But Elena was anything but rough. She ran back and forth, pushing one child, then the other, making silly faces and strange sounds that brought fresh waves of laughter. Sweat shone on her forehead, yet she smiled as if this effort were a gift, not a job.
What shook Alejandro most wasn’t the joy—it was the absence of fear. There was no trauma in the children’s eyes. Only trust. Love. As if this humble woman were the sun and his sons were turning toward her without hesitation.
His legs weakened.
If Isabel was telling the truth, this scene couldn’t exist. And if this scene was real, then Isabel had been lying to him for months.
He wanted to step forward, break the moment, lift his boys into his arms. But an old instinct—the same one that had saved him from massive financial scams—stopped him. If he appeared now, the magic would vanish. Elena would straighten up, lower her eyes, become “the maid” again. And he would lose the chance to understand what really happened when he wasn’t around.
He hid behind a large oak tree and became a stranger in his own life.