Upon arrival, Julia didn’t try to be a savior. She limited herself to cleaning, organizing, and keeping the house running with silent efficiency. But unlike the other employees who came and went, intimidated by the lúgubre atmosphere, Julia observed. She saw Luna not as a terminal medical case, but as a lonely child.
She began with small gestures:
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Instead of white hospital flowers, she placed soft-colored wildflowers on the nightstand.
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She left an old music box playing softly in the hallway.
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She didn’t force Luna to talk; she simply sat near her, knitting or reading in silence, offering her companionship as a safe haven.
Slowly, Luna’s impenetrable wall began to crack. One day, the girl accepted a glass of water from Julia’s hand. Another day, she allowed Julia to brush the few strands of hair she had left. Richard, watching from a distance, noticed the change. For the first time in months, the mansion had a new warmth—a maternal presence it had long forgotten.