Chapter 3 – The Fall in Front of Everyone

The main hall of the Comprehensive Vision Clinic was bathed in soft lighting, white orchid arrangements, and a large banner in gold lettering that read:

“Night of Light: Charity Gala for Childhood Blindness.”

Round tables dressed in ivory linens and crystal centerpieces filled the room, surrounded by business leaders, doctors, investors, and public figures. Sofía moved among them with quiet elegance. Her gown was long, midnight blue, flowing gently over her body without excess. The neckline was modest, but her back was exposed, framed by a velvet bow that held her hair in place.

“Dr. Rojas, impeccable as always,” a senator said, offering her a glass of champagne. “This gala has exceeded all expectations.”

“Thank you. It’s a cause worth every effort,” Sofía replied with a polite smile, declining the drink.

That morning, she had felt ill again—unable even to finish her coffee—but she blamed it on lack of sleep. When dawn had arrived, Adrián was gone, and she knew exactly where he had spent the night.

Sofía was in her own world: professional, composed, focused. She had spent weeks organizing the event. It was her refuge—her way of holding on to what was still hers.

Nothing was going to take that away from her.

Or so she believed.

A growing murmur rippled through the room, breaking the harmony of the string music. Sofía turned.

And then they entered.

Adrián Castell, flawless in a black tuxedo, white shirt open slightly at the collar, a silver watch gleaming on his wrist. On his arm was Valeria—wrapped in an ivory chiffon dress, a light gray mink coat resting on her shoulders. Her makeup was delicate, almost ethereal. Her hair fell in soft waves. Her steps were unsteady, but carefully controlled.

Valeria lifted her face, offering a fragile smile to a journalist.

“Good evening… everything is so beautiful,” she murmured, her voice languid.

Adrián leaned in and whispered something in her ear. She laughed softly.

Sofía froze.

Even here—at the most important moment of the project—Adrián had denied her her place.

From the stage, from her role as hostess, she watched them cross the room as if she were just another guest. He never looked at her. Not once.

The press officer approached Adrián. He posed for photos with Valeria, brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, whispered something again. They looked like the perfect couple—elegant, united, resilient in the face of adversity.

The story was already written.

And Sofía—his legal wife, his silent ally—stood invisible to his eyes.

When the medical director invited her to open the ceremony, Sofía walked to the podium with her back straight. Not a muscle trembled. She did not falter.

“Thank you all for being here tonight,” she began. “For us, vision is not only a sense—it is a promise for the future. This gala has a single purpose: to give that promise back to those who were born without it. This project is our dream.”

Applause filled the room.

Only then did Adrián look at her.

His gaze was brief. Distant.

It pierced her like a pin through the heart.

The program continued smoothly until the moment of the main toast, when Adrián Castell was called to speak as the principal sponsor.

Sofía handed him the microphone.

He took it without looking at her.

“The Castell Group is honored to support research that changes lives,” he said. “Today more than ever, we believe in medicine as a bridge between darkness and light—”

Suddenly, Valeria raised a hand to her throat and began coughing violently. She stumbled backward.

A murmur erupted.

“Adri…” she whispered, barely audible.

And then she collapsed.

The glass slipped from her hand and shattered against the floor. Her fragile body fell toward Adrián, who caught her just in time.

“Valeria! Valeria, open your eyes!” he shouted, panic flooding his voice.

Sofía took a single step forward.

Just one.

But no one saw her.

Everyone rushed toward Valeria.

Adrián lifted her into his arms. Her white dress draped over him like a torn sheet. Her face was pale, her eyes closed. He moved quickly through the crowd.

“Call emergency services! Now! Get my car ready!” he barked.

Valeria barely stirred. A tear slipped down her cheek.

Pain?

Or performance?

No one could tell.

And then they were gone.

He, carrying her in his arms.

She, unconscious in the arms of another woman’s husband.

And Sofía…

She remained.

Standing alone in the center of the room.

Under the flashes. Amid the whispers.

Abandoned. Invisible. Once again.

“Is she his wife?” a journalist asked openly.

“Yes…” someone whispered. “Poor thing.”

Sofía heard everything. Every word. Every look that wasn’t spoken. The background music continued, absurdly, as if the world refused to acknowledge the collapse.

She swallowed her pride. Her pain. Her tears.

She adjusted the belt of her dress and turned toward the organizers.

“Resume the program,” she said calmly. “Dr. Klein will deliver the closing remarks.”

Then she walked to the restroom.

She locked the door. Placed her hands on the marble sink. Looked at herself in the mirror.

Long. Deep. Unfiltered.

“Never again,” she said aloud.

Never again would she stay where she wasn’t seen.

Never again would she beg for what she deserved.

And for the first time…

She smiled.

It wasn’t relief.

It was something new.

A fracture through which determination entered.

Sofía Rojas was done enduring broken scenes.

She reached into her clutch and pulled out her phone. She typed without hesitation.

“Book the first flight to Boston early tomorrow morning. Reason: International Ophthalmological Institute Conference. No return ticket needed.”

Sent.

No drafts. No doubts.

She inhaled deeply.

Adjusted the bow at her back. Smoothed the skirt of her dress. Turned on her heel.

When she opened the bathroom door, the sound was sharp. A journalist was still on the phone down the hall. Organizers scrambled to salvage the evening. The lights no longer shone as brightly.

But Sofía walked straight through the room as if none of it could touch her.

The flashes didn’t intimidate her.

“She’s not Adrián Castell’s wife,” someone whispered.

“So the other woman must be his mistress.”

“They must be having marital problems. Why else would he show up with his mistress to an event organized by his wife?”

“They looked like the perfect couple.”

The murmurs dissolved behind her footsteps.

And without saying a word…

She left.

No explanations. No permission. No farewell.

She walked out the front door with her head held high, her heart shattered, and her decision stitched into her soul.

From the corner of the room, Isabel Castell watched her go.

She had seen everything—the fainting, the chaos, the performance. She had felt her daughter-in-law’s silence like a wound.

She said nothing.

But that night, as she watched Sofía walk away alone, she knew:

If anyone deserved to carry the name Castell in that family, it wasn’t Valeria.

It was Sofía Rojas.

Her daughter of the heart.