Paula Carballo

The salty breeze greets me every morning when I step onto the terrace. The sea stretches out endlessly, shimmering in the sunlight, and the sound of waves lapping against the shore feels like a distant song from another life. This house in Marbella—its white walls and sprawling garden—still feels unreal to me, even after all these years.

There was a time when I couldn’t imagine anything beyond the grime of Madrid's backstreets, where I scrubbed office floors by night and served greasy sandwiches by day. I was barely twenty three when I fell for a man who disappeared the moment I told him I was pregnant. My mother’s story, repeating itself like some cruel cycle. But unlike her, I had only one child to worry about, and I poured every ounce of my strength into making sure he lacked nothing.

He was always a dreamer, my boy. By the time he could walk, he carried a ball with him everywhere, as if it were an extension of himself. “Mamá, one day I’ll play in a big stadium, and you’ll be there cheering,” he’d say. I didn’t doubt him, but how could I afford his dreams? Somehow, I did. Joining that first club meant skipping meals some weeks, but it was worth it to see his joy.

By the time he turned 12, his talent had outgrown the little neighborhood pitch. A coach saw in him what I always had—something extraordinary. From then on, it was a whirlwind of tournaments, trophies, and training camps. At 18, he stood on the pitch wearing the red and yellow of Spain, the youngest player on the team. I cried watching him on TV, my face pressed close to the screen, marveling at the boy who had made his promise come true.

Now, at 64, I live in the comfort he built for us. I think often of my friend Clara, still working long hours at the snack bar we once shared. I help her when I can, but I see in her eyes the life I might have had if not for my son. Pride fills my chest when I think of him—not just for what he’s achieved, but for the man he’s become.

Without him, I’d still be scrubbing floors. But without me, he wouldn’t exist. Life, I suppose, is a game of give and take.