Meals, baths, motor exercises, cognitive stimulation. No improvisation. No unnecessary contact. Sensors tracked temperature, sleep, crying. “You only need to follow the protocol.”
Clara hesitated. Her instinct pushed forward, but she restrained it. “I do my best with children.”
He finally looked at her. “I didn’t hire affection, Ms. Clara. I hired efficiency.”
She’d heard similar words before, but here they struck harder. Something inside her tightened, stirring an old memory.
The baby she had lost. Her grandmother’s voice: “A child without arms becomes a shadow.”
She swallowed her thoughts. “Understood, Dr. Lucas.”
He led her down the hallway. The nursery doors opened on their own, and a chill passed through her chest. The room was beautiful and lifeless. White cribs in a row, toys arranged by color, screens displaying sleep cycles and heartbeats, a clean scent mixed with recycled air.
And then she saw them.
Mateo, Bruno, Tiago—three fragile boys sitting in their cribs like forgotten dolls. They didn’t look at her. Didn’t move. Didn’t react when Lucas said their names. Their eyes stared forward, dull, as if the world was too large for them.
