We walked through the pine forests of the Sierra de Guadarrama.

The air was clean and cold there.

My daughter found a pinecone and held it out to me.

“Can we keep this?” she asked.

“Of course,” I said, putting it in my pocket.

I looked at the mountains in the distance.

The peaks were covered in the first snow of the season.

The world was changing, but we were steady.

My cell phone buzzed in my pocket.

It was Sofia.

“We have a new client, Inés,” she said.

“A corporate dispute.”

“They need someone who knows the inner workings of the financial sector.”

“I will be there in an hour,” I said.

I hung up and looked at my children.

They were running ahead of me on the path, their laughter echoing through the trees.

I knew the road ahead would not be simple.

The Montero name would always carry a stain in certain circles.

But my children would not bear that name for much longer.

The court had approved the petition to change their surnames to Valcárcel.

They would grow up with my family’s name.