CHAPTER 1
"What happened to Mom, Dad?"
Bruno couldn't get this question out of his head.
The day was gloomy and restless. Outside, thunder rumbled like war drums, and streaks of lightning sliced across the sky as if heaven itself was attempting to break the night. Rain fell in sheets against the Sanchez estate windows, racing each other down in irregular streams.
Inside, the house felt both too big and too silent.
Bruno Sanchez sat curled in the corner of the living room sofa, knees bent as if to pray. Sundays were often pondering days for him. They were days when the silence sounded louder and the questions he had buried during the week surfaced, seeking answers.
Those questions continually came back to her.
His mom.
Maria Manolo. Later referred to as Mrs. Sanchez.
"Why doesn't he ever tell me more about her? "What is he hiding?" Bruno murmured beneath his breath, drowned out by the storm's hum.
His gaze shifted almost reflexively to the guitar hung on the living room wall. Its glossy surface mirrored the flickering light from the storm outside. The name Gloria was etched around the handle's frame in beautiful calligraphic lettering.
The name appeared to breathe as the lightning struck.
Bruno's fingers twitched at the ghostly remembrance of a melody. He could barely recall his mother's face, but he never forgot the faint lullaby-like hum she used to sing to him before bedtime. A sound as delicate as candlelight, frail as glass. That recollection was all he had left. There were no images or souvenirs, only the tune repeating in his thoughts like incomplete chords.
But his father never mentioned her. Not even when Bruno begged. Particularly not then.
The storm outside got louder. And then -
A knock at the door.
Bruno jumped, shocked. He ran across the room and swiftly unlocked the door.
"Hey, little one," his father said in his familiar way. Mr. Sanchez came inside, shaking rainwater off his coat before hanging it neatly beside the door. His eyes, which had always been warm and laced with quiet strength, softened as he saw his son.
"It appears that the rain will not stop anytime soon," Mr. Sanchez said, taking off his gloves.
Bruno tried to seem nonchalant, but his heart was still beating. "Yes…I believe so," he said.
Mr. Sanchez slapped his hands softly, his excitement almost childlike despite the rain. "Well, this seems like the ideal weather for a movie and some hot chocolate. "What do you think?"
Bruno waited a moment before nodding. Saying "yes."
Minutes later, the living room smelled slightly of chocolate, with thick, fragrant steam curling over their mugs. Father and son sat side by side on the couch, the flicker of the television spreading warm light on their faces as they watched a family sitcom.
Bruno took brief glances at his father between sips.
He loved him. Truly. Despite the silences and mysteries, Bruno was certain his father was good. Patient. Gentle. A man who never raised his voice and always made him feel secure. However, there was a wall. That silence regarding the past. There was quiet between them, like the storm outside. It was loud, unending, and unstoppable.
Bruno laughed at one of the sitcom's jokes, and so did his father. For a short time, the storm outside didn't matter. The secrets did not matter. It was just them together.
But when the mugs were empty and the laughter subsided, Bruno's gaze returned to the rain-blurred windows.
The inquiries were unrelenting.
Why has he never mentioned his mother? Why did his father continually look away when her name was mentioned? Was Gloria, the guitar, somehow related to her? Or was it related to something darker, something Bruno wasn't supposed to discover?
He didn't ask.
He never did.
Instead, he forced a grin when his father stroked his shoulder, concealing the tempest seething within him.
But later, when the house fell silent and the night deepened, Bruno lay awake listening to the patter of rain. The questions stuck with him, tormenting him like unfinished chords waiting to be played.
By the morning, the storm had passed. The estate appeared immaculate under the dim sun, with droplets glistening on every leaf.
Bruno's thoughts remained cloudy.
On Monday afternoon, alone in the house, he felt the itch of curiosity more intensely than before. His father had left early for an urgent meeting at Digital Studios in New York, the media company where he worked as CEO. Bruno became restless as the house fell silent.
His feet propelled him almost mindlessly up the wooden attic stairs, each creak seeming like a warning. Dust filled the air, tickling his throat as he sifted among the stacked crates. He brushed his fingertips across the worn labels until he noticed one box in the farthest corner.
"Maria M." Was written on it.
His breath caught.
His hands trembled as he dragged the box into the light. Inside were nicely folded clothes, a worn scarf with the faintest scent of perfume, and photos of a smiling young woman with warm brown eyes.
Bruno's throat clenched. He reached deeper, revealing a bundle of letters tied with an old ribbon. His chest pounded as he untied it and read the first letter.
It was her handwriting.
"If you're reading this, it implies the truth is closer than I thought. "Be cautious about who you trust..."
Bruno's eyes flew across the words, eager for more, but a sound on the attic stairs stopped him.
"Bruno!" his father called out from below.
Panic rose. He pushed the letters back into the box, attempting to control his breathing.
"Just looking for an old photo album!" he replied.
"All right," his father said after a pause. "Don't get caught up in the dust. Dinner in 15 minutes."
Bruno exhaled gently and clutched the box. He brought it into his room, his heart still racing.
His mother wanted him to find this. He was certain of it.
But who was not to be trusted? , He questioned.
That night, as the house fell silent, Bruno understood he had discovered the first piece of a puzzle that may alter all he thought he knew about his family.
His phone buzzed, jolting him out of his thoughts. He looked at the screen.
"Catherina".
Her name alone made him happy.
"Bruno, hey!" Her voice chimed when he responded. "Want to meet at the park?" , She said.
An hour later, he discovered her sitting on a wooden bench, a guitar in her lap. The sunlight reflected in her dark hair, making it sparkle. She strummed a gentle melody, her head tilted in concentration.
"Hey, Bruno!" she said, her eyes lighting up as she saw him.
"Hey," he replied, lowering himself to the bench near her. "New song?", He Continued.
"Sort of," she replied with a shrug. "Like me, it's still figuring itself out."
He chuckled.
"You've probably figured yourself out better than most people."
She gave him a playful glance. "You think so?", She asked.
The following hour was filled with laughing, anecdotes, and strummed notes. Bruno felt lighter around her. For the first time in days, he wasn't concerned about dusty boxes, unresolved questions, or his mother's warnings.
However, when he observed her, he saw significant changes. She was no longer the quiet girl she once was; she had transformed into someone magnetic, confident, and unafraid to take up space.
As they strolled approaching the ice cream vendor, he almost told her. About the attic. The letters. The warning.
The words died in his throat. Not yet. Not until he understood.
Instead, he listened to her anecdotes about stray kittens and painting endeavors, amused by her brother's bottle-cap fascination.
The air smelled like toasted peanuts, the grass was wet from rain, and the sky was painted gold by the setting sun.
Bruno recognized Catherina was more than just his best friend. She was his anchor. The one person he could rely on when the truth was eventually revealed.
For the time being, he allowed himself to enjoy the simple pleasure of the moment—two buddies, two guitars, and a secret that remained hidden in the shadows.