It was April 4th in the year 4785.
Twenty-five years had passed since Fausto’s life had changed forever. For the first time in a long time, he was returning to East Buenos Aires. He was a full-grown man now; he wore a beard, dressed differently, and carried a heavier gait, as if the years had piled up on his shoulders. He had chosen discreet clothing to avoid drawing attention.
When the train came to a halt, he stepped down in silence. He looked around with the caution of someone returning to a frozen memory... only to find it unrecognizable. The station had changed: the colors, the signs, even the murmur of the people was different. But there, almost hidden amidst the renovations, stood the guard booth where he had once hidden, terrified.
He walked a few steps and reached the area he feared visiting the most. There, where he had found the decapitated body of that woman, stood a new, impeccable ceramic wall bearing a bronze plaque that read: “In memory of the fallen in the Great Stampede of 4760.”
The world had moved on. He hadn’t.
He kept walking as memories, thick as fog, tightened his chest. He remembered the bench where a family had waited for their train, and how, right there, an infected one had thrown itself upon him. He remembered his trembling hands, and the brutal necessity with which he had killed it.
Further ahead, where once there had only been a dense forest, there now stretched a plaza and a quiet street. The contrast between what was and what is felt almost obscene to him.
Finally, he arrived at his old house. There it stood, just as it was the last time he had seen it. Only a "For Sale" sign and the wear of time broke the illusion that the past remained intact.
As he approached, he noticed the door was ajar. He pushed it open carefully and entered. The hallway smelled of stale air and old dust. He touched the wall and remembered with sharp clarity the day he had arrived covered in blood, and a strange girl had pointed a gun at him in this very spot.
He crossed into the dining room. He ran his hand along the wall, brushing away a layer of dirt to reveal the old growth marks his parents had made. The last one read: “J.G., eight years old.”
Fausto smiled sadly; he never got to add his name when he turned nine.
A noise in the living room snapped him out of his thoughts. Footsteps. Fausto looked up and headed toward them.
And then he saw her.
Karen Samanta Freeman, standing in front of the old concrete sofa where they had both slept that first night. The only piece of furniture remaining. The only one that seemed to refuse to disappear.
"President Freeman, what a surprise," Fausto said in an exaggerated, almost mocking tone.
Karen let out a small chuckle and turned to face him.
"Mr. Ex-President Gabriel... an unexpected honor."
Fausto laughed.
"What is the great President doing in this humble abode?"
Karen cast a slow glance around her, as if examining a temple filled with ghosts.
"I guessed I would find you here. And I wasn't wrong."
"Did you wait long?"
"Hours," she replied without drama, as if it were no big deal.
"I'm sorry... if I had known you were coming, I wouldn't have made you wait so long."
"Don't apologize," she said, shrugging. "I wanted to know where you went every year, at this same time, for five years."
Fausto nodded, though he avoided her gaze.
"And how is Isabel?"
"With her grandparents. She’s still a quiet girl."
"And how did you get in here?"
"Abuse of power, obviously," she replied with a laugh. "I introduced myself to the landowner and asked for the key."
"I imagine. They almost killed me with paperwork when I wanted to ask for a copy."
"You're a fool, darling," Karen said softly.
Fausto let himself fall onto the sofa.
"It’s harder than I remembered."
Karen smiled and sat on his lap.
"You know there’s space, right?"
"I don't intend to sit anywhere else," he said, then gave her a short kiss. "This spot is better."
"Is that an order?"
"Yes. An order from your President."
"Corrupt."
"Guilty," she replied before giving him another kiss.
They fell silent. Only the whisper of the wind filtered through the cracks of the house. Both looked around, as if trying to recognize a life that no longer belonged to them.
"Tell me," Karen said, almost in a whisper, "did you ever think we would get out of that situation?"
"I always trusted," he replied without hesitation. "I didn't know when or how, but I knew we were going to get out of that hell. Both of us."
"I... didn't," she admitted, lowering her gaze.
"I guessed as much."
"Are you not angry?" she asked with a trembling voice.
"Why would I be? It was normal to be afraid. There is nothing to be ashamed of."
Karen pressed her lips together, and a tremor ran through her hands.
"When I went out to look for food, I also looked for a way to call for help. But I always failed. And when the food started to run out... I feared the worst. And I thought something horrible."
Fausto looked at her closely.
"What is it?"
Tears welled up before she could hold them back.
"The first time I went out... I thought: 'What if I leave the boy alone?' 'What if I follow the tracks and find food somewhere else?' 'What if I simply run away... and don't come back?'"
Karen broke down crying. In her head, she braced herself for Fausto to insult her, push her away, or despise her. She prepared herself to lose him.
But instead, he hugged her tightly.
"There... it's okay. It’s alright," he murmured.
"I'm a horrible person."
"You are not."
"How can I not be? I wanted to abandon you. I wanted to leave you to die alone just to save myself."
"We didn't know each other," Fausto replied with a soft voice. "It’s understandable."
"Why do you have to be like this?" she sobbed. "Why don't you get angry?"
Fausto held her face between his hands.
"Get angry at the girl who saved my life? At the woman who was with me every second? Who gave me her best years... and a beautiful daughter? Should I be angry with that woman?"
Karen didn't answer. She just cried, and Fausto held her.
"I'm sorry," she repeated through tears. "I'm so sorry."
"Karen," he said, resting his forehead against hers. "Was this what was eating you up inside?"
She nodded barely, trembling.
Fausto hugged her tighter.
"Then I forgive you. I forgive you for what you thought, even if you feel it’s unforgivable. Because in the end, you came back. You could have left me, yes... but you came back. And thanks to that, I am alive. A naive and scared boy who could have died of hunger or been devoured... and it didn't happen because you decided to stay."
Karen cried soundlessly, clinging to him.
Fausto didn't let go. He held her until the weeping was exhausted and the weight of the years seemed to loosen in his arms.
"Are you better?" he asked quietly.
Karen nodded with a shaky smile.
"You always say you were lucky to have me. That, among so many nonexistent men I could have chosen, I ended up with you... but the truth is, I am the lucky one. Even though you also could have chosen any other woman."
"I couldn't imagine life without you," Fausto replied, caressing her cheek. "I am the lucky one."
This time it was he who kissed her. It was a long, slow, grateful kiss. They stayed like that for a good while, until Fausto broke it abruptly and wrinkled his nose in a mocking gesture.
"It tastes like snot," he said.
Karen let out a loud laugh and hit him gently on the chest.
"You're horrible."
"But funny," he replied, raising his eyebrows.
Both laughed, but little by little, Karen became serious again.
"There is a place I want to show you."
"Alright," Fausto said without hesitation.
Karen stood up and extended her hand. He took it carefully, as if they were still those two scared souls seeking refuge in one another. They left the house: before, they had fled like children; now they walked away as adults, without haste, without fear. The last time they left this place, Fausto was carrying Karen in his arms. This time, it was she who guided him, pulling gently on his hand.
Outside, Karen locked the door, and they walked side by side, holding hands. Some people recognized them as they passed: the President and the Ex-President, walking like any other couple. Others just looked at them with curiosity and continued on their way. The glances crossed without interrupting the peace of the moment.
The sidewalks were covered in political pamphlets, entire walls painted with campaign slogans. It was election season, and this time there were ten candidates, although only four would reach the final stretch. Busy people followed their daily routines while others pasted up posters or handed out flyers. Victorino's face was omnipresent, as was that of his main rival, Aníbal Harrington, accompanied by his slogan: “Together we are the wall.”
After a long stretch of silent walking, they reached an empty lot divided by a rusted wire fence.
"It's here," Karen said.
Fausto looked around, not understanding. He was about to ask, but she went ahead.
"My house was here," she explained. "It was made of wood. Surely the rain and the heat destroyed it. And there"—she pointed to a spot on the ground that looked empty to Fausto's eyes—"was the last time I saw my dad, the last time I saw him alive."
Fausto remained silent. Karen continued, her voice softly breaking.
"Those creatures scourged my house. They broke the windows, knocked down the door. I used the kitchen table to block them and went out the back door. One of my friends..."—she swallowed hard—"grabbed my heel. To this day I can feel his cold hands. He was your age. He was missing a piece of his neck. He tried to bite me. I kicked him and, with rage... with pain... I stomped on his head. I don't know if it was enough. I hope so."
She took a deep breath, staring at the empty field as if she could still see shadows moving there.
"I ran," she continued. "Back there"—she pointed toward where a bakery stood today—"there was a small supermarket, but with strong walls. I went there and..."—her eyes clouded over—"I saw my friends devouring the shop owner. I took the gun and tried to escape, but fear betrayed me. I made noise. They saw me. They approached. I had to..."—she clenched her fists—"end them. Put them out of their misery."
Fausto did not interrupt her. He just listened, his chest tight.
"I didn't have time to cry," she went on. "I ran to my dad's workplace, hoping to find him. But I only found remains of him. I stayed there, waiting for the worst to happen to me. I was tired, scared, not knowing what to do. But something inside me... something primitive... the survival instinct... wouldn't let me die."
Karen smiled faintly, sad and proud at the same time.
"I kept running, looking for shelter. And then I found your house. And the rest... is history."
The wind blew over the empty lot, moving the dry grass. Fausto held Karen's hand tightly, as if in that simple gesture he could embrace the child she had been, the survivor standing before him, and the woman he loved.
And in that empty place, where a vanished house still cast its shadow, the two stood in silence, honoring what was... and what survived.
"Your father?" Fausto asked gently.
Karen kept her gaze lost in the terrain, as if she could see, superimposed, the walls that were no longer there.
"I don't know," she replied, her voice cracking. "In the records, he is listed as missing. They never found his remains... but I saw them." A tear slid down her cheek. "There was nothing left that could be recovered. Only his clothes were officially buried. The rest..."—she swallowed—"the rest I kept here. When this zone went up for sale, I bought it and buried his belongings. Every now and then, I send someone to look after it."
Fausto looked at her for a moment, recognizing the immense weight of that silent act.
"Is he here?" he asked with a thread of a voice.
Karen nodded.
"What was left of him... yes."
"What was your father's name?"
She wiped her tears with a trembling hand.
"Sam Freeman," she whispered. "That was his name. A good man. He always said I had Mom's eyes."
A slight tremor ran through Karen's body when she said it, as if pronouncing that name was opening a wound that had never fully closed.
"I see..." Fausto murmured.
Then Fausto took a step forward. Then another. And another. He stopped right in front of where Karen had pointed, in the invisible heart of the lost house. She watched him, not understanding. He stood still, allowing the fresh air to caress his hair and skin, as if asking permission to enter that world which was not his.
And then, without saying another word, he sat down. On the ground. With respect. With solemnity.
"What are you doing?" asked Karen, confused and unsettled.
Fausto looked up at her, and his expression was so serious, so delicately honest, that Karen felt something tremble in her chest.
"Meeting my father-in-law," he said.
"Don't speak nonsense... let's go," whispered Karen, her voice already charged with rising emotion.
But Fausto didn't move. He didn't get up. He remained seated in front of the earth that held the last memory of the man who had raised the woman he loved.
And he spoke.
"Mr. Freeman," he said solemnly, without theatricality, only truth. "It’s a pleasure. I regret not being able to meet you in a more... common way."
"Fausto..." Karen murmured, no longer having the strength to stop him, her voice reduced to a tremor.
The wind calmed for a few seconds, as if it wanted to listen too.
"I just want to tell you," Fausto continued, "thank you. Thank you for raising an extraordinary woman. She saved my life, Mr. Freeman. Your daughter is..."—he said it with a conviction so deep that even the air seemed to nod—"the most precious human being I have ever known. And with her, I want to spend my days."
Karen brought both hands to her mouth, stifling a sob that was born from a place so, so deep that she didn't even know it existed. Something inside her broke and rebuilt itself at the same time. It was an ancient pain, mixed with relief, with love, with the pure certainty that Fausto had just done something for her that she hadn't even known she needed.
He introduced himself to him... He introduced her father.
He introduced his love.
And he did it with a humility and tenderness that disrupted all the defenses Karen had built over decades. The regret and pain were still there. But they went back to sleep just by being by his side.
She knelt beside him without thinking. And there, in front of her father's symbolic grave, she rested her forehead against Fausto's shoulder, letting the tears flow without shame. Fausto, without moving from his spot, hugged her from behind, like one embraces someone returning from very far away.
"Be proud, Mr. Freeman," said Fausto, his voice low but firm, as if he were truly speaking to someone who could hear him. "Your daughter is the President of the Seven Republics. A worthy leader, respected and loved by her people. A magnificent woman... a wonderful wife... and an incredible mother. You can rest easy."
Karen smiled.
"Because I am going to take care of her," Fausto continued. "I cannot promise you that I will never make her suffer. That would be a lie. I have already made her cry in the past, I have made her angry... and I have also made her laugh. We make mistakes, we commit errors. We are not perfect, nor do we pretend to be."
The wind blew softly over the open field, lifting a whisper that seemed to accompany his words.
"But both of us," said Fausto, bowing his head slightly toward the earth, "strive so that our love does not go out. So that it does not disappear, even when life seems to want to tear it out by the roots. And I swear to you... I swear that for my part, I will never stop loving her. Never."
He took a deep breath, as if sealing a pact.
"Because after all these years, my love never waned. With her, until the end."
And Karen understood something with absolute clarity:
No one, ever, had honored her like this... No one had loved her like this.
And perhaps no one else could.
Because that gesture, simple and sacred, was engraved forever in the deepest part of her soul.
That afternoon they stayed together until the sun slowly began to hide. Finally, Karen spoke.
"Thank you, for everything."
"Me too," Fausto replied.
Then they both left the place, holding hands. This time, people did recognize them. News of Karen's speeches had appeared in the papers and, now, the people's memory was fresh. They recognized her in the city. Several people approached; the police, seeing the Head of State without protection, had to intervene. In a matter of hours, hundreds of people surrounded the couple.
Karen didn't pay attention to them; she focused on her husband, who was trying to calm some people down so they could withdraw quickly. Then they reached the train station, where they were notified by the authorities that they would seal off the next train so the President could board in peace without being harassed by the crowd.
They waited for the train to arrive while the guards tried to contain the mob. Fausto maintained a smile as he greeted everyone, answering occasional questions; some spicy ones related to politics, others completely mundane, but he answered them all the same.
It was when the train began to approach that Fausto stopped speaking. He just looked at Karen and kissed her. A journalist took the photograph at that exact instant.
One of the train doors opened and they both boarded. The train was empty, reserved only for them. Some guards distributed themselves throughout the cars to protect them, but left them alone.
Fausto sat in one of the many seats, and Karen sat beside him.
"Truly, this was madness," she said.
"I suppose... tomorrow will be a headache," Fausto answered.
Karen leaned back against his chest and closed her eyes.
"Thank you for today."
Fausto didn't answer; he just caressed her head.
The next day, the headlines went public. The newspaper El Planeta sold all its copies in record time: the photo of the kiss occupied the front page.
The headline read: "Surprise Visit by the Presidential Couple."
Suddenly, half the world paused their political discussions to talk about the topic of the moment: Ex-President Fausto and President Karen.
For several weeks, it was the main conversation at every table, something that would mark that era.
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and then Add to home screen.