And it didn’t last.

One night in December the sky was clear.

But at dawn the snow covered the valley like a white sea.

For days it continued to fall without stopping.

The mountains disappeared behind the storm
and we were trapped inside the house.

Samuel went out on the first day to gather firewood.

When the cold returned, it had already seeped into his bones.

As the days went by, everything became more difficult.

First we burned the chairs.
Then the table where we celebrated our anniversary.
After that, the shelf where I kept my books.

Each object that disappeared in the fire was a memory we left behind to keep warm.

Food began to run out.

We rationed every spoonful.

I pretended not to be hungry so the children could eat a little more.

Tomás was trying to cheer up his little brother.

She would sit next to him and tell him stories of the summer, the river, and the frogs they had caught together.

Despite his young age, he tried to be brave.

Samuel took my hand one night.

Her voice was barely a whisper when she asked me to take care of our children no matter what.

Those words were etched in my heart.

The following days were quiet.

One by one, my little ones stopped fighting against the cold and tiredness.

There were no screams or despair.

Only a deep silence filled the house.

When the snow finally melted enough to open the door, the world seemed like a different place.

I dug three graves under the old oak tree that Samuel loved.

My hands were bleeding and my back was burning, but I didn’t stop.

I wrapped them in the quilt I had sewn for our wedding
and left them to rest together.

I took an oath in front of those graves.

I would never again allow winter to take away someone who depended on me.

Four years later he was still keeping that promise.

One morning a boy from the village named Daniel arrived at my house.

I had heard that I had food.

I put him to work cutting firewood.

At first he seemed clumsy,
but he soon showed a determination that reminded me of Samuel.

During dinner, he looked at the shelves full of jars and sacks of food.

After a long silence, he said that there were children in the village who had not eaten that day.

I looked out the window at the snow-covered valley
and remembered my children’s faces.

Then I replied with a single sentence:

that he bring them.

That afternoon, three children arrived.

More arrived the next day.

Among them was a girl named Liliana Rojas, with large, silent eyes.
She carried a rosary, an old photograph, and a small doll made from scraps of fabric.

As the weeks went by, the house changed completely.

The place that was once filled with memories and silence began to fill with running footsteps, arguing voices, and unexpected laughter.

Daniel became my right-hand man.

He chopped wood, repaired fences, and taught the little ones how to work.

Liliana quickly learned to cook with me
and soon knew exactly how much rice or beans to prepare to feed everyone.

By November, there were already fourteen children living in the house.

They slept on thick blankets near the stove.

The place was packed.

But it was also warm and safe.

Winter has returned.

And with it, hunger began to spread through the valley.

At first, families shared what little they had.

But as December progressed, concern began to show on everyone’s faces.

It was then that Daniel heard rumors about the Canales brothers, men known for their violence who were now openly talking about the food I kept in my house.

One afternoon Daniel returned from the village with a serious face and told me that some men thought a widow didn’t need so many provisions.

I watched the snow fall slowly behind the window
and I knew what it meant.

We worked in silence the following days.

We reinforce doors.
We reinforce windows.

The older children helped carry wood.
The younger ones gathered branches.

Nobody complained.

Everyone knew something was coming.

One afternoon Daniel went into the forest with Carlitos, the youngest of them all, to look for firewood.

Minutes later…

I heard a distant gunshot.

When Daniel returned, he was carrying the child in his arms.

Carlitos was very weak.
And he was shivering from the cold.

We laid him down near the fire.
We covered him with blankets.

The other children sat around
without saying a word.

I took her small hand
and tried to give her all the warmth I could.

That night…

The little boy rested in peace.

The silence during the burial
was louder than any words.

But something changed inside us.

Fear
gave way to something else.

To a silent decision.

No one else would suffer the same.

Days later a man from the village came running.

He brought news.

The Canales brothers were coming.
And they weren’t coming alone.

That night the wind roared through the trees.

The snow was hitting the windows.

Then we saw them.

The men arrived with torches
and began shouting in front of the door.

The fire began to climb the wooden walls.

The flames grew.

The smoke filled the air.