“Sir…” she whispered. “Can you bury my sister? She hasn’t woken up. She’s so cold… I don’t have money, but when I grow up, I’ll work and pay you back.”
The world fell silent.
Alexander felt something punch through his chest—Helena in the hospital, the helplessness, the machines. He looked for an adult. None. Just the alley and that child clinging to hope.
He knelt beside her, not caring about his expensive suit. He touched the baby’s neck—cold as ice. He pressed gently, searching for a pulse that felt impossible.
One. Another. A faint whisper—but a pulse.
“She’s alive,” he breathed. “Do you hear me? Your sister is still alive.”
The girl’s eyes widened. “Really? I thought she went to heaven with Grandma…”
He grabbed his phone.
“This is Alexander Moreira. Pediatric emergency. Prepare the ICU.”
He held out his arms.
“Give her to me. We have to run.”
She hesitated, looked him over, then handed over the only person she had left. And she followed him clutching a torn plastic bag of “important things.”
The city outside kept buzzing, oblivious.
Traffic was torture. Every red light felt like a blade. The baby’s breathing was shallow. The girl—Lana—whispered, “I always fed her first… but she got quiet… I thought she was gone.”
At the hospital, doctors rushed in.
“Severe pneumonia. Malnutrition. ICU.”
Letting go of her was painful. “This time,” he thought, “there’s still something to do.”
Then he felt Lana tug his sleeve.
“Please don’t leave. If you go, we’ll be alone again.”
And he knew, without understanding why, that he was already tied to her.
Hours passed in cold hallways and bitter coffee. Lana refused to leave his side. Social worker Daniela Campos noticed.
“Are you related to them?” she asked.
“No. I found them. If I hadn’t stopped, the baby would be dead.”
“Even so, the Council must intervene,” she said. “We can’t let minors stay with a stranger just because he has… resources.”
The word stung.
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