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Your father was a soldier—more specifically, the leader of Los Vaqueros—but he did everything he could to protect and care for you. He was strict with his men and often short-tempered when things didn’t go his way, but with you, he was incredibly gentle. You were his miracle, and he adored you.
But Alejandro was an unlucky man. His wife had left him... and you.
Who could endure being married to a soldier anyway? Of course, he was never meant to be happy.
One night, after a long mission, he picked you up from the sitter he trusted most and brought you home. You were so happy to see him again, but too exhausted to show it.
At the entrance, Alejandro set you down and removed his boots. He noticed your fatigue and felt a twinge of concern—but brushed it off.
“Tranquilo, Alejandro. Tu hija es buena.”
He left you with Tom & Jerry playing on the TV while he headed off to wash off the dust and dirt from his mission. You loved that cartoon, and Alejandro knew he’d do anything to keep you smiling.
“So, what did you do while I was gone, cariño?” he asked from the kitchen as he quickly tried to make some pasta for both of you. He was too tired to cook anything elaborate but also felt too guilty to order takeout this late. A pang of guilt hit him. You should’ve been in bed already. God, what a terrible, irresponsible father.
“It was fine,” you said, watching him drain the pasta. “I had fun at daycare. Aunt Neo is so sweet. She lets me eat chocolate every day—”
“¿En realidad?” Alejandro turned toward you, narrowing his eyes slightly. The disapproval in his expression was subtle but present. He didn’t like that. Your health came first, and he definitely didn’t want your teeth to fall out from sugar. You were going to be as beautiful as your father, mi amor.
“Then I’ll have a little chat with Neo about this whole candy situation,” he said while turning his attention back to the food, emphasizing those last words just enough to quiet your protest.
“Eres muy valiosa para mí, querida mía, y no quiero que te enfermes de inmediato,” he added as he placed the plate in front of you, melted cheese steaming slightly. Maybe he used a bit too much force—some sauce splashed onto the floral tablecloth, and the water glasses rippled.
You looked at him with concern. You weren’t scared of your father—after all, he’d always been there for you when your mother wasn’t. Alejandro noticed the look on your face, and his stomach twisted with guilt.
Maldito Alejandro. Solo es un niño.
“I’m sorry, cariño. Daddy didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, hugging you and kissing your hair before pulling back and giving you a sheepish smile. “Are we okay now, mi pequeño?” he asked, gently tucking your hair behind your ear. “Come on, eat. Let’s see if your father still sucks at cooking.”
You giggled. “Eww, it’s awful! Good thing you’re not a chef, Dad!”
“Bad girl,” Alejandro sighed playfully, flicking your nose as you leaned away laughing.
The smell of pasta and your shared laughter blended into a comforting warmth in the kitchen. You helped clean up afterward—even nearly dropped a glass, which he caught just in time.
“¿Estás bien, mi ángel?” he asked, loading the glass into the dishwasher, noticing how tired you looked. Maybe he shouldn’t have played so much with you. But he missed you so much, he couldn’t help himself.
“Just a little tired.”
“Alright, alright. Time for bed then.”
He carried you upstairs, turning off the lights behind him. As he gave you a goodnight kiss and was about to leave, you held onto his hand.
“You're growing up, mi hija. You’re almost nine. Surely you can sleep without your dad.”
“Maybe if you tell me a story,” you said hopefully. He was famous for his stories. You loved listening to him.
“Ah, vale, vale. ¿Cómo podría rechazar tanta belleza?” he smiled, tousling your hair. “I think ‘The Soldier Who Protected His People’ is waiting for you, hmm?” You nodded eagerly. He smiled, though exhaustion lingered in his eyes.
“But this time… the ending will be different, okay?” he said, pulling you into his lap and leaning against the bedframe with a sigh. His fingers ran through your hair, eyes drifting off. The glow-in-the-dark stars on the wall shimmered faintly. He gave a bittersweet smile.
“On a night darker than black, the brave soldier was once again on a deadly mission with his friends.”
“A deadly mission?” you asked excitedly.
“Don’t interrupt, cariño,” he said softly but firmly.
“They needed to uncover someone’s secret identity—a very bad man’s.”
“What did the bad man do?”
“You’re a very stubborn child.”
“But I’m curious, and you’re too slow!”
“Be patient and listen,” he said, and you pouted, waiting. God, why was waiting so hard?
“They snuck into the bad guy’s hideout, but the soldier had to use his friend as bait. He felt terrible. One mistake could’ve gotten his friend killed. He feared he couldn’t carry that weight.”
As Alejandro’s voice faded, you noticed how sad he looked.
“But the soldier fixed everything, right?” you asked, putting your hand on his. You could feel the calluses on his palm from all the missions.
“You’ll have to listen and find out, cariño,” Alejandro said, pressing a kiss to your tiny hand.
“But they caught the bad guy without hurting anyone! But the soldier still wasn’t happy—”
“WHYY?!” you cried out, gripping the sheets in frustration. “He caught the bad guy! Why isn’t he happy?!”
“Tranquila, pequeña. Lo entenderás todo en un momento.” he said, stroking your shoulder.
“Because the bad guy… used to be the soldier’s partner. Realizing that shattered him. And that’s all. Now go to sleep.”
Alejandro stood, trying to leave, but you protested.
“Another time, mi amor,” he said, tucking your teddy bear blanket around you. “And being curious keeps you sharp.”
You threw a pillow at him, which he gently placed back on the bed.
He shouldn’t have done that. What was he thinking? God, he was a terrible man.
Alejandro picked up the framed photo from your bedside table. It was from a beach vacation, a warm summer evening with his wife. Even after three years, he hadn’t been able to throw it away. He wasn’t someone who let go easily. Amor.
“You’re such a bad man, Alejandro,” he muttered to himself. He knew it better than anyone. He shouldn’t have told you that story—not even disguised like that.
But he couldn’t help it. What if one day you believed in someone like her—and they left you broken, shattered… or worse, dead?
He couldn’t let that happen. He needed you to love him more. That way, if you ever met the cartel, you'd be on his side. That way, he'd be the father who could protect you.
He already knew how the story ended. His insomnia was unbearable, but maybe sleep would help him forget.
You suddenly woke up.
You didn’t know why. Everything felt hot. Your pillow and blanket felt like they were on fire. Maybe it was just a summer night... but no. Your shirt was drenched in sweat, and everything felt dark.
You sat up, trying to wait it out. Maybe it would pass.
You wiped your forehead. You were sweating, yet freezing. Maybe it was that box of ice cream Aunt Neo gave you—you probably shouldn’t have eaten it.
A sudden, dry cough made you flinch. There was a strange pressure in your chest, like breathing took effort. You must’ve caught a cold.
You tried to call him. “Dad…”
But he probably couldn’t hear you.
You slowly got out of bed, walking like a shadow through the dark house. You knew the way by heart.
When you reached his room, another cough came—harder.
You leaned against the doorframe, your hand trembling. The door creaked open.
You climbed up on his bed, watching him sleep. His brow was furrowed, restless. Was he dreaming about the “bad guy” from his story?
You hesitated. What if it wasn’t serious? What if you were overreacting?
Still, you reached out and gently shook him. He groaned, shifting away.
“Que te jodan... Do you not know you're not supposed to wake your commander at midnight, soldier?”
Usually, you’d laugh at that, but you didn’t have the strength.
“Dad…”
That got his attention. He rubbed his eyes and looked at you.
“Bad dream, sweetheart?” he asked groggily.
You didn’t answer. He looked you over, eyes locking on your soaked shirt.
His expression froze.
“My God… ¿Desde cuándo estás así?”
He lifted you into his arms. You weren’t crying, but you looked so, so tired.
“Breathing… it’s hard…”
“Okay, okay, baby… Daddy’s here.”
His fingers trembled slightly as he held you close. His jaw clenched. Maybe it was just a fever. Maybe…
But the voice inside him screamed louder than reason.
Then the doctors said it: tuberculosis.
Alejandro couldn’t believe it. He’d hoped it was a passing fever… maybe a summer allergy…
But TB?
How had you gotten it? From school? From Neo?
What if he had missed the signs? What if it was too late?
He couldn’t bear that.
He began acting differently. You noticed how, even when you played, his eyes looked sad.
You didn’t understand the chest pains or the odd hospital visits with breathing exercises.
There was a sign on your door at the hospital—something you couldn’t read before. But this week, you finally did.
“Dad… what’s ‘tuberculosis’? Why does it say that on our door?”
Alejandro froze.
Then turned slowly.
“Cariño… what are you doing…” he said nervously, lifting you onto his lap.
“Where did you hear that, querida?”
You said it again.
He tried to remain calm.
“That’s… a long and complicated story.”
You smiled. “I like stories. Especially the ones you tell at night. About the soldier who protects everyone. He reminds me of you.”
Alejandro smiled softly, fingers in your hair.
“You always loved that one, huh?”
You nodded.
“He’s a real hero.”
“…Yes. He is.”
Alejandro sighed.
“Cariño… tuberculosis is a disease that affects your lungs. It makes breathing hard—like the coughing fits you’ve been having.”
“We go to that hospital because it’s where people with TB—like us—go to get better.”
He paused, choosing every word carefully.
“Tuberculosis is like a really stubborn cough. But the doctors there will help us heal.”
He looked out the window and blinked a few times, grounding himself.
“Right… where were we…? Ah, yes. Tuberculosis.”
He turned to you again and took a deep breath.