The final shovelful of dirt fell on the coffin sounded as if the world were closing a door forever. Carmen stood still, her fingers digging into the black fabric of her worn dress, Dieguito—seven years old, with enormous eyes and an even greater fear—clinging to her skirt as if it were the last wall capable of protecting him. There was no band, no wreaths, no long speeches. Only a gray mist covering the town cemetery and that musty smell that sticks to your throat.

Pedro had been a good man, one of those who worked tirelessly without making a sound. Years working for Rodolfo Méndez, the biggest landowner in the valley, and yet he would still return home with a small smile, as if he were carrying a hidden treasure. “
As long as we’re together and the boy is healthy, we’re richer than Rodolfo with all his gold,” he would say at night, when dinner was beans and the light was barely enough with a candle.
Carmen would laugh softly, because in that humble house there was room for poverty, yes… but there was also room for peace.

Then the fever came, as injustice does: swiftly and without warning. Three days. Three nights of cold clothes, hurried prayers, and the feeling that there wasn’t enough air left. On the fourth day, Pedro left, leaving the bed empty and a question piercing Carmen’s heart: what will become of us now?

Returning from the funeral, the walk back to the borrowed little house on the hacienda grounds seemed endless. Carmen walked with Dieguito by her side, grief hardened in her mouth: she couldn’t cry. Not in front of him. The boy stared at the ground and, every now and then, whispered with that heartbreaking innocence,
“Don’t cry, Mommy… Daddy’s with the angels, isn’t he?”
Carmen hugged him tightly, breathing in the scent of cheap soap from her son’s hair as if it were the only thing keeping her going.

But the gloomy calm lasted less than a shadow moving.

A powerful engine roared outside, kicking up dust in the driveway. Carmen knew, even before she saw him, that it was Rodolfo. That noise wasn’t just from a truck: it was the sound of someone who thinks the world belongs to him. Rodolfo got out, his shirt immaculate, his hat sharp, and those small eyes where compassion never learned to live. He didn’t even close the truck door. He looked at the house, the peeling walls, the scrawny chickens in the yard. He looked at everything the way one looks at something that’s in the way.

—Carmen—he said without greeting—. I’m sorry about Pedro. He was a good man.

“A good arm.” Not a man, not a husband, not a father. An arm. Carmen swallowed, feeling her cheeks flush.

—Thank you, Don Rodolfo… it was very quick.

Rodolfo made a gesture with his hand, as if shooing away a fly.

—Life goes on. And business doesn’t wait for the dead. I’m being practical: that house is for the workers. Pedro is gone. You don’t work the land. The new foreman arrives tomorrow. I need the house vacant.

The ground seemed to move beneath Carmen’s feet. She glanced at Dieguito, who was hiding behind her.

“But… we just got back from the cemetery,” she whispered. “I have nowhere to go. My son…”

Rodolfo let out a dry laugh, without a trace of humor.

—Do you think I’m a charity? House for work. No work, no house. You have two hours. If not, I’ll send my men to “clean up.”

Little Dieguito, trembling, poked his head out.

—You evil man! Leave my mom alone!

Rodolfo looked at him with contempt, like one looks at a stray dog.

—Teach the kid some manners, Carmen, or life will teach them to him the hard way.

And then, as if cruelty could still disguise itself as generosity, he pulled out a crumpled piece of paper….

“I’m not a monster. Pedro worked here for years… and he knew things. For that loyalty, I’ll give you something. Here. A plot of land to the north. Quebrapiés. It’s yours.”

Carmen received the document with trembling hands. She knew that name. Everyone knew it. A steep hillside, pure black rock, dry thorns. A place where not even goats stayed. Nothing grew there. There, they said, only failure grew.

—Don Rodolfo… that’s just rubble. How are we going to live there? There’s no water, no roof…

Rodolfo’s laughter exploded with the help of his bodyguards.

“Well, learn to eat rocks then,” he shouted. “I’m being generous: I’m giving you land. If you manage to grow something in that garbage dump, you’ll become rich. But do it far away from me.”

He came closer, and his voice dropped to a whisper that smelled of expensive tobacco.

—Pedro took my secrets to the grave. You take your misery to Quebrapiés. Now get out.

The truck drove off, leaving dust on Carmen’s face and a cough in Dieguito’s chest. On the threshold of the house that was no longer hers, Carmen felt a mixture of shame and rage so intense it almost burned her eyes. Then she heard her son’s voice:

—Mom… I’m hungry.

She packed what little they had in old sheets: clothes, a pot, two spoons, a knife, a threadbare blanket, a small sack of rice. She tucked away a blurry photo from her wedding and, without looking back, left with Dieguito by the hand. No one from the village approached. No one offered a ride. Fear of Rodolfo outweighed compassion.

They climbed for hours. When they arrived, Carmen’s heart sank. The terrain seemed otherworldly: black volcanic rocks, loose gravel, thorns, and an icy wind.
“Is this where we’re going to live, Mom?” asked Dieguito, searching for a house that wasn’t there.
Carmen looked up and saw dark clouds gathering like threats. She felt fear, yes… but also something more: a mother’s rage that ignited in her chest.

—Rodolfo thinks we’re going to die here —he murmured—. He’s wrong.

They built a shelter with an old tarp and branches. Two large stones served as walls. It was fragile. Dinner was cold rice with water. Dieguito ate in silence and then asked:

—Mom… if Dad were here, he would have built a real house, right?

Carmen didn’t respond with words. She hugged him.

Then the sky roared. A flash of lightning split the night, and thunder shook the mountain. The rain poured down furiously, the wind whipped the tarp, and the water rushed down, carrying mud and stones. In minutes they were soaked. A sudden jolt lifted the tarp, and everything flew away.

They were left exposed to the elements. Carmen shielded her son with her body, taking each blow in her back.
“My God…” she cried, “why?”

When dawn broke, it brought no glory. It brought destruction. The land was torn apart in deep trenches. Nothing remained. Dieguito was pale.

—Mom… I can’t feel my feet.

Carmen fell to her knees in the mud.
—Forgive me…

Then he heard footsteps. An old man appeared, hunched over, wearing a gray poncho, carrying a gnarled cane: Don Anselmo, the “madman” of the mountain.

“Cover the child,” he said. “The morning cold kills faster.”

He looked at the storm-washed ground, and his eyes changed.

“Rain doesn’t steal,” he said. “Rain reveals.”

He gave him food. While Dieguito ate, the mountain revealed its secret. The boy collected white stones that shone.

—Mom! Ice stones!

Anselmo stood up suddenly.

—Don’t throw them away…

“They’re glass,” Carmen said.

“No,” Anselmo whispered. “It’s a diamond in the rough.”

She tried it. The granite was marked. Carmen felt like the world stopped.

—The black rock is kimberlite —he explained—. Mother of diamonds.

Fear arrived alongside hope. They sold only one stone. Food, blankets, boots. But greed awoke. The jeweler called Rodolfo.

The trucks drove up, kicking up dust.

—You robbed me! —Rodolfo shouted—My mine!

—You gave me this land —Carmen replied—. I have the deed.

Threats. A shot fired into the ground.

—Ten minutes.

Then Anselmo spoke:

—The law also climbs mountains.

Sirens. State patrol cars. Rodolfo in handcuffs. Diamonds on his handkerchief. Anselmo showed his ID.

—Before I was “crazy”, I was a judge.

The clause condemned him. Rodolfo left small, defeated.

A year later, Quebrapiés was renamed La Esperanza de Pedro . Carmen didn’t build walls. She built a future. And she kept a single stone, the first one, as a memento of the night the sky fell… to show that sometimes the stars sleep beneath the earth.

Because Rodolfo thought he was burying her in the trash.

And I didn’t know that Carmen was a seed.

🍀 You made it to the end… what emotion captivated you the most? Did you laugh, cry, sigh… tell me in the comments. 🍀 💚🤍❤️