A humble cleaning woman, having no one to entrust her daughter to, decided to take her with her to work — little suspecting that the reaction of her millionaire boss would change everything.

A lump formed in Claudia’s throat. She didn’t know what to say: she stared at him with wide eyes, holding back her tears. Leonardo took a deep breath and said that after that, he had shut himself off from everything: he didn’t want to see anyone, speak, or hear; he immersed himself in work, numbers, emails, meetings; and he had lived like that until the arrival of this little girl.

At first, he said, it was only the fact that she talked so much, so spontaneously, that struck him; then, he began to feel something he didn’t understand: a kind of warmth, a movement in his chest, a laugh that escaped him involuntarily. Claudia lowered her eyes, uncertain whether it was a good or a bad thing.

Leonardo looked her straight in the eyes and told her he didn’t want to reopen old wounds; he just wanted her to know he understood, that he too had lost, that he knew how much it hurt. Claudia couldn’t resist any longer. The tears began to flow unbidden.

She told him her story: how her husband had died in a car accident, what it meant to identify the body, how she had had to explain everything to her daughter, even though she was too young to understand; how alone, defenseless, and empty she had felt; how she had stopped living in order to merely survive. Leonardo didn’t interrupt her; he listened with a grave expression and heavy eyes. When Claudia finished, they remained silent, for a long, intense silence.

Leonardo stood up and went to the window. Without looking at it, he said he hadn’t realized how much he’d needed to hear laughter in this house again. Claudia wiped her tears with her sleeve. She felt exposed, as if she’d laid all her pain bare, but she didn’t regret it. Something had been released.

At that moment, Renata ran into the office with a flower in her hand, picked from the garden. She offered it to Claudia with a smile, as if she had sensed that something was wrong. Claudia hugged it tightly without saying a word. Leonardo looked at them: and for the first time, Claudia felt no distance between him and them.

That day, she didn’t work as usual. Marta told her to stay calm and not to worry. José brought her coffee without her asking. No one asked any questions, but everyone understood that something had happened. It wasn’t a day like any other. On the bus home, Claudia traveled in silence, Renata asleep in her arms.

The movement of the vehicle and the sounds of the city enveloped her like a distant hum. She closed her eyes for a moment and thought about everything she had said, about what she had felt, about Leonardo, about the sadness he too carried, which now seemed to connect them, despite themselves. Once home, Renata went to bed without dinner.

Claudia covered her, kissed her forehead, and watched her sleep for a moment. Then she sat down in the dark living room. She thought about her husband, about life before the accident, about shattered dreams; but she also thought about the possibility of starting over, without hope or romance, just with the idea that perhaps all was not lost.

It was a Friday, one of those quiet days at home, with a clear sky and fresh air flowing in through the open windows. Renata was playing in the garden with a fabric ball that José had given her. Claudia was cleaning the windows in the main hallway, listening to the soft laughter on the other side of the glass. Leonardo was in his study, but the door was ajar, as it had been ever since Renata had been coming to the house. Soft music played in the background, instrumental jazz that he kept low when he worked. Everything seemed in order until the doorbell rang. It was rare for anyone to knock on the front door.

Normally, people entered through the side gate or gave advance notice. José went to see who it was and came back with an expression that said, « I don’t like this. » He knocked on the kitchen door and called Marta, who dropped what she was doing and went to the front door. Claudia peeked in from where she was. José muttered something she didn’t hear, and Marta frowned.

A few seconds later, a voice rang out distinctly in the hall: “So now they won’t even let me in?” The woman who crossed the threshold was one of those who effortlessly commands attention. Tall, slender, in her thirties, with impeccable hair and clothes that had been scented with an expensive perfume for a good five minutes. She wore sunglasses, which she slowly removed as if she were acting out a scene. She crossed the living room without waiting for permission, as if the house were hers; in part, it had been. It was Julieta, the younger sister of Daniela, Leonardo’s late wife. Claudia had never met her, but one look was enough to understand that this woman brought a different energy: cold, controlling, the kind who smiles without her eyes following. Leonardo descended the stairs unhurriedly, but with a disgruntled expression.