Marcυs Caldwell was lying down to sleep. He was one of those men who arrived in a chauffeur-driven car, flanked by assistants, and the city moved around him as if it were alone. But today it was different. Her fiancée, Victoria Hayes, iпsistió eп qυe camiпaraп the last maпzaпas until sυ reυпióп; Something like the truth of the summer was “too perfect to waste.”

I was in the middle of the coпcυrrida street where Victoria was paralyzed suddenly. Sυ maпo stuck in Marcυs’ arm, stabbing him in the maпga.

“Marcυs,” he said, “look at you immediately…” but there is a boy on the other side of the street.

Marcυs continued his gaze.

The boy was barefoot, standing on the edge of his stone chest, his knees pressed to his chest. He had a thin, sharp face, light hair and a hole in his left cheek, and a detail that Marc had etched his memory as a scar. Yes eyes, yes… made the Marcυs people forget how to do it. From υп azυl profυпdo, like the ocean. Igυales to those of his wife.

Just to illustrate.
I hadn’t seen those eyes in twelve years.
From the day that his hundred-year-old son disappeared from the park of geпte.

Victoria’s voice was quiet. “It seems…”

“My son,” Marcυs finished; The words teпíaп taste of rust.

The police had stopped calling years ago. The search groups are fading. The posters of disappeared fυeroп replaced by other faces. But Marcυs пυпca stopped. The room of the boy was exactly as it was: the bed was unmade, the carts were still lined up in the room, as if his son could go through the door and he was just like that.

And now… There it was. Or пo?

Victoria approached first, ducking to the door. “Honey, are you okay?”

The boy barely looked up. “I’m good,” he said, his voice was broken, as if he had spoken for days.

“What’s your name?” —asked Marcυs coп υп пυdo eп la gargaпta.

The Пiño dυdó. “… Da’iel.”

Marque’s heart beat fast. His son was called Da’iel.

Before Marcυs could speak again, Daiel’s gaze went to the street. A tall man with a worn jacket had come out of the alley, with his face full of hair.

“You!” The man barked. Go to work!

Da’iel jumped to his feet and ran away. The man chased after him. And Marcυs, acting without peпsar, ran after both.

The boy was fast, jumping past the pedestrians, shortening his pace in the side streets. Marcυs burned his legs, but the paпico in his chest was even more soaring. He had already lost his son once. He could not, however, lose him from the outset.

Daпiel slipped through υпa lateral part of υп store. When Marcυs caught up with him, the heavy metal door slammed shut. From there, muffled voices resounded.

“If you go to talk unknowingly, you will regret it,” the man grusted.

“I o…” The boy’s voice froze. A thud was heard.

Marcυs froze his throat. He slapped the door. “Open it! Αtime!”

The door opened the door for the man to peek out, soпrieпdo coп sυficieпcia. “Αпda ya, rich. This little one is mine.”

“What’s more legal?” Marcυs’ voice was low and dangerous.

The soпrloпa laugh faded. “He works for me. He pays the expenses.”

“It’s υп пiño,” Marcυs snapped. “And that’s it.

Victoria was already talking by phone with the police. The sound of distant sirens carried the air. The man’s gaze moved quickly.

Marcυs opened the door of υп empυjóп. Daпiel staggered towards him, grabbing his side. If he thought about it, Marcυs hugged him.

“Bring it, son,” he said he could get married. “You’re safe.

The пiño пo moved away.

At the station, Daпiel was looking at him, avoiding everyone’s gazes. When the officer asked him kindly for his full name, he gave him the moment and he looked directly at Marcυs.

“I think it’s Caldwell,” he said in a low voice. “Daппy Caldwell. Αlgυieп called me that… until everything got bad.

Marcυs was held at his chest. He didn’t dare to breathe as the detective pushed him away.
“We have been looking like a missing man from twelve years ago. All coiпcide. We’ll sign it with ΑDN’s prυп, but, Mr. Caldwell… I think you’ve got your son.”

When the resυieп arrived the next day, the official fυe.
Daпiel was sυyo.

The old room in the boy was exactly where he had left it: the walls of the blue wall, the model cars, the Lego tower on the desk. Da’iel opened his eyes wide.

Marcυs heard his voice. “I said to myself that I would not change until you returned home.”

The boy cracked the room and hugged him, flattering, desperate and trembling. Marc closed his eyes, hugging him as if to make up for every second lost.
Only for illegitimate fiпes.
From the door, Victoria watched the sileпcio. This пo was υп million, пi υп magпate. This was υп father, fiпalmeпte saпo.

But if someone from the city was a man who was still free. And Marc knew it: if someone stole from his son again, he would have to do it first.

This version preserves the emotional essence of the story, but adds a more intense rhythm, a slightly more sequential rhythm and a slightly darker transformation so that the “amoe” element feels more real. In addition, the determination of Marcυs is the main engine until the last moment.

Who do you want to give it a fiпal twist that is even more moving and more emotional to make it more emotional? That could make it viral.

When Luciana, pregnant and homeless, uttered the words “I have nowhere to go” in front of the city’s most luxurious building, she never imagined that the millionaire watching her would change her destiny forever. The afternoon sun bathed the streets of the financial district in a golden light when Luciana Mendoza finally allowed herself to cry. Sitting in the shade of a leafy tree, her flowered dress already wrinkled from hours of aimless walking, she stroked her eight-month-old belly as tears rolled silently down her cheeks.

Seven dollars. It was all he had left in the world. Seven dollars. A suitcase full of clothes that no longer fit her and a baby that would arrive in a few weeks. “Don’t cry, my love,” she whispered to her belly, feeling a kick in response. “Mommy will find a way. He always does.” But this time Luciana wasn’t sure if it was true. It had all started that morning when Diego, her ex-partner, made good on his threat. “If you don’t come back to me, you’ll regret it,” he’d told him when he finally mustered up the courage to leave him after two years of psychological manipulation.

She thought it was just another one of his empty threats, but no. Diego had canceled the lease on the small apartment they shared. The contract was in her name only, and she had called the police to evict her. “Please,” he begged the agent as they took away his few belongings. “I’m pregnant. Just give me a few more days to find another place.” “I’m sorry, ma’am,” the agent replied, visibly uncomfortable. “The order goes into effect immediately. The owner says he has no legal right to be here.” And so, at 10 a.m. on any given Tuesday, Luciana Mendoza, 24, was literally abandoned on the street.

He had walked for hours dragging his suitcase through the streets of the city, stopping at every “help wanted” sign. But the answer was always the same. One look at her prominent belly and a polite “We’ll call you.” No one hires a woman about to give birth. Nobody. The financial district had been his last stop, not by his own decision, but by exhaustion. His swollen feet couldn’t take another step. And the tree offered the only shade in several blocks around.

She had sat down with the intention of resting for only five minutes, but now, three hours later, she was still there, paralyzed by the reality of her situation. No family: Her parents had died in an accident when she was 16. With no close friends, Diego had set out to isolate her from everyone during their relationship. No work. She had been fired from the bookstore where she worked when her pregnancy began to affect her performance, according to her boss. And now, homeless. What am I going to do with you, my love?

He muttered, feeling another kick. “How am I going to take care of you if I don’t even have to sleep tonight?” That’s when the black Mercedes S-Class came to a stop at the traffic light right in front of her. Rodrigo Navarro drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, irritated by the unusual traffic. The meeting with Japanese investors had taken longer than anticipated, and he would now be late for his 5:00 a.m. video conference. At 38, he had built a tech empire from scratch, becoming one of the richest men in town.

But success came at a price. 18-hour days, lonely nights and an empty mansion that looked more like a museum than a home. As she waited for the traffic light to change, her gaze drifted to the sidewalk, and that’s when she saw her. A young woman, obviously pregnant, sitting under a tree with a suitcase next to her. It was not uncommon to see homeless people in the city, but something about it made him reflect. Perhaps it was her way of keeping her back straight, despite being visibly exhausted.

Or perhaps it was the floral dress, clean but wrinkled, suggesting that her situation was recent. Or perhaps it was the way she stroked her belly while speaking softly, as if comforting her unborn child. The traffic light turned green. Rodrigo accelerated, but as he advanced, the image of the woman remained in his mind. There was something in his eyes. I had seen no despair, but determination; not defeat, but dignity. It reminded him of Marina, his late wife, who even in her final days in the hospital had maintained that same unwavering grace.

Marina, five years since cancer took her, five years living like a ghost in her own life, immersed in work so as not to feel the emptiness she had left. Without realizing it, Rodrigo had gone around the block. “What are you doing?” he wondered aloud. “It’s not your problem.” But his hands were already turning the steering wheel, parking the Mercedes in an empty space a few feet from the tree. Luciana looked up as she saw the shadow of the man fall on her, tall, dressed in a suit that probably cost more than anything she had ever seen in her life.

that she had never possessed, with honey-colored eyes that looked at her with a mixture of curiosity and something else. Worry. Excuse me, she said, in a softer voice than she expected. It is ok? Luciana almost laughed. Not bad. She was pregnant, homeless, with seven children. No, definitely not. I’m perfectly fine, he replied, lifting his chin. Just resting for a moment. Rodrigo noticed the suitcase, the wrinkled dress, the eyes swollen from crying.

You need help? I don’t need your charity. Luciana responded quickly. Perhaps too quickly. Pride was the only thing he had left. I don’t offer you charity, Rodrigo said, surprised. I ask you if you need help. There is a difference. And what would that difference be? Charity is given out of compassion. Help is offered out of humanity. Luciana watched him for a moment. He didn’t seem like one of those men who approach vulnerable women with bad intentions. There was something genuine about her expression, a sadness in her eyes that she recognized because she felt it herself.

And what kind of help would you offer exactly? Rodrigo was silent. I hadn’t thought so much about the future. What exactly was he doing? Why had he stopped? “Are you hungry?” he finally asked. There’s a café just around the corner. I’m not a beggar, Luciana said with dignity. I don’t need you to buy me food. What I need is an opportunity. An opportunity. A job. I know I don’t seem like the ideal candidate right now, she pointed to her belly. But I am hardworking, responsible and a quick learner.

I studied literature for three years before things got complicated. I know how to organize, file, write and edit. I can do any office work that doesn’t require heavy lifting. Rodrigo looked at her with a new respect. There was a woman clearly at her worst, and instead of begging, she was asking for a job. What happened? He found himself asking. If you don’t mind, ask. Luciana considered not answering, but something about the way he looked at her—without judgment, just with genuine curiosity—made her speak.

My ex-partner canceled the lease this morning. The apartment was in his name. I was laid off from my job two months ago, when my pregnancy started to be an inconvenience and my parents died as teenagers. So here I am with all my belongings in that suitcase, trying to figure out how I’m going to take care of my baby when I don’t even have a place to sleep tonight. The words gushed out, and when it was over, Luciana was stunned to have been so honest with a complete stranger.

Rodrigo felt something stir in his chest, something he had kept frozen for five years. This woman reminded him a lot of Marina, not physically, but in spirit. Marina had also been an orphan, she had also fought alone before they met. “I have a library,” he said sharply. “Excuse me, in my house I have a library with more than 5000 books that need to be cataloged and organized. I’ve been putting off the task for years. If you really studied literature, you’re probably qualified for the job.”

Luciana blinked. “You’re offering me a job. I’m offering you an opportunity.” Rodrigo corrected himself. “Fair pay, flexible hours considering your condition. Could you start tomorrow?” “Yes.” He paused, remembering his words. I had nowhere to sleep that night. “Where are you staying?” he asked. Although I already knew the answer. “I’ll find something, Luciana,” he said quickly. “Don’t worry. Just tell me what time I should show up tomorrow and I’ll be there. How are you going to pay for a hotel?” A blush rose up Luciana’s cheeks.

That’s not your problem. It’s your problem if I want my new employee to be ready for work tomorrow,” Rodrigo replied pragmatically. Look, I have a guesthouse on my property. It is completely separate from the main house. It has its own entrance, kitchen… Everything has been empty for years. You can stay there tonight temporarily until you get your first paycheck and can find something of your own. I cannot accept it. Why not? Because I don’t know you. Because you could be a psychopath, because things that seem too good to be true usually are.

Rodrigo almost smiled. The first sincere smile in a long time gave him reason to be cautious. He took out his business card and handed it to him. Rodrigo Navarro, CEO of Navarro Tech. Google me. You’ll find everything about me, including my address, which is public. You’ll also find out that my wife died five years ago and that I’ve lived as a hermit ever since, which probably makes me boring, but not dangerous. Luciana took the card with trembling hands. Navarrotech.

Even she had heard of the company. This man was not only rich, he was one of the most successful businessmen in the country. Why? he asked sweetly. Why help me? Rodrigo was sincere. Because my wife was where you are now, alone, pregnant, with no family. Someone gave him a chance when he needed it most. He said that life is a circle. The help you give, over time, comes back to you. He paused. And because that guest house has been empty for five years and that library, in complete disarray.

It seems that we both need something that the other can offer. Luciana looked at the card, then at the man in front of her. His survival instinct told him to be careful, but he also knew he had no options. In a few weeks, her baby would be born; I needed a miracle, and maybe, just maybe, this sad-eyed stranger was. “Just for tonight,” he finally said, “and I’ll start work tomorrow. I want to earn my stay.” Of course, Rodrigo agreed. You can walk to my car.

I’ll take her home. As Luciana struggled to her feet, leaning against the tree for balance, Rodrigo felt another tug on his chest. He automatically reached out to help her, and when she took it, he felt an electric shock he hadn’t experienced in years. “Thank you,” Luciana murmured. And when their eyes met, they both felt that something fundamental had changed in their lives. As they walked toward the Mercedes, neither of them could have imagined that this chance encounter under a tree on a sunny day would be the beginning of a love story that would heal two broken hearts and create a family where there was only loneliness.

Fate, it seems, had its plans. The Mercedes stopped in front of a wrought-iron gate that opened automatically when it recognized the vehicle. As they drove down the jacaranda-lined driveway, Luciana couldn’t believe her eyes. The mansion before her looked like something out of an architecture magazine. Three floors of modern elegance with floor-to-ceiling windows, impeccably manicured gardens, and a marble fountain in the center of the circular driveway.

“The guest house is around here,” Rodrigo said, noticing his expression of overwhelm. He turned onto a side path that led to a smaller, but just as beautiful, building hidden among the trees. “Like I told you, it’s completely separate. You will have complete privacy.” Luciana looked at the small guesthouse, which was larger than anywhere else she had ever lived. It was a cabin-style house with white walls, blue shutters, and a small porch with two rocking chairs. “This is too much,” he muttered. “It’s temporary,” Rodrigo reminded him, although something in his voice suggested that he wasn’t entirely convinced either.

He took a key from his keychain and handed it to him. The kitchen is equipped with the basics. Tomorrow you can make a list of what you need. Mr. Navarro, Rodrigo, corrected it. If you’re going to work for me, Mr. Navarro is too formal. Rodrigo, she repeated, and he felt something strange when he heard her name on his lips. I don’t know how to thank you. Working, he replied simply. The library needs a lot of attention. You can take this night to settle in and rest. Tomorrow at 9 o’clock, if it pleases you, I’ll show you what you need to do.

She opened the front door and Luciana walked in slowly, as if she feared that everything would disappear if she moved too fast. The interior was cozy and warm: a living room with a fireplace, a full kitchen, and a bedroom visible through an open door. “The doctor,” Rodrigo said suddenly. “Excuse me. You have a pregnancy doctor. She is receiving prenatal care.” Luciana looked down. “No, for two months. When I lost my job, I lost my health insurance.” Rodrigo frowned.

That is unacceptable. I’ll have you see Dr. Martinez tomorrow. He is the best obstetrician in town. I can’t pay. It will be part of your work package. Full health insurance. We won’t talk about this, he added when he saw that he was going to protest. A healthy employee is a productive employee. Luciana nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. I couldn’t cry. No, not now. In front of him. There are clothes in the closet. Rodrigo continued, suddenly uncomfortable. It was Marina who used to stay here sometimes when she wanted to be alone to write.

It’s probably not your exact size, but it doesn’t matter. Luciana said quietly, understanding how difficult it must have been for him to offer his wife’s clothes that were no longer there. My number is in the notebook next to the kitchen phone. If you need anything, anything, call. The main house is only a hundred meters away. He nodded again, not trusting his voice. Rodrigo went to the door, but stopped before leaving. “Luciana, I know you don’t know me and that you don’t have to trust me, but I want you to know that you’re safe here.”

Marina would have wanted this house to be used to help someone in need. And with that, he left, leaving Luciana alone in the cozy silence of the little house. For a moment, she just stood there in the middle of the room, trying to process everything that had happened in the last few hours. This morning she had been evicted, and now she was in a beautiful house with a job waiting for her in the morning. “Can you believe it, honey?” he whispered to her belly, feeling a series of kicks in response.

Perhaps our luck is finally changing. He explored the house slowly. The kitchen was effectively stocked. There was milk, eggs, bread, fruits, vegetables, even biscuits and tea. The refrigerator was full. The cupboards had plates, pots, everything I needed. It was as if someone had prepared the house specifically for her. Although Rodrigo had said that it had been empty for years, in the bedroom he opened the closet with trembling hands. There were clothes carefully hung up: dresses, blouses, trousers. Some still had the labels. In the drawers she found new, unused underwear, and in a corner, maternity clothes.

Luciana sat heavily on the bed, overwhelmed. Marina had been pregnant. That’s why Rodrigo had helped her, because she reminded him of his wife. She took one of the maternity dresses, a light blue one with little white flowers. It was beautiful and looked her size. He allowed himself to cry. Tears of relief, of gratitude, of fear for what was to come. After showering, the first hot bath in days since Diego had started making her life miserable, she put on the blue dress.

It suited him wonderfully. She looked in the mirror and, for the first time in months, she did not see a defeated woman. He saw hope. That night, while eating a simple tortilla with tostadas, Luciana took out her old phone and Googled Rodrigo Navarro. What she found took her breath away: article after article about his business success, his estimated fortune in the billions, his technological innovations. But he also found the oldest items, from five years ago. A tragic loss. Marina Navarro dies at the age of 32 after battling a serious illness.

The CEO of Navarrotec, devastated by the departure of his wife. Rodrigo Navarro retires from public life after saying goodbye to his wife. There was a photo of them together at a charity gala. Marina was beautiful, radiant, with a smile that lit up the whole image. And Rodrigo looked completely different, younger, not only in age, but in spirit. He had a genuine smile. His eyes sparkled as he looked at his wife. He was a complete man, happy, in love. Luciana then understood the magnitude of her loss.

It wasn’t just that he had lost his wife; he had lost a part of himself. Meanwhile, in the main house, Rodrigo stood in front of the window of his study, with a glass of whiskey in his hand, gazing at the lights of the guest house. What had he done? Why had he invited a complete stranger into his life? But he knew the answer. It was Luciana’s way of protecting her dignity, even at her most vulnerable.

It was the way she spoke to her unborn baby. It was the strength that radiated despite being completely alone. Marina would have done the same. Marina would have helped. His phone rang. It was Carmen, his personal assistant. Rodrigo, I saw that you canceled all your meetings tomorrow morning. It’s all right? Everything is fine, Carmen. I need the morning off for a personal matter. A personal matter. Carmen could not hide her surprise. Rodrigo never had any personal affairs. I hired someone to organize the library.

I need to show you the work. How wonderful! It was about time someone took care of that. Who is it? A young woman named Luciana Mendoza. She is very qualified. He studied literature. Excellent. Do you need me to prepare something? An employment contract. Human resources stationery. Yes, get it all ready. Full salary, full health insurance, everything you need to organize a library. Carmen couldn’t help but ask. Carmen, do you trust my judgment? Always, boss. So trust me. After hanging up, Rodrigo went upstairs to his room, but he couldn’t sleep.

Instead, he found himself at the door of the room he had kept locked for five years. The room Marina had been preparing. He opened the door slowly. Everything was exactly as I had left it. The walls were painted a soft yellow, the crib half-assembled in the corner, the bags of baby clothes that he never got to keep. Marina was six months pregnant when they discovered her serious illness. Doctors told her she had to choose between an aggressive treatment that would save her but terminate the pregnancy, or wait until after delivery, when it would likely be too late for her.

Marina decided to wait. “I’d rather give life to our son than live without him,” she had said. But in the end, both lost. The baby was stillborn at 7 months, and Marina departed two weeks later, whispering, “I’m sorry with your last breath.” Rodrigo closed the door gently. It was not fair to project the memory of Marina on Luciana. She was an independent person, with her own story, her own struggle. He would help her because it was the right thing to do, not because he was trying to rewrite the past.

The next morning, Luciana woke up disoriented. For a moment, he couldn’t remember where he was. Then, everything came back to her. The eviction, the meeting with Rodrigo, that incredible house. She dressed carefully in her blue maternity dress and combed her hair as best she could. At 9:00 sharp, he heard a soft knock on the door. Rodrigo was there, dressed more casually than the day before, with jeans and a blue shirt that made him look younger and more approachable.

“Good morning,” he said. And there was something different about him. He seemed to have made up his mind overnight. “Did you sleep well?” “Better than in months,” Luciana admitted. “I’m glad.” He had breakfast. “Yes, thank you. Everything you left in the kitchen is too generous. It’s practical,” he corrected. “I can’t let my librarian pass out from hunger, ready to see her new workplace.” They walked together to the main house, and Luciana couldn’t help but notice that Rodrigo was shortening his pace to adapt to her slower pace.

They entered through a side door that led directly to the library. When Luciana saw the room, she gasped. It was huge, with double-height ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows. Three of the four walls were covered with cherry wood shelves, full of books. There were stairs on wheels to reach the highest shelves, scattered leather armchairs for reading, and a huge antique desk in the center. But what really struck her was the disorder.

Books were stacked on every available surface, some on the floor, others in boxes. There was no visible organizational system. Marina was a voracious reader, Rodrigo explained. He bought books compulsively, just like me, although to a lesser extent. After that, I just kept buying books, but I never organized them. I guess her system went with her. “It’s beautiful,” Luciana whispered, reaching over to a pile and gently picking up a book. It was a first edition of One Hundred Years of Solitude. “Is it real?”

Marina collected first editions. There are probably hundreds mixed with traditional books. This is going to require a complete cataloguing system. I’ll have to separate them by value, genre, author, create a digital index. Do what you think is necessary, Rodrigo said. There is no hurry. Take as much time as you need and sit down when you need to. I’ll actually bring a more comfortable chair. I’m pregnant, I don’t have a disability, Luciana said with a slight smile. I know. But my wife used to say the same thing and once fainted from standing too long.

Stopped. Surprised to have shared that memory so easily. She had worked during her pregnancy. She was a writer. She would work until the day of delivery if she had been stopped. A shadow crossed his face. The birth that never came. Luciana didn’t know what to say. The pain in his voice was palpable. “I’m sorry,” Rodrigo said, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t. It’s okay, Luciana,” he said quietly. “When you lose someone you love, there’s no time limit on grief.” He looked at her, really looked at her, and saw genuine understanding in her eyes.

Not pity, but understanding. Who did you lose? he asked. To my parents when I was 16 years old, in a car accident. Luciana touched her belly. That’s why this baby means so much to me. It’s the first family I’ll have in eight years, and the father doesn’t exist for us, she said firmly. She made her decision when she decided that control was more important than love. Rodrigo nodded, respecting his need not to go into details. “Well,” he said, changing the subject, “where do you want to start?” Luciana looked around the library, her mind already organizing, planning.

First I need to do a general inventory, see what we have. Then I can start sorting. Perfect. There’s a laptop on the desk that you can use. The password is… He paused. Marina is always 14 years old. Luciana wrote down the date. February 14, Valentine’s Day. If you need anything, anything, I’ll be in my office on the second floor. The intercom on the desk connects me directly. Rodrigo knocked on his way to the door. Thank you. Not only because of the work, but because they trust me.

“Don’t thank me yet,” he replied with a half-smile. “Wait until you see what a mess this library is.” But when he left, Rodrigo knew that something had changed. For the first time in five years, the house didn’t feel empty. There was life again, and although that terrified him, he also felt good. Three weeks had passed since Luciana began working in the library, and the transformation was remarkable, not only in the physical space, but in the entire atmosphere of the Navarro house.

Every morning, Rodrigo would find an excuse to stop by the library before going to the office. Just to see how it went, he would say, though they both knew there was something else going on. I brought him ginger tea for morning sickness, crackers for when he got dizzy, and I always, always, asked him how he felt. “Rodrigo, I’m really fine,” Luciana assured him each time, although she was secretly moved by his concern. The library was beginning to take shape. Luciana had created a digital cataloguing system that separated the first editions from traditional books, organizing them by genre, author and year.

He had discovered incredible treasures: original manuscripts, autographed books, editions worth thousands of dollars. “Marina had exquisite taste,” he commented one afternoon, showing Rodrigo a signed edition of Like Water for Chocolate. Each book tells a story, not only in its pages, but also in why you chose it. Rodrigo took the book, caressing the signature with his thumb. That was the first book he gave me when we were dating. He said that love and food were the two most important things in life.

“He was right,” Luciana said quietly, putting her hand to her belly without realizing it. It was Thursday afternoon when everything changed. Luciana was standing on one of the stairs, looking for a book from the top shelf. When she felt the first pain, it was acute, different from the usual discomforts of pregnancy. “Oh!” he gasped, clutching the shelf. “Luciana,” Rodrigo’s voice came from the door. He had returned early from the office, something he had begun to do more and more frequently.

“It’s okay, I don’t know,” he admitted, and the fear in his voice made him run towards her. “Come down from there slowly,” she ordered, holding the ladder in one hand and extending the other toward her. “Lean on me.” As she touched the ground, another pain ran through her. Louder. This time he bent over, grabbing Rodrigo’s arm. “Something’s wrong,” he whispered. “It’s too early. There are still five weeks to go.” Without hesitation, Rodrigo picked her up in his arms. “Let’s go to the hospital now.” I can’t.

I don’t have money for Luciana. He interrupted her firmly. “Stop worrying about money. The only thing that matters now is you and the baby. The trip to the hospital was torture.” Luciana moaned with each contraction, clinging to Rodrigo’s hand as he drove with the other, exceeding all speed limits. “Breathe,” he said, trying to stay calm, though inside he was terrified. “We’re almost there.” When they arrived at the emergency room, Rodrigo practically jumped out of the car screaming for help.

Within seconds, Luciana was in a wheelchair, being rushed inside. “Are you the father?” a nurse asked as they hurried down the hallway. Rodrigo hesitated for a moment, but then he made up his mind. “Yes, it’s me.” Luciana looked at him with wide eyes, but she did not contradict him. The next few hours were a sea of doctors, machines, and medical terminology that Rodrigo barely understood. What he did understand was one word: “premature.” “The baby is on the way,” explained Dr. Mendez, the obstetrician on duty.

We cannot stop labor. At 35 weeks, the prognosis is good, but the baby will need special care. “Do whatever it takes,” Rodrigo said immediately. “No matter the cost, just save them both.” Luciana was terrified. It’s still very small. And yes, no. Rodrigo took her face in his hands, forcing her to look at him. “Your baby is going to be fine. You’re going to be fine. I am here. I’m not going anywhere.” For the first time since Marina left, Rodrigo was in the delivery room of a hospital, and all the memories he had buried flooded him again.

But this time it was different. This time I wasn’t losing anyone. This time he was helping to bring life into the world. The birth was difficult. Luciana was strong, but fear consumed her. Rodrigo remained by her side every second, letting her squeeze his hand until she lost feeling, whispering words of encouragement, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “I can’t,” she gasped after three hours of labor. “Yes, you can, Rodrigo,” he insisted. “You are the strongest woman I know. Your baby needs you.”

One more push. And then, at 2:47 a.m., Santiago Mendoza came into the world, tiny, weighing only 2 kg, but with a cry that filled the entire room. “He’s a boy,” the doctor announced, but her expression was serious. You need to go to the neonatal intensive care unit right away. Their lungs are not fully developed. “Can I see it?” pleaded Luciana, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Please, one second.” The nurse brought the baby wrapped in blankets, and for a brief moment, Luciana could see her son’s face.

Small, wrinkled, perfect. “Hello, my love,” he whispered. “Mom arrived.” Then they took him away, and Luciana collapsed in sobs. “He’s going to be fine,” Rodrigo promised, although he trembled. “The doctors here are the best. Santiago is a fighter like his mother. The next 72 hours were the longest of their lives. Santiago was in an incubator, hooked up to machines that helped him breathe, monitors that recorded his every heartbeat. Luciana did not leave his side, and, surprisingly, “neither did Rodrigo,” Luciana told him that first night, seeing him uncomfortable in the hospital chair.

He’s done too much. Remember what I told you, he replied. I’m not going anywhere. Carmen, his assistant, couldn’t believe her ears when Rodrigo called to cancel all his meetings for the next few days. “You’re in the hospital. Are you okay?” “I’m fine. It’s complicated. Just cancel everything until further notice. Rodrigo, in 15 years you have never canceled more than one day of work. What’s going on? I’m where I need to be.” That was all he said.

On the second night, while Luciana slept exhausted on the sofa in the nursery, Rodrigo found himself looking at Santiago through the glass of the incubator. The baby was so small, so fragile, but there was something fierce about the way he fought for every breath. “You’ve got to get by, little one,” he murmured. “Your mom needs you, and I need you,” he stopped, surprised by what he was about to say. “I need you too.” It was true. In just three weeks, Luciana and her unborn baby had become a part of her life in ways she hadn’t anticipated.

The house no longer felt empty when he arrived. His days had a purpose beyond work. There was laughter, conversation, life. Mr. Navarro. A nurse approached. The baby is getting better. Their oxygen levels are rising. That’s good. It’s very good. If he continues like this, he could be out of intensive care in a couple of days. Rodrigo felt such deep relief that he had to sit down. I hadn’t felt anything like it since Marina. When Luciana woke up, she found him sitting next to the incubator, with one hand resting against the glass, as if she could transmit strength to the baby through him.

“It’s gotten better,” he said without turning around. “The nurse says she breathes better.” Luciana came over and stood next to him. “Rodrigo, I need to ask you something. Whatever. Why are you doing this? Why are you here? We are not yours.” Rodrigo finally looked at her, and Luciana saw tears in her eyes. “Five years ago, I was in a room like this.” Started. His voice was barely a whisper. Marina was. The baby came too soon. She had been battling her illness, but decided to delay treatment to give the baby a chance.

Finally, his voice broke. I was losing them both. First the baby, then her. Two weeks later. Rodrigo. I swore that I would never go back to a hospital, that I would never allow myself to feel anything for anyone again. It was easier to be alone, empty, than to risk suffering that pain again. He took her hand, interlacing his fingers with hers. But then you appeared, sitting under that tree, talking to your baby with so much love, and something inside me that I thought I was buried with Marina began to awaken.

And now, watching Santiago fight, watching you be so brave, I realize that I’ve been trying to survive, not live. We are not Marina and her baby. Luciana said in a low voice. It cannot replace them. “No,” Rodrigo interrupted her. I will not replace them. Marina will always have a place in my heart. But maybe, maybe the heart has room for more than one love story. Maybe it can expand instead of shutting down. Luciana squeezed his hand.

Marina was very lucky to have it. “I was the lucky one,” she corrected. “And now,” she looked at Santiago, then at her, “I feel that life gives me a second chance, not the same story, but a new one. If you allow me.” Before Luciana could answer, the machines began to ring. Santiago had opened his eyes for the first time. “Look,” the nurse exclaimed. “He wants to meet his parents.” Neither of them corrected the plural. Dr. Mendez came over to examine him and gave him a broad smile.

It’s a small miracle. Your lungs are responding better than expected. If it continues like this, they will be able to take it home in a week. “Home,” Luciana repeated, suddenly realizing that she had no real home to take her baby to. “Home,” Rodrigo confirmed firmly. “To our house.” That night, for the first time, Luciana breastfed Santiago. It was a complicated process with all the wires and monitors, but the baby clung to it with a determination that brought both adults to tears.

“It’s perfect,” Luciana whispered, running a finger over her son’s face. “They both are,” Rodrigo replied, with an unmistakable love in his voice. On the third day, Santiago was transferred from intensive care to intermediate care. His lungs had become noticeably stronger and he no longer needed help breathing. “He’s a fighter,” Dr. Mendez said, “like his mother. And he has the best father supporting him,” added a nurse, smiling at Rodrigo. This time it was Luciana who did not correct the assumption.

During those days in the hospital, something fundamental changed between Rodrigo and Luciana. The barriers between employer and employee, benefactor and beneficiary dissolved. They were simply two people united by the love of a child who was fighting for his life. Rodrigo brought Luciana clean clothes, decent food from outside, even a pillow from home to make her more comfortable. They took turns watching over Santiago, talking to him, singing to him. “What are you singing to him?” asked Luciana one night, while listening to Rodrigo hum softly.

A song Marina wrote, she admitted. She never dared to sing it to her. But I don’t think she cared if Santiago heard it. Tell me about her.” Luciana asked him sweetly about Marina. And for the first time in five years, Rodrigo spoke candidly about his wife. He told her how they met in a bookstore, both clutching the same book, about her infectious laugh, her passion for writing, her infinite kindness. “I would have loved you very much,” she finally said. “You have the same fighting spirit. I would have liked to meet her.” Luciana answered sincerely.

On the fifth day, the long-awaited news arrived. Santiago is ready to go home, Dr. Mendez announced. He will need close monitoring, but he can continue his recovery at home. Luciana cried tears of relief, hugging Rodrigo without thinking. He hugged her tight, breathing in the scent of her hair, feeling something she hadn’t felt in years. Hope. We have to get everything ready, Luciana said, suddenly getting practical. A crib, diapers, baby clothes. Everything is ready, Rodrigo admitted.

“What?” “I asked Carmen to get everything ready. The room next to yours in the guesthouse. It’s now a fully equipped nursery. Rodrigo, I can’t accept this anymore,” Luciana interrupted softly. “In these five days, Santiago has become… I’ve come to love him as if he were my own. And you,” she paused, searching for the right words. “You’ve brought light back into my life. Please let me do this, not out of obligation or charity, but because I want to, because you’ve become my chosen family.

The day Santiago came home it was as if the entire Navarro estate came to life. Carmen had come specially, even though it was her day off, and she couldn’t hold back her tears at the sight of the little bundle in Luciana’s arms. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered, watching in amazement as Rodrigo helped Luciana out of the car with infinite affection. “I can’t believe you’re doing this, Rodrigo. Marina would be so proud.” “Carmen,” Rodrigo said quietly, “This is Santiago, and you know Luciana, the librarian who changed everything.” Carmen smiled, and there was so much meaning in those words that Luciana blushed.

The guesthouse had been transformed. Where there had once been a simple room, there was now a child’s paradise: a light-wood crib, a changing table, a rocking chair, and more toys and clothes than a baby could ever need. “This is too much,” Luciana murmured, overwhelmed. “Nothing is too much for Santiago,” Rodrigo replied, and the naturalness with which he had adopted the paternal role touched her deeply. That first night at home was eye-opening. Santiago cried every two hours, needing to be fed, changed, and comforted.

Luciana was exhausted after her days in the hospital, and at 3 a.m., when the baby started crying again, she just couldn’t get up. Then she heard footsteps on the porch. Rodrigo appeared at the door in his pajamas and barefoot. Hearing the crying coming from the main house, he said sweetly, “Let me help you. You don’t have to. I want to do it myself.” He insisted, approaching the crib with movements surprisingly safe for someone with no experience. He took Santiago in his arms. “Hey, champion. What’s the matter? Do you miss mommy?” Santiago stopped crying almost instantly, looking at Rodrigo with his eyes wide open.

“It has the same power as you.” Luciana watched from bed. “When you look at it, I get reassured.” Rodrigo looked at her, and an electric current went through them. “Rest,” he said quietly. “I got it.” She sat in the rocking chair with Santiago humming softly while the baby clung to her finger. Luciana watched them, her heart expanding in ways she would never have thought possible. This man, who had no obligation to them, was there at three o’clock cradling his son as if he were his own.

Rodrigo whispered. “Mmm, thank you. There is nothing to be thankful for. This, this is what I always wanted. A family. I thought I had missed my chance when Marina left, but you two…” She paused, looking at Santiago, who had fallen asleep in her arms. “They’ve given me a reason to live again.” From that night on, they established an unspoken routine. Rodrigo arrived every morning with breakfast, spent an hour with Santiago before leaving for work and returned early every afternoon.

Dinners became family affairs in the kitchen of the main house, with Luciana cooking while Rodrigo entertained Santiago. “You don’t have to cook,” Rodrigo protested. “Can I hire?” “I like to cook,” Luciana insisted. “It makes me feel useful. Besides, you need real food, not those business lunches that Carmen always orders from you.” One afternoon, two weeks after arriving home, Luciana was working in the library while Santiago slept in a bassinet next to her. He had gone back to cataloguing books, finding peace in the family routine.

“How’s the work going?” asked Rodrigo, appearing at the door. “I found something,” Luciana said excitedly. “Look at this.” He showed her a handwritten notebook hidden between two old books. “It’s Marina’s lyrics.” Rodrigo immediately recognized her trembling voice. “It’s a diary,” Luciana explained sweetly. “About her pregnancy. I haven’t read it, of course, but I thought you’d like to have it.” Rodrigo took the notebook with trembling hands and leafed through it. Marina’s words jumped off the pages. Her excitement for the baby, her fears, her love for Rodrigo.