But ever since Lucía entered, that silence had begun to crack. The twins’ laughter filled the hallways, the rooms, and even the gardens. It was a strange sound, almost uncomfortable for Ramiro, because he hadn’t heard it in too long. And deep down, that happy echo was like a cruel reminder. It hadn’t come from him.
That afternoon, returning from a meeting, Ramiro left his briefcase in his office and walked toward the children’s wing. He stopped dead in his tracks when he heard laughter. Again, he muttered, frowning. He peeked out into the hallway and saw them. Lucía was on the floor, blindfolded, crawling clumsily while the children gave instructions.
“More to the right!” Bruno shouted. “No, no, you’re going to crash.” Leo laughed, “Step back.” Lucía pretended to trip over a chair and let herself fall in an exaggerated manner. The twins burst into laughter so intense that the hallway itself seemed to vibrate. Ramiro clenched his fists. There was something inside him that didn’t understand why this girl could achieve what he couldn’t.
She had spent fortunes on doctors, experimental therapies, expensive devices, and nothing. But that woman, with a handkerchief over her eyes and a genuine laugh, managed to make her children forget for a moment the darkness they lived in. Later, during dinner, Ramiro watched silently as the twins talked nonstop.
Before, they barely spoke a word, now they competed to tell Lucía which texture had been the most fun or which smell reminded them of things only they knew. “The coffee smells like Mom,” Bruno said suddenly, lowering his voice. Lucía looked at him tenderly and took his hand. “Then we’ll keep that smell as a beautiful memory of her.”
Ramiro felt a knot in his stomach. The mention of his late wife hurt like a wound that would never heal, but what hurt most was seeing Bruno seek solace in Lucía and not in him. He gently tapped his glass with his fork to interrupt. Enough with the games. Dinner isn’t the time to talk about smells. His voice was dry, almost cutting.
Silence fell over the table. The children lowered their heads. Lucía, on the other hand, looked at him calmly. “With respect, Mr. Valverde,” she said in a calm but firm voice. “These aren’t games. They’re creating their own way of seeing the world.” Ramiro stared at her. His dark eyes were like two blades.
I hire staff for results, not for poetic speeches. That night, in his office, Ramiro drank whiskey relentlessly. He paced around the desk, muttering under his breath, “My children, my children are mine, no one else.” But the images haunted him. The laughter in the hallway, the children hugging Lucía. That word he had never been able to evoke in them. Mom.
The memory of his deceased wife mingled with Lucía’s presence, and it confused him even more. It was as if, little by little, this simple woman was occupying a place that didn’t belong to her. The next day, Ramiro summoned Mrs. Gómez, his trusted housekeeper. “I want to know everything about that nanny,” he ordered.
Her past, her family, her motives, everything. Mrs. Gomez, nervous, tried to justify herself. “Sir, Miss Lucía hasn’t done anything wrong. The children are happy.” That’s precisely why, Ramiro interrupted with a bang on the desk. “I want to know why.” The housekeeper lowered her head and left silently. Meanwhile, Lucía continued with her sensory lessons.
That morning, she led the twins into the kitchen. She asked them to touch the spices, taste a grain of salt, and smell the cinnamon. “The world is also learned with the tongue and the nose,” she said enthusiastically. Each flavor is another color on her map. The children were fascinated, but suddenly the door burst open.
Ramiro entered, immaculately dressed in his suit, his expression harsh. “Enough,” his voice thundered. The children shrank back in fear. Lucía looked at him, trying not to lose her cool. “Is something wrong, Mr. Valverde? Yes, it’s just that this feels like a circus. I hire babysitters, not street performers.” Lucía took a deep breath. Her instinct was to remain silent, but the twins’ trembling gaze forced her to speak. “They don’t need another babysitter.”
They need someone to teach them how to live, to make them feel capable. That’s what I’m trying to do. Ramiro moved closer until he was a step away from her. His voice lowered, but filled with suppressed rage. “Make no mistake, miss. My children have everything they need, and I won’t allow a stranger to take their trust.”
Lucía held him with a firm gaze, even though she was trembling inside. I don’t want to take ownership of anything. I just want them to discover that they also have the right to be happy. The silence in the kitchen was unbearable. The twins, their hands clasped together, didn’t dare move. Finally, Ramiro turned around and left without another word.
But a phrase echoed in her mind. And if she manages to give them what I never could, the mansion dawned covered in a light mist. Lucía took advantage of the calm to get up before everyone else and prepare new activities. She had noticed something in the twins during the previous games, a kind of special sensitivity that went beyond the ordinary.
It wasn’t just that they were listening or playing attentively, but they seemed to sense things she hadn’t mentioned. She decided to test it. When she entered the children’s room, Bruno and Leo were already awake, sitting together on the bed, whispering something between laughs. “What are you talking about so early?” Lucía asked, smiling. “We dream the same thing,” Leo said naturally. “It always happens to us,” Bruno added. Lucía raised her eyebrows. “The same.”
How do they know they had the same dream if they can’t see images? Because when one dreams, the other feels it, Leo said with disconcerting certainty. The first activity was in the garden. Lucía set up several boxes with different objects: bells, dried leaves, bottles of water, perfume bottles.
He blindfolded them, although it wasn’t necessary, and placed them at opposite ends. “Let’s try something new. You can’t talk to each other, but when I shake an object, I want you to think about what it is and have the other person say the answer.” The children nodded. Lucia took a bell and shook it gently. Leo smiled without saying anything and turned his head toward Bruno.
“It’s a little bell,” Bruno said confidently. “Okay, now let’s change.” Lucía uncapped a jar of cinnamon and placed it in front of Leo. The boy inhaled deeply. Before he could say anything, Bruno murmured, “That smells like sweet bread.” Lucía gasped.
She repeated the exercise several times with different objects, and each time one of the twins seemed to guess what the other was perceiving. “It’s as if they were sending each other invisible messages,” Lucia murmured to herself. Later, in the mansion’s music room, she discovered another surprising aspect. There was a dusty piano, almost forgotten.
Lucía uncovered it and let her fingers fall on the keys, playing a simple melody. The twins immediately approached, drawn by the sound. Bruno placed his small hands on the keys and clumsily repeated the same chords. “Did you copy it?” Leo exclaimed. “I didn’t copy it, I heard it in my head,” Bruno replied. Lucía tried something more complex, a short Chopin fragment.
Bruno hesitated, but managed to reproduce it almost from memory. Not perfectly, but surprising for someone who had never seen sheet music. Leo, on the other hand, began to tap his foot, marking a different rhythm, faster, more cheerful. “I don’t want to play like him,” he said. “I want to invent my own music.” Lucía watched them in wonder. There it was.
An innate talent, a shared language they themselves didn’t yet fully understand. “You’re not blind,” she said excitedly. “You’re full of music, and music is also a way of seeing.” The twins laughed happily, but the happiness didn’t last long. Ramiro entered unannounced, frowning, and stopped when he saw them around the piano.
What does this mean? His voice boomed like thunder. The children shrank back in silence. Lucia calmly replied, “They have musical talent. It’s impressive. They could learn to communicate with the world through the piano. I don’t want them to waste their time on fantasies,” Ramiro roared. “I want real results, medical results, therapies, science, not lullabies.”
Lucía pressed her lips together. Mr. Valverde, what if music is precisely your therapy? What if it’s the key that opens doors you can’t see? Ramiro took a step closer, his gaze hard. Don’t you dare lecture me. You don’t know what it’s like to fight the darkness that condemns my children. Lucía didn’t move, but her eyes shone with determination.
They already fight every day. I just show them that they can also laugh while they fight. Ramiro clenched his fists, but didn’t respond. He turned and walked out with a firm stride. That night the twins were restless. Lucía sat on Leo’s bed, stroking his hair. “Don’t worry, your father loves you, even if he doesn’t always show it,” Bruno whispered. “Daddy thinks we’re broken.”
No, darling, you’re not broken, you’re different. And sometimes being different is the greatest gift. Leo hugged his brother and murmured with a conviction that shook Lucía. Someday Dad will see too. She closed her eyes and smiled. Maybe, after all, the children weren’t the only blind people in that house.
The mansion had become a silent field of invisible battles. On one side, the twins’ laughter that blossomed with each of Lucía’s games. On the other, Ramiro’s hardened frown, watching from the shadows. Every day, the millionaire became more convinced that the woman wasn’t what she seemed. The way Bruno and Leo looked for her, the confidence with which they pronounced her name, the way they slept more peacefully and she sang to them. All of this awakened in him a dangerous mix of jealousy and fear. He couldn’t allow himself to be…
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