All three scratched behind their right ear in the same way when they were waiting. All three bit their lower lip in the same spot when they hesitated before speaking. All three blinked in the same way when they were concentrating. Details imperceptible to most, but devastating to a father who knew his son’s every move. « How long have you been alone on the street? » Eduardo asked, his voice breaking, crouching down beside them on the dirty sidewalk, indifferent to the grime.
“Three days and three nights,” Lucas replied, carefully joining his small, dirty fingers with a precision that betrayed intelligence. “Marcia brought us here at dawn, when the pastor wasn’t out, and said she’d come back the next day with food and clean clothes. But she still hasn’t returned.” Eduardo felt his blood run cold, as if struck by lightning. Marcia. The name echoed in his mind like a distant rumble, stirring up memories he’d tried to bury.
Marcia was the name of Patricia’s younger sister, a troubled and unstable woman who had completely disappeared from the family after the traumatic birth and death. Patricia had often spoken of her: severe financial difficulties, drug addiction, violent relationships. She had borrowed money countless times during Patricia’s pregnancy, always with different excuses, and then vanished.
A woman present at the hospital throughout the delivery was asking strange questions about the medical procedures and what would happen to the babies if complications arose. Pedro looked at his father with tear-filled green eyes and gently touched Lucas’s arm. « Dad, they’re so hungry. Look how thin and weak they are. » We can’t leave them here. Eduardo looked more closely at the two boys in the fading light and saw that they were indeed in poor condition.
Their patched clothes hung in tatters on their frail bodies. Their faces were pale and gaunt, with deep dark circles under their eyes. Their dull, tired eyes betrayed days without proper food or restful sleep. Beside them, on the filthy mattress, lay a nearly empty water bottle and a torn plastic bag containing a few scraps of stale bread. Their small hands were dirty and raw, covered in cuts and scrapes, no doubt from scavenging through garbage for food.
“Have you eaten today?” Eduardo asked, bending down to the children’s level, trying to control his rising emotion. “Yesterday morning, a lady from the bakery down the corner gave us a stale sandwich to share,” said Mateo, looking down in shame. “But today, nothing. Some people walk by, look at us with pity, but pretend not to see us and quickly move on.” Pedro immediately pulled a whole packet of filled biscuits from his expensive schoolbag and offered it to the children with a spontaneous, clumsy gesture that filled Eduardo with both paternal pride and existential dread.
“You can eat,” he said. “Dad always buys me extra, and we have plenty of good things at home.” Lucas and Mateo looked up at Eduardo, seeking his approval with wide, hopeful eyes—a natural reflex of politeness and respect that contrasted sharply with the desperate and degrading situation they were in. Someone had taught these abandoned children manners and values. Eduardo was bewildered, still trying to comprehend what was unfolding before his eyes, what force of fate had placed these children in his path.
They shared the biscuits with a tenderness and care that deeply moved Eduardo. They gently broke each biscuit in half, held hands before eating, chewed slowly, savoring each piece as if it were a real cake. No haste, no greed—only pure gratitude. “Thank you.”
« That’s normal, » they said aloud. And Eduardo was certain he knew those voices, not once or twice, but thousands of times.
It wasn’t just the high-pitched, childlike tone, but the diction, the peculiar rhythm of their speech, the exact way each word was pronounced. Everything was absolutely identical to Pedro’s voice. As he watched the three children sitting together on the dirty floor, the similarities became increasingly obvious and disturbing, impossible to ignore or rationalize. It wasn’t just the striking physical resemblance, the automatic gestures and cognitive habits, the particular way they tilted their heads slightly to the right when they were paying attention, or even the way they smiled, showing their upper teeth first.
Everything was identical down to the smallest detail. Pedro seemed to have found two exact versions of himself, living in abject poverty. « Do you know who your real parents are? » Eduardo asked, trying to keep his voice calm and detached, even though his heart was pounding painfully. « Marcia always said that our mother died in the hospital when we were born, » Lucas explained, reciting words like a lesson learned by heart and repeated a thousand times, « and that our father couldn’t take care of us because he already had another, younger child to raise and couldn’t. »
Eduardo’s heart pounded, beating so hard he was sure everyone could hear it. Patricia had indeed died during the complicated childbirth, after massive bleeding and shock. And Marcia had mysteriously disappeared after the tragedy, saying she couldn’t bear to stay in the city where her sister had died so young. But now everything was terrifying. Marcia hadn’t just fled the pain and the memories. She had taken something precious with her: children.
See more on the next page
Advertisement
