over. It was no longer just about honor. They were attacking Isabela’s sanity. They were preparing the ground to take her son away, arguing that she was not in her right mind.

“Enough,” Marco said, his voice dangerously calm. “No more hiding. No more ignoring them. Tomorrow we will go to Vista Hermosa. We’ll go see that new doctor and get a test, a test that will shut everyone’s mouth once and for all.” Isabela looked at him, fear struggling with determination in her eyes.

Assented. There was no other option. They weren’t fighting just for their love or for their honor. They were fighting for their son’s future. At dusk, they stood outside the cabin, looking out over the valley below. The town of Alborada was a handful of twinkling lights in the growing darkness.

It seemed so small, so insignificant from the majesty of the mountain. But they knew that in that small handful of lights a storm of hatred, envy and greed was brewing that threatened to climb up the hillside and destroy the paradise they had built. “I’m scared, Marco,” Isabela admitted in a whisper.

He put his arms around her, his body a fortress of warmth and security. As long as we are together, there is nothing to fear,” he told her, kissing the crown of her head. “It’s you and I against the world, my love, and I swear to you on our son’s life that we’re going to win.” But as he uttered those words, a shadow of doubt hung over him.

He was not afraid of gossips or old, resentful doctors. He feared the desperation of men with nothing to lose, like his father-in-law, and the boundless greed of men like Ramiro. He realized that the real danger was not words.

The real danger was the monsters that hid in the hearts of men. And those monsters, once unleashed, were far more savage than any beast on the mountain. The trip to Vista Hermosa at dawn the next day was an exercise in containment and mutual support. Marco had prepared the cart by filling it with blankets so that Isabela would be comfortable.

He insisted on walking beside the old horse, leading it with a steady hand along the rocky path, his eyes constantly sweeping the surroundings. as if he expected a monster from the town’s rumors to leap on them from behind a tree. Isabela, sitting between the blankets, observed the stern profile of her husband. The love she felt for him was so vast and overwhelming that she sometimes had a hard time breathing.

On a flat stretch of road, he came over and walked beside her, holding her hand. What do you think about? She asked, intertwining her fingers with his. I think I’m going to force that doctor to treat you like a queen,” he said seriously.

“And if he looks at you badly or says a single word that offends you, I’m going to take down his office board by board.” Isabela laughed, squeezing his hand. I don’t think it’s necessary, my savage protector. Ana said he was a good man. “There’s no man good enough for you,” he replied, pausing for a quick, fierce kiss. I want you to know something.

I don’t need a man with a piece of paper to tell me that this baby is real. I know it here,” he said, putting his free hand on his own heart. “And I feel it here,” he added, placing his hand gently on her belly. “We are only going for that paper to silence the snakes. To me you are the only truth that matters.

” Marco’s words were the best of tonics. The rest of the way, Isabela felt strong, invincible. Vista hermosa was bigger and with more life than dawn. Dr. Gabriel Herrera’s office was not in an old, dark house like Morales’, but in a clean, bright building with large windows. El Dr.

Herrera turned out to be a young man in his 30s, with a friendly smile and intelligent eyes that looked at her with respect and professionalism, not judgment. He listened to her story in silence, nodding occasionally, his face never showing surprise or disbelief, just empathetic concentration.

“Madam, sometimes the body and soul are so connected that the wounds of one can make the other sick,” he said in a calm voice when they were done. Chronic stress, sadness, feeling slighted, all of that can affect a woman. It’s not hysteria, it’s science. And sometimes all the body needs to heal is peace, security, and love.

He gave a knowing glance to Marco, who had stood in a tense corner like an animal ready to attack, but who was now visibly relaxing. Let me examine it. The examination was respectful and methodical. He used a special stethoscope and after a moment, a wide smile lit up his face. Well, Marco, he said addressing him. Riper your ears.

He placed the instrument in Marco’s ears and then pressed the other end onto Isabela’s belly. Marco’s face transformed. Disbelief, amazement, and such pure, overwhelming joy hit him squarely. Tears welled up in her gray eyes as she heard for the first time the rapid, pounding beat of her son’s heart, a gallop of life that was the irrefutable proof of his miracle.

He took off his stethoscope, unable to speak, and simply knelt beside Isabela, kissing her belly reverently. “Congratulations,” said Dr. Herrera, moved by the scene. They have a very healthy and very strong baby in there. And you, Mrs. Isabela, are perfectly healthy. There is absolutely nothing sterile about you. There never was.

He gave them a written, stamped, and signed report detailing Isabela’s perfect health and the advanced state of her pregnancy. On the way back, the silence was filled with a quiet euphoria. Marco drove the cart with one hand, while with the other he held Isabela’s, refusing to let go.

“I’m going to frame that heartbeat in my memory forever,” he said, his voice still trembling with excitement. The doctor’s paper, his weapon, was safely stored in his shirt pocket. When they arrived at the cabin at sunset, the tension of the previous days was released. They made love not in desperation, but with deep and joyful celebration.

It was an act of gratitude, a dance of two souls who had met and created life against all odds, but their private triumph had already echoed in the valley. The visit to the doctor with beautiful sight did not go unnoticed and the news reached Alborada, feeding the fury of his enemies. Public humiliation loomed over Elodia, Catalina and Dr. Morales.

Desperate, they became more dangerous. Ricardo, drowned by debts and shame, received another visit from Ramiro, the moneylender. This time Ramiro didn’t suggest anything, he ordered it. Your daughter and the mountaineer have embarrassed important people, Ricardo,” he said with his gracious smile. And they have created something very valuable. That child, that miracle baby, is worth a fortune.

Some clients of mine in the city, a rich couple who can’t have children, will pay anything. It will be your salvation. You will pay your debts. You’ll have money to start over far from here. And your daughter, well, will be free from the burden of a child who will only bring her trouble. Ricardo felt an icy cold in his veins. Do you want me to kidnap my own grandson? I don’t want you to do anything.

If it’s Ramiro, you’ll do it or your other daughter and your wife will end up on the street and you at the bottom of the river. I need you to get the mountaineer out of the hut on the night of the next full moon. Make something up, an emergency, an injured animal. My men and I will take care of the rest. Your daughter won’t be harmed, I promise you.

Trapped, weak, and terrified, Ricardo agreed. The plan was underway. To the web that was woven around them, Marco and Isabela decided that it was time to face the people for the last time. Armed with Dr. Herrera’s letter, they went down to Alborada on a market day when the square was full. They went directly to Dr. Morales, who was pontificating to a group of villagers about the dangers of female imaginations.

Drctor Morales, Marco’s voice, cold and hard, cut the air. The old doctor turned, his face flushing at the sight of them. Isabela, with her head held high, stepped forward and unfolded the letter. This is a report by Dr. Gabriel Herrera of Vista Hermosa. She said in a clear, loud voice for all to hear. It declares that I am perfectly healthy and that my pregnancy is completely normal.

Perhaps next time, doctor, before declaring a woman infertile in her ignorance and prejudices, you should consider updating your knowledge or simply shutting your mouth. read aloud the key parts of the report. A murmur of amazement ran through the crowd. Eyes turned to Morales accusing them.

Elodia and Catherine, who were nearby, turned pale, becoming the center of all contemptuous glances. They had been exposed as malicious liars. It was a resounding victory, but it was also the final trigger. The night of the full moon came a week later. Just as the sun was setting, a boy from the village came running to the cabin breathless.

Marco, Mr. Marco shouted. It is Ricardo, his wife’s father. He has fallen into a ravine near the old river. He is badly injured. Pray for you. Marco looked at Isabela, his instinct screaming at him that it was a trap. But Isabela, in spite of everything, was worried. You have to go, Marco. And if and if it is true.

The goodness of his heart was his greatest virtue and his greatest vulnerability. Marco kissed her. I don’t like this. Lock the door and don’t open it to anyone. Ana is on her way to spend the night with you. It didn’t take long. He ran away, his axe in his belt, worry struggling with suspicion.

As soon as he disappeared, Ana arrived, her face full of worry. The air felt heavy, ominous. An hour later, just as Isabela felt the first sharp pain of childbirth, the door of the cabin was kicked down. Two burly men with their faces covered entered. Ana, bravely, confronted them with a poker from the fireplace. Get out of here, hell.

But they knocked it down with a cruel blow. Isabela screamed. a mixture of pain, fear and the anguish of childbirth that was violently accelerated by terror. She saw a third man at the door, a man she didn’t recognize at first in the gloom. It was his father. The look of terror and regret in his eyes was the last thing he saw clearly before a contraction consumed.

The birth was quick and brutal on the floor of the cabin with Ana trying to help her while the men waited with monstrous impatience. As soon as the baby came out crying hard, one of the men wrapped him in a lover and ripped him from her arms. No. And my son. Isabela’s cry was a tear in the soul, a sound of pure agony.

He watched as his father froze, watching the horror he had unleashed before the men came out and disappeared into the night. When Marco returned, after finding no one in the ravine, the smell of trap turning into an icy certainty, he found the door shattered. Inside the scene he broke him in two. Anne was wounded, and Elizabeth lay on the floor, pale as wax, bleeding and weeping silently, her empty arms stretched out toward the door. They took him away, Marco, whispered his broken voice.

They took our baby. Your father, your father was with them. A fury like he had never felt before, a primal volcanic fury exploded within Marco. But his first instinct was his wife. He picked her up with infinite tenderness, cleaned her and laid her on the bed, stopping the bleeding with Ana’s teachings.

While he was taking care of her, a part of his mind, the hunter’s part, the mountainman’s part, was already in the forest tracking. He had noticed something on the floor, near where Ricardo had been, a small piece of torn cloth from a shirt that he had seen him wearing many times. He left Isabela in the care of Ana, who was recovering, and took his largest knife and axe.

I’m going to bring our son back, he said. His voice was the terrifying calm in the eye of the hurricane. Even though he had to walk over the corpses of all the men in that village, he followed the trail not as a man, but as a predator. The fabric, some careless footprints, the smell of fear.

His senses, honed by years of solitude in nature, were amplified by rage and fatherly love. The trail led him not to the village, but to an old abandoned cabin halfway, Ramiro’s hideout. He came like a ghost in the night.

He took down the two outer guards with brutal and silent efficiency, not killing them, but leaving them incapacitated for the rest of their lives. Inside she found Ramiro trying to calm the baby who wouldn’t stop crying. And next to him, tied to a chair, was Ricardo beaten and bleeding. Ricardo had challenged him. At the last moment, his consciousness had awakened.

He had refused to hand over the child to the buyers who were on their way and tried to fight back. Ramiro, furious, had beaten him up. Seeing Marco at the door, with the blood of his men on the knife, Ramiro turned pale. He tried to use the baby as a shield. One more step and I kill him. But Marco was no longer a man negotiating, he was a force of nature.

That’s my son, he said, his voice so low that it was almost a growl, and he moved. It was a blur of controlled violence. he disarmed Ramiro by breaking his wrist and knocked him out with a single devastating punch. Then, with trembling hands, he took his son. The baby, feeling the familiar smell and warmth, stopped crying and opened his small eyes.

They were his father’s gray eyes. “Hello, little lion,” Marco whispered, tears finally streaming down his face. “Daddy is here,” he untied Ricardo, who collapsed at his feet laughing. I’m sorry, for God’s sake, I’m sorry. Kill me, I deserve it, but save him. Get up, Marco ordered. You will live with what you have done. That’s your condemnation.

Carrying his son safely in his arms, Marco returned to the cabin. Isabela’s reunion with her baby was a moment of such intense beauty that even the air seemed to hold its breath. They cried together, kissed, kissed their little one, a family broken and reunited by the strength of their love.

They called him Leo because of his strength, because of the brave roar with which he had come into the world and because of the lion that was his father. The epilogue wrote itself. Ricardo confessed everything. Ramiro and his men were handed over to the city authorities. The scandal destroyed what was left of the reputations of Elodia, Catalina and Dr. Morales.

They became pariahs in their own land, drowned in the bitterness of their own poison, and eventually had to leave the village. Ricardo, after making sure Isabela wouldn’t press charges against him, also left a broken man who would seek penance in solitude. The years passed.

The story of Isabela and Marcos became legend. The cabin on the mountain was no longer seen as the home of a hermit, but as a sanctuary of love and resilience. Ana helped them raise Leo, a strong and happy boy with his father’s eyes and his mother’s smile. Two years later, a girl was born who was named Ana with Isabela’s brown and curly hair.

The love that had once added two broken souls had multiplied, filling the cabin with laughter and life. They no longer went down to Alborada. The world came to them, friends like Dr. Herrera, who went up to visit them, or people from other valleys who had heard their story and sought the quiet wisdom of the couple who had defied fate.

One afternoon, while they were watching their two children play in the clearing, Isabela huddled against Marco. “To think that it all started because they sold me like a broken thing,” he said in a whisper. Marco kissed her on the 100th. You were never broken, my love,” he replied, his hand resting on her belly, where a third life began to shake gently. You were just waiting for someone to plant you in the right soil so you could flourish.

Marco and Isabela’s story is a powerful reminder that the true value of a family lies not in the blood or sentences of others, but in the unconditional love it protects. It heals and is capable of creating life where others only saw a desert. It is proof that a home is not defined by the walls of a house, but by the shelter that lies in the arms of the loved one.