Chapter 22
The years kept rolling by.
Good years.
Great years.
Elena and James’s firm took off.
Just like mine had.
They were good.
Really good.
Better than I’d been at their age.
They had each other.
A true partnership.
Equals in every way.
Something I’d never had with Michael.
Something I’d only found with Ethan.
They had twins two years after the wedding.
A boy and a girl.
Liam and Sophia.
My first grandchildren.
I cried when I held them.
Just like my mom had cried when she’d held Elena.
There’s something about holding your child’s child.
It’s like seeing your whole life come full circle.
Ethan was the best grandfather.
The doting kind.
Spoiled them rotten.
Took them to the zoo.
To the park.
To every movie that came out.
Taught Liam to throw a baseball.
Taught Sophia to paint.
He was in his element.
Diego’s son, Gustavo, was ten now.
A handful.
Smart as a whip.
Trouble with a capital T.
Just like his uncle Carlos had been.
Abuela passed away at ninety-eight.
Peacefully.
In her sleep.
Surrounded by her family.
We were all heartbroken.
But we also celebrated.
Ninety-eight years of life.
Of love.
Of family.
She’d seen five generations of Salazars.
She’d buried her husband.
Raised her children.
Helped raise her grandchildren and great-grandchildren.
She’d left her mark on every single one of us.
Her strength.
Her fire.
Her unshakable belief that family came first.
That love conquered all.
That Salazars never quit.
We buried her next to my grandfather.
On a beautiful spring day.
The whole family was there.
We ate her favorite empanadas after the funeral.
Told stories about her.
Laughed until we cried.
Cried until we laughed.
That’s what Salazars did.
We mourned.
We grieved.
And then we celebrated.
Because that’s what she would have wanted.
Dad’s health started to decline after that.
He was eighty-two.
His heart was weak.
He spent more and more time in the hospital.
I visited every day.
Sat with him.
Held his hand.
Talked about old times.
About the trials.
About Michael.
About the day he’d told me to lock my cards outside the courthouse.
“You saved my life that day, Dad,” I told him once. “If you hadn’t made me change those passwords… I would have lost everything. The company. The house. All of it.”
He squeezed my hand weakly.
“I didn’t save you, mija. You saved yourself. I just gave you a little push. You were always the strong one. Even when you didn’t know it.”
He passed away on a Tuesday morning.
Quietly.
With Mom holding one hand.
Me holding the other.
Ethan and Elena were there too.
And Diego.
He’d come to make his peace with Dad at the end.
Dad had forgiven him.
Finally.
The last thing he said to me was, “Be happy, mija. You’ve earned it.”
Then he was gone.
The funeral was huge.
Hundreds of people.
FBI agents he’d worked with.
Criminals he’d put away who’d come to respect him.
Family.
Friends.
The mayor of Chicago even came.
Dad had been a legend in his own quiet way.
A man who’d spent his whole life fighting for justice.
For truth.
For what was right.
And he’d passed all of that on to me.
Mom was strong through it all.
She had to be.
That’s what Salazar women did.
But I saw her at night.
Sitting in the dark.
Holding Dad’s old shirt.
Crying softly.
Fifty-six years of marriage.
A lifetime of love.
And now she was alone.
I moved her in with us.
Ethan and I fixed up the guest wing of the house for her.
She never complained.
Never said she was a burden.
But I knew.
I knew her heart was broken.
And there was nothing I could do to fix it.
Except love her.
Be there for her.
Let her know she wasn’t alone.
That was the thing about family.
You showed up.
For the good times.
May you like
And the bad.
Especially the bad.
