Chapter 9 - The Letter from Santa Martha
Two months later.
A light afternoon rain washed over the terracotta roof tiles of the Tepoztlán farm.
Mateo sat in his quiet home study, staring at a official envelope that had arrived in the morning mail from the Federal Bureau of Prisons. It bore the red stamp of the Santa Martha Acatitla facility.
He opened it slowly. Inside was a single page of rough, cheap lined paper, written in a shaky, trembling hand.
Mateo,
I am writing this from the prison infirmary. My arthritis has gotten worse, and the winter cold in this place goes straight to my bones. The other women here do not speak to me. To them, I am just a rich old woman who tried to kill her own grandchild.
I spend my days sitting by the small iron window in the ward, looking at the grey walls. I think about the dining room in Las Lomas. I think about the crystal glasses, the marble floors, the expensive dresses... and I realize that none of it ever kept me warm.
I was wrong, Mateo. I was wrong about Valeria. I was wrong about everything. I thought I was protecting our family's honor, but I was just a blind, arrogant fool drowning in my own pride.
I know you will never bring my granddaughter to see me, and I do not ask for that. I do not deserve to touch her soft hands. But if you ever tell her about me... please tell her that her grandmother was a foolish woman who paid for her cruelty with every second of her remaining life.
I do not expect your forgiveness. I only hope that one day, you can look at your children and know that you were a far better father than I was a mother.
Regina.
Mateo read the letter twice.
He didn't feel rage. He didn't feel pleasure at her suffering. He simply felt a deep, profound sadness for a woman who had owned everything the world had to offer, yet had died inside long before she ever set foot in a prison cell.
The study door pushed open softly.
Valeria walked in, wearing a warm woolen sweater that gently hugged her growing five-month bump. She saw the paper in his hand and the quiet reflection in his eyes.
"Is that from her?" she asked gently, walking over to stand beside his chair.
"Yes," Mateo said quietly, setting the letter down on his desk. "She... she finally understands."
Valeria reached out, gently rubbing the back of his neck, her fingers massaging away the lingering tension. "Are you okay?"
Mateo looked up at his wife, taking her hand and pressing a warm kiss against her palm.
May you like
"I am completely okay, Vale," he said softly, standing up and picking up the letter. He walked over to the stone fireplace in the corner of the study, where a soft wood fire was crackling, and dropped the paper into the flames.
They watched together as the yellow paper curled, caught fire, and turned to soft white ash, rising up the chimney into the rain-washed sky, taking the last remnant of the Santillán curse with it forever.
