That afternoon, as Clara cleaned the pool tiles, she heard a sound behind her. She turned to see them. The twins had approached quietly, like explorers stepping into unknown land.
One swallowed hard.
“Can I… touch the water?” he asked, his voice so small it sounded like he was asking permission to exist.
Clara smiled. “Of course.”
He reached out with a trembling hand, touching the water briefly, then again, finally resting his palm. Something new appeared on his face—a tiny but real joy.
Meanwhile, Ramiro buried himself in meetings and calls, telling himself he was “providing,” when in truth he was hiding from pain. He barely noticed the changes, afraid to see them and lose hope again.
“They seem calmer,” the butler hinted one morning.
Ramiro only nodded. Deep down, he believed nothing could bring his children happiness. It was safer not to hope.
Clara, however, prepared simple games: light balls, colorful buckets, soft music. Nothing expensive—just invitations to feel.
Slowly, the twins began to laugh. At first, shyly, as if laughter were forbidden. Clara celebrated every attempt like a victory.
“That’s it, champions,” she laughed with them.