The millionaire installed secret cameras to monitor the new nanny, but what he discovered about his own son shocked him. The black gate of the house opened as it did every day at 8 a.m., punctually as if it were an order no one could break.

The chauffeur greeted the guard with a quick nod and got back into the car without waiting for a reply. In the back, Leonardo Salazar was checking his phone without looking out the window, always dressed in designer suits, well-groomed, without a wrinkle in his clothes or a trace of emotion on his face. He was the owner of one of the largest construction companies in the country, a millionaire since he was 35, but with a completely empty soul for the past two years.

Since his wife died in a car accident, Leonardo devoted himself solely to work. It was as if the rest of the world had ceased to exist. He became more serious, colder, and more withdrawn. Those who knew him before said he wasn’t even a shadow of the man he once was. In his house, silence was part of the atmosphere, as if he were part of the furniture.

 

 

And the only one who lived with him was his 5-year-old son, Diego, or Dieguito, as his mother called him. The boy barely spoke; he spent most of his time locked in his room playing alone or watching cartoons without laughing. Babysitters came and went. Some couldn’t stand the boy’s temper, others simply couldn’t stand the coldness of the house. Some tried to get close to him, but on the second attempt, he’d slam the door in their faces or throw whatever they offered to him on the floor.

Leonardo hired them based on recommendations, with impeccable letters, experience, degrees, and courses, but they didn’t last more than a week. In total, eight babysitters had passed through the house in the last three months. Most didn’t even say goodbye.

That morning, while Leonardo was checking emails in his office, his personal secretary knocked on the door to let him know the new nanny was already home. Her name is Valeria, 29 years old, and she lives half an hour away. She has experience babysitting, but no children. I saw her application and thought she was a good fit. “You name it,” she said without much enthusiasm, used to new nannies being a part of her unimportant routine.

Leonardo just nodded and continued with his work. But before the secretary left, he looked up. “Install the cameras in the playroom and living room. Starting today, I want to check everything.” The woman blinked in surprise, but said nothing. He wasn’t joking. He called the technician, and in less than an hour, they were up and running.

Leonardo could view the cameras from his cell phone and computer. He did this not only for security reasons, but because he simply didn’t trust anyone anymore. He’d had bad experiences, even with people close to him. He didn’t want to take any risks, and although he didn’t say so, there was something that worried him deeply.

His son wasn’t just sad; he was losing his childhood right before his eyes, and he didn’t know how to help him. Valeria entered the house with a simple backpack, jeans, a light-colored blouse, and a kind expression. She didn’t look rich, nor did she look like she was looking for anything more than a job. She greeted him with a firm but gentle voice, without overdoing it with fake smiles. The housekeeper showed him where everything was and explained the boy’s routine.

She listened to everything without interrupting. A few minutes later, there was a knock on the playroom door, and Valeria entered without waiting for a reply. Dieguito was in a corner of the room playing with some Lego pieces. He didn’t turn to look at her. Valeria didn’t force him to talk, or to say hello, or to look at her. She just sat at the other end of the room in silence. She took a box of paints and paper out of her backpack.

Without saying anything, she began to draw. She didn’t try to get the boy’s attention; she just did her thing. Dieguito glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, but didn’t move. About 20 minutes passed like this. Leonardo watched everything from his cell phone with one eyebrow raised, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. No nanny had ever endured so much without complaining or giving up, much less without speaking to the child as if he were a baby or a difficult client. The first day passed, and Valeria didn’t get too close. She just stood nearby, without intruding.

At the end of the afternoon, when Dieguito went with the nanny to bathe, Valeria packed her things and asked permission to leave. “How was it?” the housekeeper asked. She just smiled faintly. “He’s sad, he just needs time.” No one had ever said that before. The others said he was rude, that he had an emotional problem, that he needed therapy.

Valeria didn’t ask for diagnoses or instructions; she just said she was sad. The next day, the same scene. Valeria arrived punctually, entered the room, sat nearby, took out a puzzle, and began to do it alone. This time Dieguito stood up and looked at her. He didn’t

She spoke, but moved a little closer. On the video, Leonardo saw him.

She hit the repeat button to see if her vision had been a mistake. No. The boy approached on his own. In the afternoon, when she left, she reviewed the recording again. Dieguito had even given her a puzzle piece. Something was happening. Valeria didn’t have a special method. She didn’t speak to him as a teacher or a therapist.

She spoke to him like a normal child. She asked him if he wanted to play, told him what she was drawing, offered him cookies. When he didn’t respond, she didn’t get frustrated; she just kept going. She was patient, as if she knew there was something inside him that needed to come out, but couldn’t do it if she rushed him. Three days passed, and Dieguito was already sitting next to her.

He didn’t talk much, but he looked at her when she told something. Sometimes he laughed softly. One afternoon, when Leonardo arrived earlier than usual, he stood in the doorway of the playroom, unseen. Valeria and the boy were building a block city. The boy was talking, saying things like, “That was here or that’s the hospital.” Leonardo swallowed. It had been weeks since he’d heard him say so many words in a row. He didn’t want to interrupt.

That night, already in his room, Leonardo thought about something he didn’t dare say out loud. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel that pressure in his chest when he got home. He didn’t feel like he was in a mausoleum. There was a new, light, almost imperceptible feeling, but it stirred something inside him, and he didn’t know if it was because of what Valeria did with her son or because of how she filled the silences without saying a word.

At 9 a.m., Valeria was already sitting on the playroom floor with her legs crossed and a box of open crayons in front of her. Dieguito watched her out of the corner of his eye from his favorite corner by the window. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t hide either.

He was holding a worn-out stuffed animal with a sewn-on ear, his knees dirty from sitting in the same place for a while. Valeria took out a piece of white paper, picked up a blue crayon, and began to draw quietly. She painted slowly, without looking at the boy, as if he weren’t there. Behind a screen in his office, Leonardo watched from his computer, his elbows on the desk and his face resting on his hand.

He didn’t quite understand why, but he couldn’t stop staring. Most of the babysitters arrived with notebooks, planners, schedules, songs ready to sing, and as soon as they entered the room, they would start talking to the boy as if he were 3 years old. They would ask him if he wanted to play, if he liked this or that, if he wanted to go to the park, and when they didn’t get an answer, they would get frustrated and start repeating the questions more loudly, as if shouting them would make them more effective. Valeria hadn’t done any of that.

From the moment she entered, her presence was calm, as if she didn’t care whether the boy answered her or not. She was just there, breathing the same air as him, letting the moment pass without forcing it. Dieguito looked at her once more. This time he lowered his gaze to the drawing. Valeria already had half a page full of lines that looked like a field with a lake in the middle. Then she took the green crayon and drew a tree.

The boy came a little closer. He didn’t walk, but dragged his body slowly, just a few inches, as if it were a game that no one should notice. Valeria changed crayons and took a brown one. She drew a small house, one of those with a chimney and square doors.

At that moment, as if something was activated inside the boy, he stood with the stuffed animal in his hand and walked over to where she was sitting. He didn’t say a single word; he just crouched down in front of her, looked at the drawing, then looked into her eyes for half a second and sat down next to her. Leonardo felt something tighten in his chest. He didn’t know if it was excitement, nostalgia, or simply amazement.

He didn’t understand what was happening. In two days, that boy had ignored three different women who tried to approach him, and now he was sitting next to a stranger watching her draw trees. He pressed his lips together and settled back in his chair, but he didn’t take his eyes off the screen.

Valeria didn’t make any exaggerated gestures, didn’t celebrate, didn’t smile too much, didn’t say, “Very good,” she just continued drawing as if nothing had happened. After a while, she took out another sheet of paper and placed the blue crayon in the middle. She didn’t say anything, but Dieguito took it and began to make a line that looked like a river. Then he took the green one and drew something that looked like a hill. The boy remained serious, not speaking, but his movements were confident.

Valeria just watched him out of the corner of her eye and nodded, as if saying wordlessly, “Yes, you’re doing well.” In the kitchen, the housekeeper was serving breakfast with the radio on low. She listened to oldies while arranging the cups. When the cook passed by, she asked how the new nanny was doing. “There they are.

The boy already sat down with her,” she said while cleaning a cup. I don’t know what she did, but that hadn’t happened with any of them. The cook raised her eyebrows.

So quickly, she said, “Well, I hope he doesn’t leave tomorrow like the others.” The housekeeper sighed and shook her head. Hopefully. Later, around 11, Valeria took Dieguito to the garden.

She didn’t force him to run outside or play. She just told him he’d be outside if he wanted to join her. She sat on a bench reading a book. Five minutes later, the boy walked slowly outside with the stuffed animal in his hand, sat on the grass a few feet from her, and began picking up pebbles.

The sun was gentle, the shade of the trees covered much of the garden, and the wind blew gently. From his cell phone, Leonardo saw everything. He zoomed in on the image and for the first time in weeks saw his son moving calmly, unhurriedly, but without fear. At mealtime, Dieguito didn’t want to sit in the dining room, but agreed to eat in the playroom. The meal was rice with shredded chicken and cooked vegetables.

Valeria ate with him on the floor, using a tray with plastic cups. They ate without speaking much, but there was no sign of tension. Halfway through the meal, the boy looked up and said something quietly. No one knew what it was exactly, but Valeria smiled and answered without making him repeat it. She looked him in the eye as if she understood everything. After eating, she washed his dishes and left them dry in the kitchen.

She didn’t wait for anyone to ask. Later that afternoon, when the school chauffeur arrived to drop Leonardo off, the boy was still in his room, but this time drawing alone. Valeria watched him from a corner without interrupting. The security guard told the boss that everything was fine.

Leonardo didn’t say anything; he went straight up to his room and rewatched the day’s recordings. There was something about that woman’s behavior that wasn’t typical. It wasn’t exactly tenderness, forced patience, or methods learned from books. It was as if he did it naturally, as if he knew that children sometimes just need space, not explanations. That night, when Valeria had already left, Dieguito refused to watch cartoons. He asked the nanny to bring him some crayons.

He spent almost an hour drawing. He made a house, a tree, a lake. He also drew something resembling a puppy. When he finished, he folded the sheet of paper in half and put it under his pillow. No one said anything, but the nanny looked at him in surprise. At the end of the night, before going to sleep, the boy said softly, “Will you be back tomorrow?” The nanny nodded.

And for the first time in a long time, Dieguito fell asleep without asking for the light to be left on. Valeria got off the bus with her backpack slung over her shoulder and her sweater tied around her waist. She walked along the usual sidewalk, waving from a distance to the man at the juice stand, who already recognized her. and then she entered a small shop with half-closed curtains and walls covered with saints and holy cards.

“The usual?” asked the woman behind the counter. Valeria nodded and took a folded bill out of her backpack. She didn’t say anything else, just waited for the bag containing the bottles. One contained some drops her mother was supposed to take before bed, and the other a medicine to help her breathe better.

The woman also handed her a handwritten note with the dosages. Valeria carefully stuffed it into the bottom of her backpack and quietly left. The house where she lived was two blocks away. It was an old building with peeling paint and a broken flowerpot by the door. She knocked twice and waited. From inside, she heard a loud, dry cough, then shuffling footsteps.

The door opened slowly. A thin woman with gray hair tied back in a loose bun looked at her with a tired expression. “I’m here, Mom!” Valeria said with a soft smile, the one she always seemed to wear, even though she was falling apart inside. Her mother didn’t answer; she just stepped aside to let her in.

Inside, it smelled of medicine, reheated soup, and stored powder. The living room was half-arranged, with blankets on the couch and a table with half-filled glasses. Valeria left her backpack on the chair and went straight to the kitchen. She took out a pan, heated some rice, made tea, and served a small portion for her mother. They hardly spoke at all.

The woman was too weak to have a long conversation. Sometimes she had difficulty breathing, and other times she would simply stare at a fixed point on the wall. Valeria didn’t complain; she had gotten used to it. Since her mother was diagnosed with this lung disease, her life had changed completely. She worked wherever she could, long or short shifts, babysitting, cleaning houses, selling cookies on demand, anything that would earn her enough to cover medicine and household expenses.

When the opportunity arose with the Salazar family, she didn’t think twice. The pay was much better than others, although she knew the child was difficult; she’d been told. A friend who worked as a cleaner told her that no nanny lasted more than a few days, but Valeria didn’t mind.

There were difficult children.

She was afraid of losing her job. After dinner, she helped her mother get into bed, arranged the pillows, gave her the eye drops, and turned off the bedroom light. Then she went to the kitchen, washed the dishes, swept the entryway, checked the medicine bottles to write down how much was left, and when everything was in order, she sat on the bed with her cheap cell phone to check messages.

She had one from her friend Sandra asking her how things had gone with the child. She hardly said anything, but stayed by my side. “It’s something,” Sandra replied. She put an applause emoji on it. Valeria smiled a little and then turned off her phone. The next day, she arrived at the Salazar house before her usual time, greeted the housekeeper, washed her hands, and went straight to the playroom.

Dieguito was already there with his box of crayons on the floor. When he saw her, he raised his hand and showed her a drawing. It was a ship, or something that tried to look like one. Valeria approached slowly, sat next to him, and looked at him without saying anything for a second. Then she told him she liked the flag he had drawn for her. The boy smiled faintly.

It was the first time he had smiled in front of her. Leonardo, like every day, watched everything from his cell phone. Leonardo no longer just checked the cameras occasionally; now he had them open while he worked in a floating window on the monitor, as if they were part of his daily routine. He checked emails, signed contracts, talked to investors, and out of the corner of his eye watched Valeria and her son pass the hours among crayons, blocks, stories, and songs she made up on the spot. Sometimes he caught himself listening attentively to what

she was saying. It was strange. That never happened to him with anyone. One afternoon, when he got home, Leonardo walked down the hall and heard something that stopped him in his tracks. Valeria was telling Dieguito a story. She used different voices for the characters and made dramatic pauses. And when the funny moment arrived, the boy let out a loud, clear laugh that echoed throughout the house.

Leonardo stood still and closed his eyes for a second. He hadn’t heard that laugh in so long, he’d forgotten what it sounded like. He felt a lump in his throat that he didn’t know where it came from. That night, in the kitchen, the housekeeper asked Valeria if she had children. She shook her head as she washed a cup.

No partner or children, just my mom, she said without giving details. She didn’t like to talk about her life. She had learned that the less others knew, the less she had to explain. The housekeeper, a curious but respectful woman, didn’t press the issue. A few days later, when Leonardo passed her in the hallway, he noticed that Valeria’s face was paler than usual.

She had dark circles under her eyes and looked tired, but she still greeted him with one of those smiles that had become familiar to him. He didn’t say anything, but he pondered it for a while longer than usual. Valeria continued to arrive punctually, with the same backpack, the same brisk gait, and the same calm way of entering the boy’s life as if she were part of a gentle game.

Dieguito would already look for her in the mornings. He would ask if she had arrived yet, if he could wait for her in the living room, if he could show her the drawing he had made the day before. It was as if someone had opened a window in that house and fresh air let in every time she passed by.

One night, while Valeria was putting the toys away in a box, she sat on the floor for a few minutes without moving. The nanny had already taken Dieguito to bed. She just stared straight ahead, her back straight, but her eyes unfocused. Leonardo saw her from the bedroom camera. She wasn’t doing anything, but there was something about her posture that made him feel uncomfortable, as if she was carrying something that no one could see, as if that smile she wore every day was a disguise that sometimes fell off when she thought no one was looking. Leonardo closed the laptop, but remained sitting in front of it, without turning on the television or

picking up his cell phone. He didn’t work late that night. That night, he thought about something he couldn’t explain. Why did he care so much whether that woman was really smiling or not? That Monday, Valeria arrived with her hair tied in a high ponytail, a light sweatshirt over her blouse, and a box of cookies wrapped in a napkin inside her backpack.

She had made them the night before with the few ingredients she had left at home. Her mother had barely eaten anything all weekend, and she needed a distraction from all that. She knew that if she focused only on the pain, she’d fall. That’s why she poured her energy into every detail of the day. Work was her space to breathe, even if it was just for a few hours.

The housekeeper greeted her at the door as usual and told her that the owner wanted to talk to her before she went up to the playroom. Valeria nodded a little tensely, because that wasn’t customary. Until that day, Leonardo Salazar hardly spoke to him, only dry greetings from afar or some phrases.

It was cut off when they met in the hallway.

It was normal for someone who seemed to have no time for himself. She went up to the office and knocked on the door. His voice answered from inside. “Come in.” Leonardo was sitting behind the desk, his cell phone in one hand and a folder open in front of him.

He didn’t immediately look up, just pointed to the chair in front of his desk. Valeria sat down without saying anything, her back straight and her gaze steady. Inside, she didn’t know if she was going to be fired or if something strange had happened with the child. “I want to make a few things clear,” he said bluntly, in that dry tone he used for everything. “This is a job.”

“It’s not your home, it’s not your family. You’re here to take care of my son, not to get emotionally involved. There’s no need to share personal things or talk about your life. As long as you keep to your schedule and your duties, there’ll be no problem.” Valeria said nothing, just nodded once.

And in case you haven’t heard, there are cameras in all the common areas. I watch them personally. It’s nothing against you. It’s the same thing I’ve done with all the previous ones. I’m mentioning it so you’ll keep it in mind. Leonardo finally looked up. His eyes were fixed on hers, as if searching for a reaction, the slightest sign of discomfort or annoyance.

But Valeria just took a deep breath and remained calm. “I understand,” she replied in a calm voice. “I have nothing to hide. I’m here to do my job well.” That was all. He nodded, closed the folder, and got up from his desk. “You can go with the child.”

Valeria stood up too, thanked him, and left without looking back. She walked down the hallway, her heart a little heavy, not because of what he’d said, but because of how he’d said it. As if having emotions were a fault, as if simply connecting with someone was a problem. But she already knew that man’s soul was broken.

He could tell from the way he spoke, from the way he avoided other people’s eyes, from how empty the rest of the house seemed when he was around. Upon entering the playroom, he found Dieguito sitting on the floor with a half-built tower of blocks. Upon seeing it, he raised his face with a discreet smile. “I made you a house,” he said, pointing to a figure that looked like a triangle with legs.

Valeria immediately bent down and sat with him. “Is it beautiful? Is that the door?” she asked, pointing to a red piece. The boy nodded enthusiastically. Over the next hour, they built an entire city. He gave instructions, and she followed as if she were an architect under his command. Each block had its place, each figure had a name.

From his office, Leonardo opened the vault window again. The morning’s conversation was already stored in his head, but what he saw there stirred something he couldn’t explain. Why was it so hard for him to let things flow? Why did he feel the need to distance himself every time something in his house started to feel normal? He didn’t even know.

He only knew he was afraid to trust. He’d done it before, and everything had fallen apart. He didn’t want to repeat that story. That afternoon, Dieguito asked Valeria to help him paint an old T-shirt. They took out tempera paints, paintbrushes, and glasses of water. They covered the floor with sheets of newspaper and began to create a kind of colorful monster with three eyes and 10 arms. The boy couldn’t stop laughing.

At one point, Valeria accidentally got blue paint on his nose. He looked at her in surprise and then painted a stripe on her cheek. The paint fight lasted a few minutes, but it was enough to fill the room with laughter. Leonardo watched it all on his cell phone, frowning, but unable to stop looking.

At departure time, Valeria said goodbye as usual, but before crossing the threshold, the housekeeper said in a low voice, “Don’t listen to the boss. Sometimes he’s harsh, but he’s not being mean. Nás doesn’t know how to deal with good people.” Valeria smiled at her without responding. She walked to the bus stop, thinking about that.

She didn’t want any trouble; she just wanted to keep her job and take care of the child. That was all. She didn’t have time for messes or complicated people. At home, her mother had had a bad day. She found her coughing more than usual and with tired eyes. She made her tea, put cold cloths on her forehead, and sat by her side until she fell asleep.

At 11 p.m., with the lights already off, Valeria stared at her bedroom ceiling, thinking about Leonardo’s words. It’s not your home, it’s not your family. Of course it wasn’t, but how hard it must be to live thinking you’d never have something like that again. Leonardo, for his part, locked himself in his study checking his emails, but he couldn’t concentrate.

He closed his eyes and remembered the boy’s laughter, the paint on his face, Valeria’s calm gaze when he confronted her that morning. There was something about her that didn’t fit in with the others.

He didn’t try to please anyone; he didn’t seem to want to stay put, or stand out, or butt in where he wasn’t called. And yet, her presence changed everything.

Days passed, and although the rules remained the same, Leonardo began to notice that he was breaking some without realizing it. One afternoon, as he went down to the kitchen, he heard Valeria singing a made-up song with funny lyrics that made Dieguito laugh like crazy. Instead of continuing on, he stopped on the stairs and listened. Another afternoon, she forgot her sweater in the living room.

Instead of sending it to the maid, he picked it up himself, folded it, and carefully left it in the entryway, without saying anything. The barrier he had put up with so much effort was beginning to crack. And even if he didn’t admit it, even if he didn’t say it out loud, every time he saw Valeria with her son, he felt something similar to Esperanza, that same hope he had been avoiding for years.

The mornings began to feel different, even though no one said anything. It wasn’t just the clatter of dishes in the kitchen or the whir of the blender that was heard. Now, sometimes, between 8 and 9, laughter could be heard—not loud, boisterous laughter, but those soft, short laughs, the kind that come out when something unexpectedly surprises you or amuses you. The first to notice was the housekeeper.

She was coming up with a basket of folded clothes when she heard Dieguito laughing from the playroom. She stood still for a moment on the stairs, pricked up her ears as if confirming it was real, and then continued walking, but with a smile on her face. Valeria had found a way. She didn’t do it with shouts or songs from the internet, nor with modern tricks or tablets full of games.

She did it with time, with patience, with being there. Every day she would come home and sit on the floor, sometimes with a story, other times with modeling clay, or simply with a notebook to paint. Dieguito no longer needed to be told to come down. He waited for her, awake, fully dressed, with his shoes on backwards with excitement.

One day she brought a bag full of colorful socks. She taught the boy how to make puppets with them: they drew eyes, glued buttons on them, cut mouths out of felt. Each sock had a name and a personality. There was one that spoke like a Norteño, another that was shy, and yet another that was afraid of cats. Dieguito learned them all. Then they put on a play for the housemaids.

The housekeeper, the cook, and the lady who did the laundry sat in the living room while the boy, hidden behind the armchair, manipulated the puppets with an emotion they had never seen before. The women applauded as if it were the greatest show in the world. Valeria didn’t say it was her idea; she just let the boy take center stage.

Leonardo wasn’t home that day. He had a meeting at the construction company, but when he watched the recordings later, he remained silent for a long time. Dieguito imitated voices, moved his arms vigorously, and even laughed at himself when he dropped a puppet. It was like seeing another child, as if he’d been rescued from a dark corner and was now under the light, experiencing what it felt like to live again.

The change wasn’t just in the boy. Little by little, the whole house began to move differently. Before, everything had been quiet, extremely tidy, as if every piece of furniture was forbidden to make a noise. Now the doors were opened more often. The refrigerator had flavored juices. In the living room, toys were sometimes lying around for a few hours, and for the first time in months, the backyard was used.

Valeria would take out a blanket, bring books, and some fruit, and sit with the boy to read or simply watch the clouds. One afternoon, he asked her if the clouds were really made of cotton. She told him no, but that sometimes they seemed like they were, and that was okay too. Leonardo, though he didn’t say a word, also began to change.

He did so in small ways. Before, he ate alone in his study. Now, some days he went down to the kitchen and poured himself a coffee while listening to Dieguito talking from a distance. Sometimes he stood in the doorway, without crossing it, watching his son play from afar. He didn’t hide so much anymore.

He also began to arrive home a few minutes early, just to check on the atmosphere at home. And when he left, instead of leaving with a tense face, as usual, he did so with a lighter expression. No one said it out loud, but everyone noticed. One day, when Leonardo came down the stairs, he found Valeria in the living room with the boy lying face down on a blanket, painting a dinosaur.

Her face was stained with green paint, and the boy was telling her a made-up story about a T-Rex who was afraid of thunder. Leonardo stood there without interrupting, without being noticed; he just watched, and for a moment he felt like time had stopped. That moment was simple, but it fulfilled him more than any accomplishment in his endeavor.

Later, when Dieguito was napping and Valeria was cleaning up the toys,

Just then, Leonardo entered the living room. She looked at him and stood up quickly, respectfully. He gestured with his hand so she wouldn’t be uncomfortable. He walked to the center of the room, bent down, and picked up one of the sock puppets. “Did you make this?” he asked in a curious, not annoyed tone. Valeria nodded a little nervously. It was the boy’s idea. I just helped him.

Leonardo looked at the puppet for a few seconds and then left it on the table. “It’s a good idea,” he said. And he left without adding anything else. That night, Leonardo had dinner in the kitchen with Dieguito, just the two of them. The boy told her in his half-spoken words everything they had done that day. He told her about the puppets, the scared dinosaur, the juice he had tasted. Leonardo listened attentively, without checking his cell phone, without looking at his watch.

When Dieguito finished, he stared at him for a few seconds, as if he couldn’t believe this was the same boy who hadn’t spoken, laughed, or shown emotion for months. Valeria, for her part, left each day feeling different—tired, yes, but also calm.

She felt she was doing something right, not just because of the job, but because this boy needed real company. She didn’t know how long this job would last, or if the boss would change his mind overnight, but for now, she was fulfilling a mission no one else had achieved. At home, Sundays were the quietest days because Valeria didn’t come.

That first Sunday, after several weeks with her, Dieguito got up early and asked why she hadn’t come home. The nanny explained that it was her day off. The boy didn’t say anything, but that day he didn’t want to play. He spent more time watching TV, put his crayons back away, and that afternoon he fell asleep on the couch, cuddling one of the puppets.

Leonardo saw it and understood everything without needing words. That woman, without seeking it, had brought back something he had already thought lost. And not only in his son, but also inside him. On Monday afternoon, the weather turned strange. Gray clouds began to cover the sky without warning.

And although it wasn’t raining yet, the air already felt heavy, like when a storm is about to hit. The house was quiet. Dieguito played in the garden with a sponge ball, throwing it in the air again and again, while Valeria watched him from the bench, drinking water from a bottle and laughing every time he shouted that the ball was the jumping moon.

Everything seemed in order until the front doorbell rang. No one was expecting it. The housekeeper was the first to look out, and when she saw who it was, she pursed her lips as if she had just seen something she didn’t like at all. “Tell the boss,” she said quickly to the cook as she opened the door with that mixture of formality and displeasure that only someone who knows their guest very well displays.

Jimena stood in the doorway, tall, slender, wearing heels so thin they didn’t seem to touch the floor, her straight hair perfectly combed, and sunglasses that she didn’t take off even when she was inside. She had an expensive purse hanging from her arm and a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Good afternoon,” she said as if she owned the place. The housekeeper answered out of obligation. “Is Leonardo here?” she asked, finally taking off her glasses. Her gaze was steady, as if she were gauging everything she saw. In less than five seconds, she had scanned the entrance, the flowers, the carpet, and even the maid’s uniform.

“I’ll let him know,” the lady repeated without moving too quickly. Deep down, she wasn’t in a hurry to serve her. Leonardo came down the stairs a few minutes later, his face serious and his expression slightly surprised, but it quickly faded. “Jimena,” he said tersely, without enthusiasm. She approached and kissed him on the cheek, as if they were still part of the same family.

“It’s nice to see you,” she replied in a sweet tone that contrasted with her calculating gaze. “It’s been a while since I last saw you.” Leonardo didn’t reply; he just stepped aside to let her in. Jimena had been the wife of Mateo, Leonardo’s younger brother, a charismatic, impulsive, and rather messy man. His marriage to her had lasted less than three years, but it had left enough memories to make the whole family uncomfortable. During that time, Jimena had tried to earn a place among the Salazars, moving carefully,

always appearing perfect, smiling in public, and criticizing in private. Leonardo never liked her. He saw beyond the makeup and the smile and didn’t trust her behavior. After her divorce from Mateo, she had disappeared for a long time. Until now, they’ve been sitting in the living room.

Jimena elegantly crossed her legs and took out her cell phone, placing it on the table as if it were an extension of her hand. “I heard you’re very busy,” she began. “And I also heard that your son has been going through a difficult time. I thought it would be a good idea to come visit him. See how he’s doing.” Leonardo narrowed his eyes.

immediately.

Who told you that? she asked bluntly. I ran into one of your aunts at a get-together. You know how we talk about everything. They say it’s calmer, that you have a new nanny. What’s her name? Veronica. Valentina. Leonardo didn’t answer; he just stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the garden.

From there, Valeria could be seen sitting on the grass, making a kind of origami figure with a sheet of paper. Dieguito was on his knees in front of her, excitedly waiting for the magic bird to fly away. Leonardo looked at them for a few seconds in silence. “Her name is Valeria,” he finally said. “Oh,” Jimena replied with a crooked smile.

“Well, I’m sure it won’t last long, will it? You know how those girls are. The first thing they get bored with, they leave, or when they find something better.” Leonardo turned his head and looked at her coldly. “Don’t come here to gossip or talk about people you don’t know.” Jimena raised her eyebrows in feigned surprise. She simply said, “I’m worried about the child, that’s all. And you also look more tired, thinner.

Are you eating well? I can help you if you want. I know someone who takes care of houses, makes special meals for children, and I trust them. I could stay for a few days if necessary. I have no problem supporting the family.” Leonardo interrupted her. “You’re not my family, Jimena.” The silence felt heavy for a few seconds.

Jimena held his gaze and then slowly stood up as if nothing had bothered her. “Well, if you don’t want my help, I understand. Although a house like this, with so much activity, so many employees, and a child with so many needs, not everyone can handle it. I hope this girl, Valeria, is prepared. They say that child isn’t easy. It’s not his fault,” Leonardo said in a low but firm voice.

The ones who failed were the adults. Jimena grabbed her bag, smoothed her hair, and walked toward the door. I always say you have to be careful who you trust. You never know who comes through the door. Even the calmest person can have hidden agendas. Anyway, thanks for having me. Let me know if you need anything or if you change your mind. He left the house as if nothing had happened.

As soon as the door closed, Leonardo felt the air become lighter, as if that woman carried a tension that affected everything in her path. In the garden, Valeria was still making paper figures with Dieguito. The boy looked at her with shining eyes.

In her hands, she held a blue bird that couldn’t fly, but for him, it was the most incredible thing about the day. Valeria looked up and saw Leonardo watching them from the window. He didn’t say anything, just nodded and turned away. That night, before going to sleep, Leonardo opened his laptop and reviewed the videos from the afternoon, not to spy on anyone, but because he needed to see that scene again.

The boy laughing with a paper bird, the house quiet, and her there, not asking for anything, not trying to impress, just being. Then he thought about what Jimena had said. You never know who’s coming through the door. And without realizing it, he wondered if the person who was supposed to come in was already inside. The weather dawned strange. It wasn’t cold or hot, but the wind was blowing hard and sniffing everywhere.

From early on, the sky was covered with gray clouds, and in the kitchen, people were already talking about how it would surely rain before afternoon. Valeria arrived punctually as always, wearing her sweater and letting her hair down for the first time. The housekeeper greeted her with a quick nod and a passing comment. “Be careful of the wind, it’s heavy today.”

Valeria just smiled and went straight up to the playroom. Dieguito was lying on the couch with a blanket over him. He didn’t have his usual energy. There were no crayons scattered around or half-built block towers. When he saw her, he tried to smile, but his face looked pale.

Valeria approached slowly, crouched down beside him, and touched his forehead with the back of her hand. It was burning. “Does something hurt?” she asked in a low voice. The boy just shook his head and snuggled deeper into the blanket. She didn’t hesitate for a second. She went to get the thermometer from the medicine cabinet in the hall. She quickly returned and placed it under his arm.

While she waited, she stroked his hair slowly, like his mother did when he was very tired. The device beeped a few seconds later. 40 degrees. Valeria immediately notified the housekeeper. In less than two minutes, the two of them were with him, checking what he had eaten, if he had wet himself, if he had slept badly. The boy’s eyes were shiny and he seemed uncomfortable.

He wasn’t crying, but it was obvious he wasn’t feeling well at all. “I’ll let the gentleman know,” said the housekeeper, her cell phone already in her hand. Valeria stayed by Dieguito’s side, cooling his forehead with a wet cloth and murmuring softly to him so he wouldn’t feel alone. Despite the heat, the boy didn’t want her to leave.

Every time she

She was trying to get up, and he was holding her sweater with his little hand. Leonardo arrived half an hour later, driving himself. He didn’t wait for the driver. He was dressed in a white shirt without a tie, his eyes more serious than ever. He went straight into the playroom, and the first thing he saw was his son lying on a blanket, half asleep, his head resting on Valeria’s lap.

She looked up at him from the floor, not moving, but with the clear expression that she was doing everything she could to calm him down. “What’s wrong?” Leonardo asked sharply, walking up to them. Valeria explained everything calmly: the fever, how long it had been, what he’d eaten, and what they’d already done. He nodded and took out his cell phone. “I’m going to call the pediatrician.” While she was talking, Valeria carefully picked up Dieguito and carried him to the bedroom. Leonardo followed her.

At that moment, he didn’t care if he was breaking the rules he’d set himself. He couldn’t leave her alone with the boy. So they went up to the bedroom together. They laid him down between the two of them. Valeria propped him up with pillows, removed his shoes, and covered him with the light blanket. Leonardo hung up the call.

The doctor is on his way. For the next 20 minutes, silence filled the room. The only sounds were Dieguito’s heavy breathing and the wind pounding against the window. Leonardo sat in a chair next to the bed, and Valeria stood on the edge, watching the boy’s every movement.

From time to time, he cast her a quick glance, not with distrust, but with something close to curiosity, as if he had just realized that, despite the short time, she knew the boy better than he did. At one point, the boy shifted uncomfortably, and Valeria quickly got up to wet another cloth. Leonardo did the same from across the room. They met in the middle, right in front of the nightstand.

He reached for the glass of water, she reached for the cloth, and their hands accidentally touched. It was a minimal touch, barely a second, but enough for both of them to remain still. They didn’t say anything; they just looked at each other. And in that look, there was something inexplicable, neither romantic interest nor physical attraction. It was deeper. It was the recognition of two people who have been alone for a long time and who suddenly find themselves in the midst of the same pain.

Valeria was the first to look away. She took the cloth, returned to the bed, and gently placed it on Dieguito’s forehead. Leonardo returned to his place without saying a word, but something inside him had shifted, and he wasn’t sure he wanted it to calm down.

The doctor finally arrived, examined the boy, took his temperature, and asked Valeria to write down the exact time it all started. She took an old notebook out of her backpack and wrote the information down in firm handwriting. The doctor recommended rest, fluids, and a couple of medications he himself had left. The fever is under control for now; they just need to monitor him closely.

Leonardo walked him to the door. When he returned, Valeria was still in the room, sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall. There was no tension anymore, only tiredness. “Thank you,” Leonardo said, lowering his voice for the first time. She looked at him, not knowing how to respond. She wasn’t used to him using that tone. “I just did what I had to,” she replied. “No,” he replied.

You did more than you had to, much more. The wind outside calmed down a bit. The tree branches weren’t blowing as loudly anymore. The sky was still gray, but at least it didn’t look like a storm was coming. Dieguito fell completely asleep, his breathing more even.

Valeria stayed for another hour until the housekeeper insisted that she should rest. Leonardo walked her to the door, this time not far behind. Before he left, Valeria stopped. “I’ll be back earlier tomorrow,” she said, “in case you still have a fever.” Leonardo nodded. “We’ll be here.” That night, he checked the cameras again, but not to see if she’d done anything out of place.

He did it because he wanted to revisit that moment, that instant when their hands accidentally brushed and everything changed. Jimena returned as if she’d never left. She didn’t warn, didn’t ask, she simply appeared again one Thursday morning under some kind of excuse. This time, she was carrying a bag of children’s books.

She said they were for Dieguito, that she’d seen them in an exclusive store in Polanco and thought he might like them. The housekeeper didn’t want to let her in, but she let herself in as if the house was still part of her world. “I won’t be long,” she said in that fake voice she always used when she wanted to seem friendly. “I just want to say hello.” The maid had no choice but to notify Leonardo. He was in his study.

He had spent a sleepless night, worried about the boy’s fever, which had gone down, but not completely. I also had the image of Valeria in my head, sitting at the foot of the bed, watching over him without leaving her side for a second. And although she didn’t say it out loud, something inside

Something in him had begun to change.

Upon receiving the notification of the unexpected visitor, he sighed with annoyance. “Tell him I’m busy, to put the books away, and that’s it.” The housekeeper obeyed, but Jimena didn’t leave. She stayed in the living room as if waiting for something else. And there she was when Valeria came down with Dieguito wrapped in a blanket, looking for some air. Jimena’s eyes immediately fixed on them.

She smiled, but it wasn’t a genuine smile. “Wow,” she said, walking toward them, her heels clicking loudly on the floor. “So you’re Valeria, I finally meet you.” Valeria didn’t answer immediately; she just nodded with a polite smile and continued walking toward the garden with the boy in her arms.

“You seem to have a good hand,” Jimena commented from behind her. “The boy has a lot of trust in you. Not everyone can achieve that.” Valeria turned around slightly without pausing. He’s an incredible boy. He just needed to be heard. Jimena looked at her with a raised eyebrow. Of course, of course. And you, how long have you been here? A few weeks, right? Pretty well positioned for such a short time. Valeria didn’t fall for the provocation.

She bent down, placed the boy in a small garden chair, and covered his legs with the blanket. Then she gave him some apple juice she had prepared minutes before. From the study window, Leonardo saw everything. He wasn’t listening, but something about Valeria’s posture gave him a bad feeling. He walked into the living room.

When he arrived, he found Jimena standing with her arms crossed, looking out at the garden. “You shouldn’t talk to him like that,” she said bluntly. Jimena turned around, feigning surprise. Talk to him like we were just talking. You don’t have to come back if there’s nothing important going on. This isn’t a social club.

She laughed softly in that sarcastic tone she used. when she felt attacked. I’m worried that you’re letting someone like that in without knowing who they are. Sometimes people seem very nice at first, especially when they have something to gain. Leonardo didn’t respond, but the words stuck with him. Not because he thought Valeria had bad intentions, but because something in him was still broken.

And when you’re broken, even the cleanest things can be viewed with suspicion. That night, during dinner, Dieguito talked about Valeria the whole time. He said she had made him a word search, that she had told him a new story, that they played doctor, and that he had cured a stuffed animal that had a flying virus.

Leonardo listened attentively, smiling without it being too noticeable, but inside he was still mulling over what Jimena had said. He didn’t want to do it, didn’t want to let that voice get into his head, but there it was, bothering him like a constant drip on the same stone. Later, when Dieguito was already asleep, Leonardo went down to the study, turned on the computer, and opened the camera system. Not with distrust, but out of habit, or so he wanted to believe. He scrolled through the day’s videos, saw Valeria reading with the boy, then putting together a

puzzle, then sitting in the garden drinking juice. Nothing unusual, everything clean, everything normal, more than normal, it was warm. Still, Jimena’s words were still there. When they have something to gain, he slammed his laptop shut, poured himself a sip of whiskey, and sat down on the couch. He remembered his wife.

He remembered how he trusted certain people after she died, how some relatives approached him to ask for favors, how certain friends tried to take advantage of his grief, and he reminded himself, repeating over and over, “I’m not going to trust anyone again.” The next day, Jimena wrote to him again, not to ask for anything, just a message.

If you want, I can stop by to see the boy this week. I’ve grown attached to him and I don’t want him to be hurt. Leonardo didn’t answer. That same morning, Valeria arrived as usual. She was carrying a cardboard box with a small doctor’s kit she had bought at a secondhand sale. She told the boy that today he would be the doctor and she would be the patient.

Dieguito excitedly ran to put on a toy white coat. While they played, Leonardo watched them from the hallway without them noticing. Valeria let him check her throat with a plastic tongue depressor and even pretended to have a fever so the boy would prescribe an invisible medicine. The boy laughed. He was really laughing. Leonardo felt his chest tighten, and at that moment the doubt Jimena had planted reappeared: whether he was trusting too much, whether one day she would leave, and whether this too was something he was idealizing, like when he thought

that his life would be perfect after the Marriage. And it all ended so badly. I didn’t know Valeria beyond work. I didn’t know if she had a partner, if she was looking for something, if she planned to stay long. I only knew that since she’d arrived, everything had been better. That afternoon, Leonardo called her into his studio. Valeria entered unhurriedly, her hands clean of paint and her hair tied back.

She stood in front of the desk without sitting down. “Is something wrong?” she asked calmly. Leonardo

He looked at her seriously, as if he were debating something in his head. “I want to know something,” he finally said. “Why are you here?” Valeria frowned in surprise.

“What do you mean, why? Why did you take this job? It’s so difficult, Dieguito, this environment can be so tiresome. What keeps you here?” She took a few seconds to answer, not because she didn’t know what to say, but because she hadn’t expected to have to explain something so obvious. I’m here because the child matters to me and because I need to work.

I have my reasons, but I’m not looking for anything else, not favors, not benefits, not for you to see me as something I’m not. I do my job to the best of my ability, nothing more.” Leonardo nodded. He didn’t ask for further explanations. “It’s fine, I just wanted to know.” When she left, he stood staring at the closed door. And although he hadn’t told her everything he felt, a part of him wanted to believe her.

He wanted to stop doubting, but he knew it wasn’t that easy. That week, Valeria didn’t arrive with the same expression as always. Her smile was still there, but it seemed forced. And there was something in her eyes that others couldn’t see if they didn’t look closely. She seemed more tired, more distracted.

Even so, she arrived punctually as always. She greeted everyone, washed her hands, and went straight to find Dieguito, who was waiting for her in the garden with a drawing in his hand. “Look, you and me in a rocket,” the boy said proudly. The drawing showed two dolls with round helmets and a spaceship that looked like a flying boot.

Valeria smiled, hugged him tightly, and sat on the grass with him to listen to how this new adventure began. But inside, her mind was elsewhere. Her mother had had a bad night. Her breathing was getting more labored. The medicine wasn’t working as well as it had before. And no matter how hard Valeria tried to stay calm, she was starting to feel overwhelmed.

She was afraid of losing her, of being alone, of not being able to be with her if something happened while she was working. She had already gone to the hospital alone in the early morning because she didn’t want to wake her, and that memory haunted her. That day, after playing with the boy for a while, Valeria asked to speak with Leonardo.

He welcomed her into his office. He was reviewing some plans at the large table in the back, without a jacket, with his shirtsleeves rolled up. He also looked tired, as if the weight of the week was already upon him. She entered and carefully closed the door. She stood in front of the desk.

She wasn’t carrying her backpack, her sweater, or anything to cover the slight trembling in her fingers. “I need to ask you something,” she said bluntly. Leonardo looked up from his papers. “Tell me, my mom is sick. Seriously. She’s been like this for months, but lately she’s gotten worse. I hadn’t said it because I didn’t want to mix my things with work, but I need to ask his permission to leave early some days, just for a couple of hours when I can, to take her to the doctor, to take care of her.”

He remained silent. He stared at her, as if trying to read between the lines. “Are you saying you’re going to be absent often?” “No,” she replied firmly. “I’m going to comply as I have been. I just need a little flexibility. I promise to make up the hours. I don’t want this to affect the child.” Leonardo looked down for a second, then nodded. “Okay. Let me know ahead of time when you need it.” She took a deep breath, relieved.

“Thank you. Why didn’t you say this sooner? Because I didn’t want her to think I was here out of pity or need. I’m here because I want to help her son, because I care. The rest is just my personal life.” Leonardo didn’t say anything else; he just looked at the plans again, but when she left, he remained thoughtful, the phrase swirling around in his head. “I’m here because I care.”

The following days, Valeria began to go out some afternoons, sometimes just for an hour, other times a little longer. She always gave notice, always returning the next day as if nothing had happened, but the difference was noticeable. Her face no longer had the same light, her tiredness was even stronger.

And when she played with Dieguito, although she still smiled, her eyes were duller. The boy, unsure of what was happening, began to ask her more frequently. “Are you coming tomorrow?” “Of course,” she always replied, stroking his hair. “I’ll be here.” But on one of those afternoons when Valeria went out, Jimena reappeared. This time she was carrying a cake. She said she had bought it at a French bakery and thought Dieguito deserved a present.

The housekeeper didn’t know how to refuse her. Leonardo wasn’t there, so she let her in. Jimena walked straight into the garden, where the boy was playing alone with a ball. She crouched down to his level and pretended to be as sweet as she could. “Hello, champ. Do you remember me?” The boy looked at her seriously. He nodded halfheartedly.

“I brought you something delicious,” he said, showing the box. Dieguito didn’t respond. He continued bouncing the ball without much interest. Jimena watched him for a while. “Where’s Valeria?” he asked. “She went to see her mom.” “She’s sick,” the boy replied without getting up.

She shook her head. That information was like gold to her. She said nothing, but smiled with her eyes.

She stood there for a few more minutes, pretending to be interested in the game. When Leonardo arrived, he found her in the living room drinking coffee with the housekeeper. “Here again?” she asked in a neutral tone. “I came to see the boy. I brought him some cake. He was alone. Valeria isn’t here, right?” Leonardo nodded reluctantly. “I had to authorize some outings. His mother is sick.” Jimena let out a long sigh. “Oh, poor thing.”

But anyway, how complicated, isn’t it? Having someone with so many problems at home working here with such a sensitive child? I don’t know if it’s a good idea. I mean, it could affect him emotionally.” Leonardo didn’t respond, but once again the seed of doubt began to germinate. That night in his study, he thought about Valeria again, about how much her son loved her, how well he got along with everyone, how much the house had changed since she was here. But she also thought about what would happen if she left, if things with her mother

worn, if one day she decided not to return. She tried not to give in to fear, but it was stronger than her. Valeria, meanwhile, sat in a public hospital waiting room with her mother asleep beside her, breathing heavily. Her hands were cold and her eyes swollen from not crying so much.

She stared at the ceiling, tired, wishing she could split herself into two parts: one to care for her mother and the other to care for the child who needed her, but there was only one of them, and she was exhausted. The next morning, she arrived earlier than usual. She had dark circles under her eyes, but she had also made up her mind. If anything happened, she was going to quit. She was clear about that. She wasn’t going to jeopardize the child’s well-being because of her situation.

She walked in as usual, said hello, washed her hands, and when she saw Dieguito running toward her with his arms open wide, she felt her heart break a little. She hugged him tightly, as if it were the last time. Early Wednesday morning, Valeria woke up with a start, not because she was having nightmares or because of a loud noise, but because something in her chest suddenly squeezed, like an alarm that didn’t need to be sounded.

She quickly got out of bed and went straight to her mother’s room. She was sitting up in bed, trying to breathe. Her lips were pale and her eyes were open, but she was struggling to speak. Valeria held her hand tightly and reached for her inhaler. It didn’t work.

She called 911 while speaking softly to her, telling her to hang in there, that the ambulance was coming, that everything was going to be okay, even though deep down she knew it wasn’t true. They took her to the hospital at 3:20 a.m. Valeria sat in the waiting room for hours, arms crossed, staring blankly. She didn’t cry, didn’t speak, didn’t move. It was as if her body had gone into automatic mode.

At 6:30 a.m., a doctor came out with a tired expression. She spoke to her in a soft, measured, but direct voice. Her mother couldn’t resist. Her body no longer responded. She died asleep, peacefully, without pain. That’s what they said. Valeria didn’t make a fuss, didn’t scream, didn’t fall to her knees, didn’t ask for explanations, she just sat there staring at a fixed point until someone tapped her on the shoulder to ask if she had anyone to call.

That same day, at 9:00 a.m., she arrived at the Salazars’ house, as usual, without a backpack, without a sweater, without her usual face. She was pale, with her hair tied haphazardly and her hands trembling. The housekeeper saw her from the entrance and knew something wasn’t right. Valeria said nothing.

She walked to the kitchen, asked for a glass of water, and then sat down in one of the chairs. “What happened?” the woman asked softly. Valeria looked at her, her eyes filled with tears, but not yet falling. “My mother died,” she said softly. This morning, no one in the house knew what to say. The housekeeper hugged her without asking anything. Valeria remained still as if the body were no longer hers. A few minutes later, Leonardo came downstairs.

He was carrying his cell phone in his hand and a folder under his arm. He was in a hurry, as always, but when he saw Valeria sitting there, he knew something had happened. He approached, uncomprehending. “Everything okay?” he asked. She looked at him with red eyes, but not crying. “My mother passed away this morning.”

I just came to let you know that I won’t be able to continue. I need time to sort everything out, to breathe. It hurts to leave the child, but I can’t be here now.” He said it without drama, without raising his voice, without looking away. Leonardo felt the air in the room become heavier. He hadn’t expected that. He didn’t know what to say; he could only nod.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice softer than usual. “I understand. Take all the time you need.” Valeria nodded. “Thank you. Sorry for not letting you know sooner.” He shook his head. “You don’t have to apologize. Not now.” She asked to see the boy to say goodbye. She climbed slowly, without strength, as if each step were a stone. When she entered the playroom, Dieguito was already

He was waiting for her.

He was sitting on the floor with a box of crayons. When he saw her, he stood up immediately. “You took a while,” he said with an innocent smile. Valeria couldn’t help but smile back, even though she was hurting inside. She bent down to his level, caressed his cheek, and hugged him tightly, very tightly. The boy didn’t understand anything, but he let her hug him. “Are you coming tomorrow?” he asked. Valeria swallowed.

“No, little one, not for now. I have to go away for a few days, but I want you to behave. Yes, keep drawing, keep laughing.” The boy frowned. “Why did you get angry? No, my love, I wasn’t angry. I just have to take care of some things at home. But you’re going to be okay.”

He lowered his gaze; he didn’t cry, he just remained silent. Valeria kissed him on the forehead and handed him a folded sheet of paper. “Here’s a drawing for you. It’s your rocket to keep traveling.” The boy took it carefully, as if it were the most valuable thing in the world. Valeria went downstairs without looking at anyone. The housekeeper handed her her bag. Leonardo was standing by the door.

When she passed him, they stared at each other for a few seconds. “Thank you for everything you did for my son,” he said. Valeria just nodded. “He helped me too, much more than you can imagine.” She left without looking back. Not because she didn’t want to, but because she knew that if she did, he would. It was about to break. The house felt different as soon as the door closed, as if something more than just a person had left.

Dieguito locked himself in his room. He didn’t want to eat lunch, he didn’t want to watch TV, he just lay there staring at the ceiling. The housekeeper tried to talk to him, but the boy just kept saying, “She’s not coming back, is she?” Leonardo didn’t have an answer either. He spent the entire afternoon locked in his office, unable to concentrate.

He kept looking at his phone as if waiting for her to text him. She didn’t. That night he ate alone. Dieguito didn’t come down either. In the kitchen, the employees were talking quietly. The house returned to its former silence, to that emptiness they already knew. But now it felt colder, more real, more unfair.

In his room, Leonardo turned his laptop back on and opened the recordings from the previous days. He saw Valeria playing, laughing, talking to her son. He watched her holding him, treating his scrape, making up stories with the dolls, dancing with the broom in her hand.

He watched those videos for over an hour, not because he distrusted her, no, that was no longer part of his routine. Now he watched them because he missed her, because her absence hurt more than he had thought, much more than he was willing to accept. Monday began as always, with the same sound of the The gate opening at 8, the same strong coffee in the kitchen, and the same silence in the dining room. But something was different. Valeria wasn’t there.

And although no one said it out loud, everyone felt it. The housekeeper walked more slowly. The cook served breakfast without speaking, and the chauffeur looked at his cell phone in boredom, as if waiting for someone to give an order that never came. The playroom was as tidy as ever, but now it felt cold, empty, as if the colors on the walls had faded.

Dieguito sat on the floor with the same box of crayons, but he didn’t draw anything. He just took out the drawing of the rocket that Valeria had left him and placed it in front of him. He stared at it for a long time without touching it, as if he was afraid it would disappear. Leonardo came down later than usual. His shirt was unbuttoned, his jacket hanging over his arm, and the face of someone who hadn’t slept well.

He barely nodded and drank his coffee without a trace. Try it. When the housekeeper asked him if they wanted another babysitter, he answered without much thought. No, not for now. The woman nodded and didn’t insist again. Throughout the day, the house felt larger than usual.

Dieguito didn’t want to go out into the garden, nor did he ask for stories or games; he just paced back and forth with the picture in his hand. The nanny tried to cheer him up, showed him cartoons, offered him cookies, brought him his favorite toys. Nothing worked. The boy didn’t speak, didn’t smile, didn’t make a fuss, but his silence was louder than any scream. At one point, he sat down at the door of the playroom.

And he stayed there as if waiting for someone to appear, as if he knew something important had gone and didn’t know how to get it back. Leonardo, from his study, saw everything. His cameras were off, but he peeked through the half-open door and managed to see his son sitting on the floor with his head down.

He felt a pang in his chest, one of those. that can’t be cured with medicine. He had seen his son sad before. Yes, but this time it was different. This time it wasn’t just sadness, it was loss, yet another loss. And he didn’t know how to fill that void. That night, dinner was a formality. Dieguito ate two spoonfuls of soup and asked to go to his room. The cook left the pot half-filled.

Leonardo wasn’t hungry. He went upstairs to see the

A boy later found him asleep with Valeria’s drawing under his pillow. He closed the door slowly and went to the study. He poured himself a whiskey without ice. He opened his laptop and, out of habit, accessed the camera system.

There was nothing interesting to see anymore, just the quiet house, the lights off, the empty rooms, but he opened a folder he hadn’t touched since the previous recordings. He played one where Valeria was in the living room with Dieguito setting up a car track. She was laughing, he was shouting excitedly, and the atmosphere was different, more lively, warmer. Then he opened another, where they were in the garden. Valeria was showing him how to catch leaves falling from the tree, and the boy was running after them as if they were butterflies.

Then he played another one. It’s where she says goodbye, gives him the drawing, and strokes his hair as if it were her own. Leonardo didn’t know when he started to feel a lump in his throat, but it was there. During that week, he tried to fill the void. She called a child therapist to talk to the boy.

Dieguito didn’t want to. They offered him a return to school for a few hours. He didn’t want to either. They gave him a puppet show one Saturday. He didn’t laugh, he just asked to go to his room. In the kitchen, the maids spoke in low voices. “It’s not the same,” one said. “That girl worked miracles with the boy, the other nodded, and with the boss too. Didn’t you see how his temper sank those days? He was like someone else.”

Leonardo heard those comments from the hallway one night. He didn’t say anything, just kept walking, but inside he was in turmoil. He didn’t know if he was missing Valeria because of what she did with his son or because of something else, because since she left, not only the house changed, he changed. He slept less, he thought more. He spent the days with his mind elsewhere.

He remembered her voice, her gestures, the way she bent down to talk to the boy, the way she avoided talking about herself, and that day their hands accidentally touched, that second, that feeling. One night, Leonardo went down to the playroom. It was late, everyone was asleep. He sat on the floor where Valeria used to sit.

Everything was in its place, but it didn’t feel the same. He picked up one of the sock puppets, the one with crooked eyes and a crooked mouth, the one Dieguito called Don Torombolo. He looked at it for a while and then placed it on the table. He closed his eyes and remained there in silence. In his head, he began to wonder something he had avoided until now.

What if she didn’t come back, and if it had just been a phase. A woman who walked through the door accidentally changed everything and left without an explanation. What if that story was over? But there was another, more difficult, more uncomfortable question. And if he missed her not only for what she did with their son, but if what he felt was something more, he had no answers, only that emptiness that filled the house and that neither work nor money could fill.

A emptiness that had a name and, although he didn’t want to say it out loud, was called Valeria. On Friday afternoon, Leonardo was in his office in front of the computer, his eyes fixed on a video call he was barely listening to. His finance manager was talking about a new project, something important, with big numbers and urgent contracts, but he wasn’t there. His mind wasn’t on the accounts, or the screen, or the meeting.

He was focused elsewhere, far away, as if everything in front of him meant nothing at that moment. In the background, the recorded laughter of a video Dieguito was watching in the living room could be heard. The boy no longer laughed at the cartoons, but he played them anyway, as if they helped fill the silence.

Leonardo closed the laptop without saying goodbye and stood up without saying anything. Dieguito lay on the couch, hugging his stuffed animal, staring into space. The TV was still playing softly, but his eyes weren’t focused on it. Leonardo sat next to him, stroked his hair, and asked if he wanted to go out, go to the park, or eat something special. The boy just shook his head.

Do you want me to tell you a story? No. We play with the cars. Don’t you want to talk? The boy pressed his lips together and covered his face with the stuffed animal. Leonardo didn’t insist. He sat there with his heart heavy, feeling that helplessness that can’t be removed with hugs, words, or money. That afternoon, as if fate were in a strange mood, the doorbell rang.

The housekeeper opened it, and there was Jimena again, with her come-to-help face and a large bag in her hand. “Hello,” she said in a sweet voice. “I heard these have been difficult days. I thought I’d stop by for a moment. I brought some things for the boy. Books, crayons, new stuffed animals.” The housekeeper didn’t want to let her in, but she didn’t have orders to kick her out either, so she told Leonardo.

He came down to see her reluctantly, but with a tired face. Jimena noticed it immediately. She studied him with her eyes. She knew he was weak, vulnerable, distracted, just the way she liked it. “I’m not here to bother you,” she said. “Come in.”

I did it carefully. I just thought I could be helpful. Sometimes when life gets tough, you need someone else to lighten the way.

Leonardo didn’t respond; he just looked at her. “What if I stay a couple of days,” he suggested. “It’s not an invasion, not at all. I can help with Dieguito, keep him company, play with him, distract him a little. It’s obvious he needs company. And you, you need to rest too.” The silence in the living room lasted a long time. Leonardo crossed his arms and looked away for a few seconds. He was exhausted.

And although a part of him knew it wasn’t a good idea, another part thought maybe a little help wouldn’t hurt. “Just a couple of days,” he finally said. Jimena smiled contentedly. “I promise you won’t regret it.” That same night she had already settled into the guest room.

She asked for an extra blanket, had her clothes ironed, and had unsweetened tea brought over. She acted as if she had always belonged there. During dinner, she sat next to Dieguito and tried to start a conversation. “So how have you been, champ?” The boy didn’t respond. She insisted, offered him bread with chocolate, encouraged him to tell a joke. Nothing worked.

In the end, the boy got up without a word and went to his bedroom. Leonardo saw everything, noticed, but said nothing. The next day, Jimena got up early and went down to the kitchen wearing her silk robe. She greeted the maids with a fake smile and began giving instructions as if she were the owner of the house.

“Don’t give Dieguito so much sugar,” she said. “At that age, it’s better to avoid it.” Then she asked about the boy’s clothes, his toys, and the cleaning schedule. The housekeeper watched her suspiciously; something didn’t seem right, and neither did the others. That day, Leonardo went to the office for a couple of hours. When he returned, he found the house silent.

Jimena was in the playroom with Dieguito, or so she thought, but when she entered, she noticed the boy sitting in a corner without speaking while Jimena showed him some flashcards. “Come on, repeat after me. Bear, house, table,” she said in a forced tone. “Come on, you can do it.” The boy didn’t answer. Leonardo didn’t say anything; he just looked at them for a few seconds and went to his study.

That night, while they were having dinner, Jimena spoke about Valeria for the first time. “That nanny you had. Valeria, right? She left very quickly. It’s strange, isn’t it? She had a family matter,” Leonardo replied without looking up from his plate. “Yeah, right, his mom, how sad. But hey, you have to know how to separate personal and work matters, especially when it comes to children.”

Leonardo looked up, annoyed. “Don’t talk about what you don’t know.” Jimena raised her hands, pretending not to want to argue. “I’m just saying that not everyone is mature enough for this kind of work.” Sometimes people leave without thinking about the consequences, and the child, well, is the one who pays.

Leonardo didn’t respond, but the expression on his face was clear. He didn’t like that comment. Nothing. Two more days passed. Jimena was still in the house. She no longer said it was just a couple of days. Now she behaved as if she had one foot permanently in the house. She ordered, corrected, spoke to the employees as if they were her own. And with Dieguito, there was no chemistry.

She forced him to talk, to eat, to do things. She didn’t understand that the child wasn’t a machine, that he was sad, that he needed time, not control, not pressure. One afternoon, Leonardo came home early from work, went up to the child’s room, and found Jimena scolding him. “I told you not to throw that away, don’t you understand or what?” she said as she took a toy from his hand.

The child’s eyes were full of tears, but he wasn’t crying. He just stood still with his head down. Leonardo entered without a word. Jimena was startled. It’s not what it seems, she said quickly. I’m just educating him. He needs boundaries. Otherwise, he’ll grow up without respect. Leonardo took a deep breath, crossed his arms, and stared at her silently. Then he looked at his son.

Go with the nanny, son. The boy left without looking back. Jimena tried to explain further. She said she was doing it for the child’s own good, that it wasn’t abuse, that children need firmness. Leonardo didn’t answer; he just left the room. That night, for the first time in days, he opened the recordings again.

He wanted to know if this had been a one-time thing or if it had been going on for a while. He didn’t like what he saw at all. Leonardo opened the recordings with his stomach churning. He’d had a bad feeling for a while, but he’d wanted to ignore it out of respect, out of tiredness, out of habit.

But that scene in the room with Jimena raising her voice to the child was like a blow to the head. He couldn’t let it go. Not with Dieguito. Not again. He accessed the hidden camera system he’d installed months ago. The ones he used only when he wanted to see what wasn’t visible to the naked eye. The ones he almost never checked, because he’d learned to trust them until the mistrust returned. He played the videos from the last three days. He started in the morning.

Jimena entering the room

of the child with a cup of coffee in his hand and Dieguito playing alone on the rug. Pick that up. He could be heard saying, “Don’t leave everything lying around. I’m not your maid.” The child didn’t respond. Jimena sighed and gently kicked a cart on the floor. “Listen to me. I don’t like repeating things.”

Leonardo frowned and moved to the next clip. There she was, serving the child breakfast. Toast, juice, a plate of fruit. “I’m not going to make you anything else. If you don’t eat it, you’ll be hungry.” And then, when Dieguito moved the plate, she would say softly, “You’re such a pain. Sometimes you should learn to behave, not like that nanny who pimped you out of everything.” Leonardo clenched his fists. He moved forward to the next day. Same thing again.

Passive-aggressive comments, annoyed faces, tugging on the arm when the child didn’t respond the way she wanted. Once, she even gently pushed him from behind to make him walk faster. It wasn’t harsh, it wasn’t violent, but it was unnecessary and it was done with contempt. That was enough.

He stared at the screen for several minutes in silence, remembering everything he’d done to protect his son, all the barriers he’d built, all the control he’d tried to maintain, only to end up trusting someone like her. Another time, he ran his hands over his face, stood up, and paced the studio. He was furious, but more than that, he felt guilty. He didn’t think about it much.

He went upstairs and went straight to the guest room. He knocked loudly on the door. Jimena opened it in a bathrobe, her hair wet and her face shocked. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “I want you to grab your things and leave. Now.” She looked at him as if she didn’t understand. “How? Why? Because I saw what you did. Don’t try to deny it. I have the recordings.” Jimena suddenly became serious. Her face changed.

“Are you watching me?” That’s what you’re doing now. Are you spying on me like I’m a criminal? I don’t need to spy on you. I was just protecting my son. And you crossed the line. I don’t want you here anymore. She tried to defend herself. It wasn’t that bad. That child needs boundaries. I was just trying to… You came to the wrong house. He interrupted her. You don’t mistreat anyone here, much less a child who’s been through so much. And I don’t care what you say.

You’re leaving today, and I never want to see you near him again. Jimena glared at him with hatred. The kind of hatred only shown by someone who isn’t used to losing. I always thought you were so intelligent, she said, lowering her voice with venom. But you’re still the same fool you were before. They manipulate you easily, make you feel loved for a little while, and then you’re ready to turn the other cheek. What a shame.

Take that with you, Leonardo replied, opening the door for her. Your poison, your arrogance, and your evil intentions. The door closed behind her with a loud bang. In less than an hour, the chauffeur was already leading her away. Leonardo was left alone in the study. He sat at the desk, but didn’t open his computer. He stared at his hands, thinking about everything: Valeria, how she was with Dieguito, how she looked at him, how she spoke, how she never raised her voice, how she never needed to impose herself to win the boy’s heart, and how his absence had made everything fall apart. His chest tightened, not from anger, but from

sadness and something else he didn’t want to name yet. Dieguito entered the study unannounced. He had the drawing of the rocket in his hand and his usual face. Serious, but with something behind it, he approached slowly and stood in front of him. “Has he left yet?” Leonardo asked. He looked at him. He nodded. “Yes, he’s not coming back.”

The boy took a deep breath. He sat in a corner of the chair. He didn’t say anything else, just placed the drawing on the table. “Can we look for Valeria?” he asked after a while in a low voice. Leonardo didn’t respond immediately. A lump formed in his throat.

He didn’t know how to explain that it wasn’t that easy, that she had left for something very big, that she might not come back. “I don’t know if I want to go back,” he finally said, “but yes, we can look for her.” The boy nodded and for the first time in days, rested his head on his shoulder. That night, Leonardo didn’t turn on the TV, didn’t check his email, didn’t open any files, he just sat in front of the drawer where he kept his old notebooks and took out a blank sheet of paper.

He wrote Valeria’s name at the top and below it, he wrote a single question. “Where are you now?” Because it wasn’t just for his son anymore, it was for him too, for that emptiness that remained, for those hands he missed, for that voice he missed more than he dared say. It was Wednesday afternoon.

The sky was finally clear. After several days of rain, the Salazar house remained the same on the outside: large, imposing, with that air of cold perfection that never quite fit. Inside, something had changed. Jimena was gone. The tension had left her, and although that brought some relief, the emptiness remained. Dieguito remained silent.

No longer

He cried, but he didn’t talk much either. He spent the afternoons with his rocket drawing, sitting on the couch or on the playroom floor, waiting without saying anything, as if his little heart knew someone important was missing. Leonardo watched him from a distance. He didn’t want to pressure him, but he didn’t know how to comfort him either.

And that combination of wanting to do something and not knowing where to start had him tied up. He had considered looking for Valeria. He had thought about it several times. He even wrote her number on a piece of paper. He kept it on his cell phone screen for several minutes, but he never dialed it. He didn’t know what to say to her.

He didn’t know if she would want to listen to him, and he was afraid she would say no. That day, just as the clock struck 5, the housekeeper appeared at the study door. She knocked twice. “Sir, excuse me for bothering you, but there’s someone at the entrance. He says he’s come to drop off some missing papers for the contract.” Leonardo looked up. Papers.

What contract? I don’t know, sir. She said she worked here, and it’s her. Leonardo stood still. His heart leaped. He stood up abruptly, without saying anything, and walked down the stairs slowly, but without stopping. When he reached the door, there was Valeria, standing on the other side, holding a folder and her hair tied back in a tight bun.

She was wearing simple clothes: jeans, a beige blouse, and low-top sneakers. She looked thinner, more serious, but she was still her old self. Leonardo took a couple of seconds to speak. “Hello,” Valeria looked down for a moment. “I came to deliver these. These are the pending insurance documents. I forgot to sign one. The agency called me.”

I thought it best to bring it myself. Leonardo took the folder, not knowing what to say. “Thank you,” he said. “Finally.” “I didn’t want to bother you,” she added quickly. “I’m not staying, I just came to drop you off.” Just at that moment, Dieguito’s voice was heard from the living room.

“Who’s here?” he asked from the back of the room, and then, as if he’d sensed something, he ran to the door. When he saw her, he froze for a second. Then he shouted, “Valeria!” The boy ran and threw himself at her. He hugged her tightly, so tightly that she almost lost her balance. The folder fell from her hands. Valeria held him without thinking. She pressed him to her chest, closing her eyes.

The boy didn’t say anything; he just cried softly, without making a fuss, his face buried in her neck. Leonardo didn’t move. There was a lump in his throat and his hands were shaking. Valeria stroked the boy’s hair and spoke softly. “Now, my love, I’m here. It’s okay, now. Now.” Dieguito didn’t want to let go. He hugged her as if he would never see her again.

Valeria pulled away from him a little, wiped his tears with her fingers, and smiled at him. “Don’t cry anymore. Yes, I’m okay. Are you okay?” The boy nodded, still looking at her. “Are you going to stay?” “No, I just came to drop off some papers,” she replied, swallowing her own lump. “But are you coming back tomorrow? I don’t know, my love. I don’t know.” The housekeeper appeared to take the boy inside.

Leonardo nodded, giving her permission. The boy left with slow steps, turning around several times to look. When he disappeared down the hallway, Valeria sighed. “Sorry about that. I didn’t want him to see me. I didn’t know you don’t have to apologize,” Leonardo interrupted. “He misses you a lot.” She looked at him with shining eyes. “I miss him too.”

The two of them stood in silence in front of the door, the folder lying on the floor and a pile of unspoken things floating between them. Leonardo bent down to pick it up. When he stood up, he looked at her again. “How are you?” he asked slowly. Valeria hesitated. Then he answered bluntly. “Empty, but I’m surviving.”

Some days are harder than others, but I’m better. Do you have a place to stay? Yes, I’m at an aunt’s house for now. And a job. I’m looking for something. I don’t want to go back to babysitting for a while. At least not for now. Of course, said the short one. There was another silence, one of those heavy ones, ones you feel in your body.

Leonardo didn’t know how to tell her that everything had changed since she left, that the house had become a shell again, that his son never laughed the same way again, that he himself felt like something had broken inside him. But he didn’t say it, he just looked at her. And in that look, Valeria understood, because she was looking at him differently too. “Can I ask you something?” he said, breaking the moment.

“Tell me, would you like to come over for a coffee?” Just for a moment, not to talk about work, just to chat like normal people. Valeria thought about it, not because she didn’t want to, but because she was afraid of going back in, of feeling again, of getting attached to something she didn’t know if she could sustain.

But in the end, she nodded for just a little while, whatever you want. They entered the kitchen. The atmosphere was different, not cold, not tense, just charged, like when things float between words. Leonardo made the coffee. She sat at the counter looking at her hands. “You look tired,” she said. “I am.”

Today. For work, for everything. And the boy, he misses you. Not a day goes by that he doesn’t ask about you.

I thought he’d have forgotten by now. He doesn’t forget what makes him feel good. Valeria lowered her gaze. Leonardo placed the cup in front of her. He sat on her other side. They drank coffee leisurely, without labels, without the roles of boss and employee. Just two people talking, sharing the same air. Sometimes, that’s all it took. When they finished, she slowly stood up. “I’m leaving. That’s enough for today.”

Leonardo also stood up. He walked with her to the door. Before opening it, he looked up. “Thank you for coming. Thank you for not asking me to stay.” He lowered his gaze. She understood him better than he did. Valeria left without looking back, but that night Leonardo knew that this reunion hadn’t been a coincidence and that something inside him could no longer be hidden. After Valeria left that afternoon, Leonardo was never the same.

He spent hours alone in the kitchen, the now-cold cup of coffee in his hands, feeling the silence stronger than ever. The scene of Dieguito running to hug her kept replaying in his head. That so natural way the boy pressed his body against hers as if he wanted to merge there, never to be separated again.

That reaction isn’t invented, it’s not faked; it comes from the heart. And that little heart he had for a son was broken since she left, just like his, even though it was hard to admit. He didn’t sleep that night. He tossed and turned in bed with his eyes open and his mind racing. It wasn’t just because of what he felt for Valeria, or because of the absence she had left.

It was also because of the anger he still felt, the anger at having allowed Jimena to intrude into his house, into his routine, into his son. And the guilt, the guilt that always came later, when it was too late. The next morning, he asked to speak to Rosa, the woman who had worked as his housekeeper for years. She had seen everything. She had been in that house since he was a teenager.

She knew his silences, his looks, and his fears. He trusted her more than anyone. “Sit down,” he said, pointing to the chair in front of his desk. She sat down without hesitation, adjusting her apron. “I want to know something. I need you to be clear about it. Jimena did something more than what I’ve already seen in the videos.” Rosa looked at him seriously, as if she were hesitating whether to share what she knew. Then she lowered her voice. “Yes, boss.”

She treated him rudely, but not just the boy, the others too. She scolded the cook for serving him bread and butter, because that was farm food. She made the new girl cry. She told her that if she continued so clumsily, she’d lose her job, and she scared him with the boy. When you weren’t there, she yelled at him softly. She told him he’d be alone if he didn’t obey, that you’d get angry with him if he misbehaved.

That’s not on camera. Because she said it while they were walking in a low voice, but I heard it several times. Leonardo froze. Why didn’t you tell me before? We didn’t know how. You were busy, stressed. We didn’t want to get involved, and we thought maybe it was just a misunderstanding, but then it wasn’t a misunderstanding, it was malice. She didn’t like the boy, boss.

She just wanted you to like her. Leonardo clenched his fists on the desk. He took a deep breath. “Thank you for that.” Tell me. Rosa got up to leave, but before leaving, she turned around. Boss, can I tell you something else? Excuse me. Since Valeria left, the house changed. The boy shut himself in again. So did you. She wasn’t just a nanny. That girl gave something back to this house we no longer had.

If you want advice, seek her out. But truly seek her out as a man, not as a boss. You can’t let another good person leave you because of someone like Jimena. He didn’t say anything, just nodded. And when Rosa left, he sat there, feeling all the pieces begin to fall into place. That afternoon, while he was reviewing some papers in the study, his cell phone vibrated. It was a message from an unknown number.

He opened it without much expectation, but when he read it, his heart started racing. Don’t trust yourself so much. There are people who seem good, but they’re just acting. Remember what happened last time. It was Jimena. She didn’t sign the message, but he knew it was her. The tone, The words, everything.

Leonardo gritted his teeth and dialed her number. No answer. He tried again. Nothing. He put his cell phone aside, but he couldn’t ignore the feeling that something wasn’t right. He called his trusted lawyer and asked him to check if there was anything unusual with the documents Jimena had brought during her stay.

She had mentioned that she could help with some paperwork she had acquaintances with at a child fund management company and that she could secure the child’s future while he took care of the work. Leonardo hadn’t signed anything, or so he thought. Two days later, his lawyer returned his call. “I found something, Leo,” he said. “It’s not against you, but it’s against you.”

icated.

It seems Jimena tried to file a temporary guardianship request through a contact she had in the child protection system. She wasn’t successful because she didn’t have any legal signature from you, but she tried. She left the door open, used your name, the child’s name, and an old document where you had signed something for a charity campaign.

She manipulated it to make it look like there was authorization. Leonardo remained silent. The lawyer continued talking. Nothing’s going to happen. She has no legal way to make it happen. But that shows she had intentions. She didn’t want to help you. She wanted to keep control. Maybe for money, maybe for power, maybe for you.

Leonardo hung up, his stomach churning. He didn’t know what hurt more than the attempt at manipulation or letting her in. But in the midst of all that, there was one thought that prevailed over the others. Valeria, the only one who never asked him for anything, the only one who didn’t want to control anything, the one who was there giving everything she had, expecting nothing but respect and trust, and he let her go without a fight.

He got up from his desk and walked to Dieguito’s room. The boy was sleeping, cuddling his stuffed animal with the rocket on its headboard. Leonardo sat down beside him and stroked his hair. “I promise we won’t make this mistake again, son, and if there’s a way, I’ll make him come back.” That night, for the first time, he grabbed his cell phone and typed a message for Valeria. “I need to talk to you.”

Not for the boy, not for the house, but for me, for everything I didn’t say. If you can see me, tell me when. I won’t bother you if you don’t want me to, but I don’t want to be left with this debt in my heart. He left it sent, and for the first time in weeks he was able to close his eyes with the hope that something good could still happen. Valeria read the message just once. She didn’t need to read it again.

Just once was enough for her heart to leap and tighten in her chest as if something inside had suddenly awakened. She was sitting on the edge of the bed with the light off, only the reflection of the screen illuminating her face. The room was small, with a window that didn’t close properly and a fan that made a roaring sound every time it turned on.

She was temporarily living with her aunt in a small room at the back of the house. It wasn’t comfortable, it wasn’t pretty, but at least she was calm. Or so she thought until that moment. Leonardo’s message arrived in the midst of the calm, breaking everything. It wasn’t long, dramatic, or forced, but there was something different about it. It wasn’t a boss writing to a former employee; it was a man speaking to a woman who had left him with a wound that, despite having acted strong, he never managed to heal. She hesitated to respond, not because she didn’t want to, but because she was afraid of

opening something she was just learning to let go of. But she also knew that if she didn’t, she’d be stuck with that thorn in her side forever. So she took a deep breath and wrote, “Okay, tomorrow at 5:00 at the park where we used to play with Dieguito. Just you.” The reply came quickly. I’ll be there.

The next day, Valeria got up early. She didn’t dress up much, but she put on the blue blouse her mom had given her for one of her birthdays. She combed her hair casually, put on some lip gloss, and put her cell phone in her bag without looking back. She didn’t take anything else.

She walked to the park with her stomach in knots, as if she were 15 years old and about to see the first love of her life. She arrived on time. She sat on a bench that faced directly toward the swing set where Dieguito always insisted on riding, even though he couldn’t push himself. That memory brought a smile to her face without her realizing it. Leonardo arrived 10 minutes later.

He wasn’t wearing a jacket or tie, just jeans, a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and that tired face she’d come to know. But he also brought something else, a different look, as if he had finally taken off a mask he had been wearing for a long time. “Hello,” he said as he approached. “Hello,” he sat down next to her, not too close, not too far.

The two of them stared straight ahead for a few seconds without speaking. “Thank you for coming,” he finally said. I didn’t know if I should, but here I am. I really appreciate it. Silence again. The park was quiet. Two children were running in the background. A woman was walking her dog. Nothing more. It was as if the world had turned down the volume so they could finally hear each other.

“I didn’t know how to take care of you,” Leonardo said suddenly, his voice low but firm. Valeria looked at him. He was still staring straight ahead. “I didn’t understand what you were to us until you were gone. To my son, you were everything. And to me, you were also something I couldn’t name. I spent so much time avoiding feeling, locked inside this idea that it was better not to trust, not to get attached, not to depend on, that when you appeared, I thought you were just another one, another one who would come and go, but you weren’t another one.” more.

Valeria swallowed, said nothing, just listened. And when you left, I was left with a void, not only because of what you did, but because of what

You were. For the way you filled the house without making a sound, for the way you looked at my son, for the way you looked at me. You made me feel things I didn’t want to feel, things I didn’t think I’d ever feel again, and that’s why I distanced myself, out of fear, out of cowardice.

Valeria lowered her gaze. And then when I let Jimena in, it was because I was tired, because I thought we needed help, but I was wrong. I didn’t pay attention to what I was doing. I didn’t take care of my son, I didn’t take care of the house, and I didn’t take care of you either. Leonardo took a deep breath. I know I can’t ask you to come back, I don’t even know if you want to, but I do need you to know that what I felt was always there. I just didn’t know what to do with it. I didn’t know how to handle it, and now I’m clear about that.

Valeria looked at him again for the first time in weeks. Her eyes filled with tears, but they weren’t from pain, they were from relief. “Do you know what hurt me the most?” she said softly. “Tell me.” Not that you stayed silent, not that you let me go without asking. What hurt me the most was that I thought you never cared about me, that to you I was just another person passing through.

Leonardo finally looked her straight in the eyes. You were never just passing through. Never. Valeria took a deep breath. She wiped her tears with her fingers, and I felt something too from the first day, but I kept it to myself because I knew you weren’t ready and because I was afraid of losing what I had with the boy if I mixed things up.

But now there’s nothing to lose. And is there anything to get back? She smiled a little, like at the beginning. That smile Dieguito recognized from afar. That depends on you. Leonardo leaned a little closer. He didn’t touch her, just looked at her. Can I invite you to dinner as a boss? No, like me. Just me. Valeria thought for a second, then nodded. But not tonight. Tomorrow either.

Then, when I feel ready, Leonardo smiled. Finally. I’ll wait for you. I hope so. And they sat there in silence, watching the sun slowly set between the trees, unhurried, unplanned, just understanding that sometimes love doesn’t begin with a kiss, or a promise, or an “I love you.”

Sometimes it begins with a child’s hug, a cup of coffee, a comfortable silence, or a bench in a random park. Five days passed after their meeting in the park. Leonardo didn’t insist. He didn’t call, write, or send strange or inconspicuous messages; he just waited, but not with anxiety or desperation. This time, he waited calmly, like someone who finally understood that what’s important isn’t pushed or forced; it happens when it’s meant to be, when it’s born. And in the meantime, he dedicated himself to being present with his son.

He got up early, made breakfast with Rosa’s help, took Dieguito to the park in the afternoons, and told him stories at night, even though his body was exhausted from work. He wanted to show him with actions that he was there, that he wasn’t leaving, that he saw him, that he heard him. Dieguito also changed little by little, without rushing.

He began to eat better, to sleep without crying, to draw new things. One day, he stopped taking out the drawing of the rocket, he put it in his drawer, and instead of talking about Valeria all the time, he began to tell anecdotes about her as fond memories, not as a painful absence. For Leonardo, this was a sign, not of forgetting, but of healing.

One Saturday morning, while they were playing in the garden with an old ball that barely bounced, the boy stopped and looked at him. “Daddy, aren’t you angry anymore?” Leonardo bent down to his level. “Why do you ask?” Because he was always serious before, and now he’s not so much. Leonardo smiled. He stroked his hair. “I’m not angry, son. I just had a lot on my mind, but not anymore.”

The boy stared at him, then blurted out. “Then you can tell Valeria to come back.” Leonardo hugged him. She’ll come back when she’s ready, and when she comes back, she’ll be different. Different, as you’ll see. And that same day, as if everything was connected, the doorbell rang just after noon. Rosa went to answer it. It was Valeria.

She didn’t have a folder in her hand or look like she was just dropping something off. She was wearing a small backpack over her shoulder, light-colored jeans, and a loose blouse. She seemed nervous, but determined. “Hello, Rosa, I’m saying hello.” “Oh, dear, it’s nice to see you,” the woman replied with a genuine smile. “Is he there?” “Yes, in the garden.”

” Valeria entered slowly, as if returning to a house that wasn’t entirely hers, but one she knew by heart. She walked down the hall and through the dining room. When she reached the garden door, she saw him. Leonardo was sitting on the grass with Dieguito, trying to build a castle out of plastic blocks.

The boy was laughing, that loose, full-body laugh, the kind he hadn’t heard in weeks. She stood there looking at them with a mixture of tenderness and fear on her face. Leonardo saw her first and stood up. Dieguito saw her next. He ran toward her without a second thought. “Valeria.” She bent down to greet him. The hug was short this time, but just as full.

“Are you staying now?” Valeria looked at Le.

Onardo, then to the boy. “I’m going to stay a while.” Leonardo approached. He didn’t say anything right away. “Do you want to come in?” he offered. “Yes,” she replied. The three of them went in. They sat in the living room like an impromptu family. Rosa brought juice for the boy and coffee for the adults. “Thank you,” Valeria said upon receiving it.

Leonardo looked at her, waiting for her to speak first, and she did. “I didn’t come to ask for a job. I didn’t come out of nostalgia, either. I came because I don’t want to carry on carrying things that aren’t said. Because you asked me to talk to you when I was ready, and I think I am.” Leonardo nodded. “I’m listening.”

Since I left, I thought it was the best thing for you, for your son, and for me. I felt broken, headless, with a sadness that couldn’t fit in my body, and I didn’t want to burden anyone with that. But as the days went by, I realized that I wasn’t running away because of pain; I was running away because of fear—fear of growing more attached, fear of making mistakes, fear of suffering.” She paused, but I also realized that I had been in love before then.

Not just with the child, but with you too, even if I didn’t accept it, even if I denied it. And now I don’t want to hide it again because whenever I found something beautiful, I got scared and let it go, but this time I don’t want to let it go. Leonardo felt it creeping out of his heart. Their legs weakened. He didn’t say anything. He waited. I don’t want to go back like before, Valeria said.

I don’t want to be just the babysitter, or have to pretend nothing’s wrong. If I return, I want it to be for real, with respect, with space, but also with clarity. I’m not asking for promises, just honesty. Leonardo moved a little closer. I don’t want you to take care of the child again. I want you to share your life with us again. If you want, not out of necessity, out of love, out of choice.

Valeria took a deep breath. Her eyes shone, but she wasn’t crying. So, we’re in agreement. And in that moment, without another word, they held hands. Not like those exaggerated romances that begin with fireworks, but like two people who had already chosen each other, but were finally giving each other permission to live it.

Dieguito ran in again. “The juice’s gone,” he shouted. They both laughed. “Come on,” Valeria said, holding out her arms. He threw himself straight into her lap. Leonardo looked at them. And for the first time in a long time, he felt like everything made sense. That was the important decision. Not a job, not a contract, not a business move. It was choosing with an open heart and staying.

Three weeks later, the house felt different, not like before or on the grayest days. It felt alive, not perfect, but full. Dieguito was running through the hallways again, his laughter echoing the walls. Rosa smiled more. The staff were calm, and even the sounds in the garden seemed softer.

Valeria had returned, but in a different place, not as a nanny, not as a guest, not as someone passing through. She was there by choice, by love. Leonardo was also different, more present, more human, more open. He no longer hid what he felt, no longer lived in fear of losing again. And it showed. That Saturday morning, while Dieguito was painting a spaceship on the terrace, Valeria was in the kitchen preparing smoothies.

Leonardo walked in with his cell phone in his hand and a face that seemed like he wanted to say something, but without. know how to start. Do you have a minute? She looked at him. She put the spoon in the sink. “Sure, tell me.” “It’s not serious,” he quickly clarified. “But last night I stayed up watching some old recordings from the camera system. Not because I wasn’t suspicious, it was more out of nostalgia. I was checking out what the house used to look like and I found something strange.”

Valeria became serious. Strange, how so? No, bad, just curious. “Remember the day you brought the music box for Dieguito?” She nodded. “Of course. It was one of the first things I got him to agree to without pushing him.” “Yes.” “Well, I didn’t see that part before. I’d only kept the longer moments when they were playing or painting, but last night I played that recording from when you entered his room and found something.” Leonardo opened the video on his cell phone and played it to her.

There was the dark room. Dieguito huddled with his stuffed animal, crying silently with his back to the door. Valeria entered slowly, without saying anything, approached and sat on the edge of the bed without touching him. She took out the music box, the He placed it on the nightstand and opened it. The soft, barely audible melody played.

The boy turned around slightly, curious, but his eyes still filled with tears. And then Valeria did something Leonardo had never noticed before. “See that,” he said, pointing at the screen. She nodded. In the video, Valeria took a small photograph out of her bag—not large, about wallet-sized—and showed it to the boy.

You couldn’t hear what she said, but her face was full of tenderness. Then she placed the photo on the mantelpiece, right next to a stuffed animal, and returned to the bed. Dieguito approached slowly, looked at the image, and said something very softly. She nodded, and he hugged her without saying anything else. Leonardo paused.

video. That part threw me off.

I never knew you showed him something. What was that photo? Valeria remained silent. Not out of fear, not out of shame, just because she knew that question opened a door she’d avoided since day one. It was a photo of me, but not alone. I was with my son. Leonardo froze. “Do you have a son?” Valeria took a deep breath. “I had one.” Silence.

His name was Santiago. He was 4 years old. He looked a lot like Dieguito. He had the same way of walking, that way of staying quiet when he felt uncomfortable, the same laugh with the little hole in his right cheek. He died two years ago. An accident. It was quick, unexpected. And since then, I haven’t been able to approach a child without feeling my heart break.

Until I met your son. Leonardo listened to her without blinking. The first time I saw him, I thought I couldn’t bear it, that I wouldn’t be able to, but there was something about him, something that made me stay. Maybe it was his sadness or his loneliness, or that I felt that somehow he too carried a loss I didn’t understand. Valeria wiped a tear with the back of her hand.

I didn’t tell you before because I didn’t want you to think I was looking to replace anyone. I didn’t want to use my story to generate pity. I just wanted to do well, to heal. Little by little, and with him, I achieved it. With you. Leonardo approached, took her hands. You didn’t need to explain anything, but thank you for doing so. She looked at him, her eyes shining.

That day, when I showed him the photo, he asked me if that child was my son. I told him yes, that he was in heaven now, and he asked me if I could take care of him from there. I said yes too, and then he told me not to worry, that he would take care of me from here. Leonardo put his hand to his mouth.

He didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or hug her. “That boy is all heart,” he said hoarsely. “Yes, he is.” They hugged wordlessly, unhurriedly, in the middle of the kitchen, with the sun streaming through the window and the blender still unused. They didn’t need to say anything else, because everything the cameras hadn’t shown was finally on the table. No secrets, no guilt.

Dieguito came running in with paint on his fingers and a smeared face. “I finished the craft. Do you want to see it?” Valeria bent down. “Yes, my love. Show us.” Leonardo smiled. He took her hand and they followed the boy, walking together like a family that didn’t begin with papers or promises, but with wounds.

Loss and real love, the kind that doesn’t need cameras to show it because it’s felt, because it’s lived.