Chapter 4 The fire

Dawn fell thick and humid over the city. In Amelia's room, the silence was suddenly broken by the shrill screech of the landline phone, the one that almost never rang and seemed stuck in another era. It was 3:17 in the morning.

Amelia woke from a restless sleep, confused, her heart pounding in her chest, as if she already knew this call wouldn't bring good news. She reached out clumsily and picked it up.

"Hello?" she murmured, her voice still thick with sleep.

"Amelia..." The voice on the other end was unmistakable. Luciano. But there was something in his tone, a seriousness that made her sit up abruptly. "Something's happening at the Foundation. There's been a fire."

For a second, her brain didn't process the words. Fire. Foundation. What did they mean together? What part of her world had just burned to the ground?

"What... what are you saying?" "The firefighters are there now. Someone caused it, Amelia. It wasn't an accident."

She felt something break in her chest. She jumped out of bed without thinking. She dressed hastily, without paying attention to what she was wearing, trembling. Luciano continued talking to her on the phone, his sentences staccato, writing down the condition of the building, his initial findings. But she wasn't listening clearly anymore. She'd entered an emergency mode that made her feel every heartbeat like a blow.

"They found... something on the door," Luciano said, more quietly, almost as if he didn't want anyone else to hear.

"What?"

"A photograph. Apparently... it's of Rafael. Burned, half destroyed. It's a message."

A thick silence floated between them over the line.

"I'm going there," was all Amelia managed to say before hanging up.

The city seemed different in the early morning: damp, sleepy, its streets glistening from the recent drizzle. Amelia drove without looking too closely, her frozen hands gripping the wheel. Her mind raced faster than the car, replaying images of the Foundation, the people who worked there, the purpose they had worked so hard to build.

She arrived at the scene thirty minutes later. The flames were gone, but the smell was the first thing that hit her: a nauseating mix of charred wood, melted plastic, and something else, something sour, like the invisible trail of fear. The firefighters' lights were still flickering, and the street was cordoned off with yellow tape. Journalists were beginning to appear, cameras in hand and asking cold questions.

When Amelia got out of the car, a young firefighter approached her.

"Are you part of the board?"

"I'm Amelia De la Vega. I'm the founder."

The young man nodded respectfully and led her through the wet rubble. The air was thick with smoke and ash. Every step she took felt like a betrayal: of the children cared for there, of the volunteers, of the dreams that had taken root in that building. Of her own history.

The front door was charred, gaping, like a raw wound. On the floor, leaning against the frame, was the photo. Amelia saw it before it was pointed out to her. She bent down slowly, as if her body knew she was about to carry something heavy.

It was an old photo, charred around the edges. But there was no mistaking it: it was Rafael. Her father. Implacable, with that stony face that had tormented her for so long. Soot marked his forehead like a black mask. On the back, someone had scrawled a word in smudged ink:

"Justice."

Amelia gagged. The disgust was physical, piercing. How could they use her father's image, so broken and violent, as a symbol to send such a cruel message? How could they turn her family's history into a threat? She stayed there, crouched, barely breathing, her chest tight, tears struggling to escape.

Luciano arrived shortly after. His face was tense, and as soon as he saw her, he strode over.

"I saw it," he said. "I saw it too. Someone is playing dirty, Amelia. This isn't just an attack on the Foundation. It's personal."

Amelia looked at him without saying anything, but her face was a mirror of suppressed rage.

Torment of the Past

As the experts began taking photos and collecting remains, Amelia stepped back a few feet and sat on a cement bench. She looked at the blackened building, her eyes full of memories.

She remembered when they laid the cornerstone, the first colorfully painted classroom, the first child given a scholarship. The effort invested not only in bricks, but in hope. And now... all that effort was marked by fire and fear.

"This isn't just vandalism," Luciano said, sitting next to her. "This is a warning. They're telling us they know who we are. They want us to remember where we come from... and who we haven't forgiven."

Amelia closed her eyes for a moment. Rafael. The name burned more than the smoke from the fire. How much was left unresolved in that story? What wounds from the past were returning to take their toll?

"They're going to continue, right?" she asked quietly.

"Yes. And we have to be prepared."

The Ruins of the Present

The police took their information. The firefighters finished inspecting the structure. Everything pointed to the fire having started in two different places. A coordinated attack. Intentional. Premeditated.

The Foundation would have to close temporarily. The children would be relocated. The staff would be suspended until further notice. And Amelia felt that the fire hadn't consumed just one building. It had reached her faith, her strength, her belief that the worst was over.

"We have to protect the children," she said suddenly. "Gabriel. Tomás. Isabelita. This doesn't stay within the walls."

Luciano nodded, his lips pursed. And in his eyes, there was something she hadn't seen in a long time: real fear.

When they returned home, dawn was beginning to tint the sky blue-gray. Amelia paused for a moment in the front yard. She approached the almond tree she and Gabriel had cared for so carefully and touched it with her open palm. She needed to anchor herself to something that wouldn't burn, that couldn't be destroyed.

She looked toward the house and thought of her children. Of their secrets. Of everything they didn't yet know.

That night, while the others slept, Amelia sat in her study. She opened an old wooden box she had kept since she was young. Inside, among papers, she found an unopened letter from Rafael. One she had never dared to read.

She held it in her hands with the same feeling you have before entering a fire.

There was no turning back now.