One of his friends, an older man with a sharp gaze, extended his hand.
—Javier Torres. Patricia Salazar?
-Nice to meet you.
“She’s new to our circle,” Javier commented, interested.
Patricia smiled, without looking down.
—Let’s just say work keeps me busy.
“In what area?” he asked.
Patricia bet everything.
—Administration. I’m finishing my degree. I specialize in human resources management.
Sebastian tensed up, as if the truth gave him an allergic reaction.
“Nonsense,” Javier interrupted. “It’s always a good time to discover talent.”
Patricia felt the vertigo of being on a ledge: if she fell, they would laugh; if she walked, she could change her life.
It was then that an elegant woman, about fifty years old, approached with a warm smile.
—Javier, you’re monopolizing the prettiest girl at the party.
—Victoria —he replied.
Patricia turned around and met a gaze that did not judge, that truly observed.
“What a beautiful necklace,” the woman said, pointing to the chain around her neck. “Where did you get it?”
—It belonged to my mom.
Victoria paled, as if a door had opened inside her.
—What was your mother’s name?
—Carmen Salazar.
The reaction was immediate: Victoria put her hand to her chest and her eyes welled up with tears.
—My God… are you Carmen’s daughter?
Patricia ran out of breath.
—Did you… know my mother?
“Of course!” Victoria laughed excitedly. “Your mother worked for my family. She was one of the most special people I’ve ever known.”
Grandma’s words returned, fitting together like pieces. Mendoza Reyes. Victoria. Carmen. And Patricia, in the middle, like an unexpected bridge.
In a matter of minutes, the dynamic of the room changed. Where there had once been curiosity, there was now genuine interest. Where there had once been distance, now a space opened up. Victoria took Patricia’s hand with a naturalness that was almost painful.
—Where do you work, dear? How’s your education going?
Patricia could have lied. But something in Victoria’s eyes reminded her of her mother.
—I work as a caretaker while I finish my degree.
The silence was brief. Not one of discomfort. Of respect.
—Just like your mother— Victoria said proudly. —She worked during the day and studied at night.
Sebastian took advantage, desperate.
—Victoria, you may not know, but Patricia cleans my office.
Victoria looked at him as if the coldness of the room bore her name.
—And what’s the problem with that?
“I just… I think maybe I don’t belong in this environment,” he stammered.
Victoria’s voice became firm.
—Are you suggesting that honest work is shameful? Because if so, I need to remind you that your own grandmother was a seamstress. One’s origins are not to be denied, Sebastián. They are to be honored.
Sebastian turned red, trapped by his own cruelty.
Victoria led Patricia to the head table, introducing her with a phrase that seemed like a blessing:
—I present to you Patricia Salazar, daughter of the much-missed Carmen.
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