“You’ll grow strong,” María whispered, scraping the last grains from the pot. “And someday you’ll lead. Just never forget how to share.”
Sebastián clenched his briefcase until his knuckles whitened.
He stepped forward. His shoes creaked.
María stiffened instantly. The spoon froze. She turned, her face draining of color.
Their eyes met.
The boys stopped eating at once, sensing danger. Sebastián finally saw it clearly—they weren’t merely similar to him. They were identical.
María leapt up, placing herself between him and the children, arms spread protectively.
“Sir…” she whispered.
Sebastián advanced, shock hardening into rage. “What is this?” he thundered. “Who are they? Why are strangers eating at my table?”
The children whimpered, clinging to María.
“They’re not strangers,” she said, her voice trembling but firm. “And I didn’t steal anything. That rice was thrown away.”
“I don’t care about the rice!” Sebastián slammed his hand down. “I care about this invasion. Whose children are they?”
“They’re my nephews,” María said—but the lie faltered.
Sebastián laughed bitterly. “Then why are they wearing my old clothes?”
He pointed to the fabric—once his own silk shirt, discarded and repurposed.
“They only have what you throw away,” María cried. “Your trash keeps them alive.”
The truth cut deeper than he expected.
Sebastián reached for the bravest boy. María tried to stop him, but he grasped the child’s wrist.
The boy didn’t cry. He simply looked at Sebastián with the same icy-blue eyes.
Sebastián’s gaze dropped.
On the child’s arm was a birthmark shaped like a leaf.
The same one he carried.
He stumbled back, clutching his own arm.
“Tell me the truth,” he whispered hoarsely.
María lowered her head.
The boy stepped forward and smiled. “You look like the picture.”
“What picture?” Sebastián breathed.
See more on the next page
Advertisement
