When the door closed behind Darío’s exit, the mansion fell silent. Lucía, tears in her eyes, looked at Ramiro. “Why did you do all this for me?” He took a step toward her. “I didn’t do it just for you; I did it for my children. Because they didn’t just regain their laughter; they regained their life. And so did I.”
The twins hugged each other, forming a perfect circle. “Aren’t you going to leave now, Mama Lucía?” Bruno asked. She kissed them on the forehead, her voice trembling. “Never.” That afternoon, the sun illuminated the mansion’s gardens. Lucía took the children to the lawn and there, guiding them patiently, helped them feel the warmth of the light on their skin, the scent of the flowers, the birdsong.
The twins stretched out their arms and laughed. “What color is this, Mama Lucía?” Leo asked, touching a rose. “It’s red like the love I feel for you.” Ramiro watched from the terrace. His heart, hardened for years, softened with each burst of laughter from his children. He walked toward them, leaned next to Lucía, and for the first time in a long time, let the silence speak for him. “Thank you,” he whispered. Lucía looked at him and understood that they were no longer two worlds separated by social distance. Now they were an imperfect, but true, home.
