What more could Bárbara García want than to confront the teenage cravings of her eldest daughter, Amets, who will begin helping newcomers at seventeen and yearn to attend parties? Or to respond to Sara, a girl born on November 26 who is about to turn fifteen and wants to choose her own outfits or imitate her older sister in every way.
“ANYONE who truly knows what they would do…” reflects Bárbara García. She knows there will be no easy answer, and she wishes she would never have to face raising two teenagers alone.
Bárbara García, now 48, from Cudillero in Asturias, sees life from a different lens after the tragedy eight years ago. On November 27 of that year, her ex-husband and the father of her two daughters killed them in cold blood, taking advantage of hours permitted by the court to see minors. He later took his own life. The cruel pattern of such abusers often includes exacting revenge on a former partner by harming the children—a brutal cruelty that haunts those left behind.
Since that day, Bárbara has not merely lived; she endures. She remains in Soto del Barco, in the house where she raised her daughters, surrounded by memories. She finds shelter in a space she has filled with mementos—figures, butterflies, and photos that trace Amets and Sara, their favorite colors pink for Amets and red for Sara, bright reminders of who they were.
With three dogs and three cats keeping her company, Bárbara faces life with a quiet resolve. She also speaks to the press, sharing her family’s story with La Nueva España of the Prensa Ibérica group, using the moment around 25N, the International Day for the Elimination of Violence against Women, to shed light on the ongoing struggle. The path she walks is not easy, and she is not shy about admitting the pain. “This won’t help me,” she says bluntly. “On the contrary, it makes me sick and I’m starting to slip into depression.”
Yet there is also a powerful motivation that pushes her forward: she has no government assistance and no steady job, relying largely on the love of her wife and family and the memory of her daughters. “I like to talk about them,” she explains. “Be careful, not about what happened to them or their illness, but about who they were, and how they would be now.”
Eight years have passed. Does time heal the wound?
Time has moved forward, but the date—November 27, 2014—remains etched. For Bárbara, time feels like a constant drift rather than a cure.
How does one continue after such a loss?
She describes days of restlessness and reluctance. Some mornings she can get out of bed; other days she stays home, lacking energy or purpose. The absence of work and routine weighs heavily, and the will to keep moving can falter.
With recent cases of indirect violence in Spain, her thoughts turn to the broader questions. She avoids sensationalizing the news, fearing it may deepen her depression. Yet she recognizes that many people in similar circumstances still lack meaningful support, and that these memories reappear on certain dates, leaving a void for the rest of the year.
To those who have endured what she has, Bárbara’s message is simple: there is no comfort that can erase the pain. She notes the universal truth that a mother carries her child from conception, and even the strongest consolation cannot entirely ease that ache. Still, she believes that finding meaning—sometimes in acts like remembering her daughters—can help a person carry on. She mentions the “Heartbeat of Butterflies” project as an example of a lifeline that gives her a sense of purpose in a life that remains haunted by loss.
Alongside Ruth Ortiz and other women who survived indirect violence, Bárbara helped form a support network. The group continues, though not in the same form as before, and she started another initiative called “Therapy for All.” It brings together mothers from across Spain who share the goal of healing, staying connected daily, and meeting whenever possible. The members include Ruth, Itziar, Marianela, Rocío, and Bárbara herself, though their paths diverged for different reasons over time.
Could better prevention have saved her daughters? In Bárbara’s view, early warnings, if heeded, might have changed history. As for improvements in the situation for victims, she remains skeptical. She notes that many cases persist, and some receive louder attention than others, but the fundamental struggle for support endures.
Her enduring objective is to keep Amets and Sara’s memories alive. This is not a fixation but a deliberate choice to honor their lives and the joy they represented. A memorial in Soto del Barco park, and the ripple effect of the Heartbeat of Butterflies initiative in Asturias, symbolize a commitment to remembrance and awareness that refuses to fade.
Does the community acknowledge her effort? The answer is layered. The memory lives on thanks to those who empathize and offer practical help, yet Bárbara would welcome even more support far beyond symbolic dates. If the community embraces ongoing, tangible assistance, she believes the healing process could deepen, and the memory of Amets and Sara might inspire lasting change for others facing similar tragedies.