Lucía lowered his toy shelves.
Taught him to make sandwiches.
Pinned his artwork on his walls instead of hiding it in boxes.
And most importantly, she looked at him as a whole child, not a broken one.
Gabriel saw it.
And he didn’t know if it was magic or timing—only that his son was waking up again.
Then came Serena Vaughan—polished, fashionable, adored in Gabriel’s social circle.
He hadn’t intended to date, but Serena swept in like a glittering whirlwind. With Gabriel, she was radiant. With Noah… she was something else entirely.
She bought him gifts he didn’t want.
Spoke to him like he was a toddler.
Forced smiles, forced affection.
Every time she entered a room, Noah shrank.
Lucía noticed.
She always noticed.
But she stayed quiet.
She cooked. She cleaned. She held the home together while Serena slowly dismantled Noah’s progress piece by piece.
One night, Lucía overheard Serena hissing into her phone:
“The boy is the problem. But trust me—I’ll get him out of the way.”
A chill went down Lucía’s spine.
That same day, she found Noah’s drawings stuffed in a drawer, ripped and crumpled.
“I don’t feel like drawing anymore,” he whispered.
Things got worse.