Herпáп took хпos segυпdos eп eпscoпtrar la respυesta meпos dolorosa.
« He’ll pay for what he did, » he replied. « And maybe, one day, he’ll find some peace. »
The pineapple was there, with the heart made up.
—I just want her to know that… I still love her.
That was enough to make Herap’s eyes well up with tears. He hugged her tightly.
—That’s why you’re so special—he told her. —Because, even though you’re hurt, you still know how to love.
The weeks became a new routine. There were tasks, laughter, visits from psychologists, meetings with social workers. Lorenzo was gradually recovering his faculties. Amalia was discovering what it was like to sleep without fear of calls at night or secrets hidden under the floorboards.
One morning, the telephone rang with an unexpected news call. Social services informed him that temporary custody of Amalia would be granted to Herpa. He looked out the window before answering. He saw them in the garden, embracing, playing games that no one else knew.
—She’s already part of my family —he finally said—. Much more than any role.
That afternoon he called her to his office. Amalia arrived with her heart racing, thinking she had done something wrong.
« Is something wrong? » she asked nervously.
Herпáп let out a soft laugh.
« Yes, something’s wrong… but it’s good, » he replied. « I’ve thought about it a lot, Amalia. And if you want… I’d like you to be my daughter. »
Time seemed to stop. The girl looked at him with eyes full of tears.
« Your daughter? » he repeated, almost in disbelief.
« My daughter, » he confirmed. « You taught me that family isn’t just blood, but who chooses to love you. And today I choose you. »
She couldn’t say anything. She threw herself into his arms crying, clutching his shirt as if she feared the answer would change.
—I choose you too, Dad —he finally whispered.
Lorenzo, who had heard from the doorway, ran to embrace them. And the three of them remained like that, entwined, as if time had finally ceased to hurt. The sun shone through the window, the garden smelled of damp earth, and for the first time in a long time, the mansion didn’t feel empty, but complete.
Months later, at the adoption ceremony, the judge asked Amalia:
—Do you want to keep your last name or do you want to change it?
She looked at Herpa and Lorenzo. She saw the eyes of her heart brother, the excited smile of her new father, and felt something like a miracle where before there had only been fear.
—I want to have the same as them —he replied.
When the document was signed, there was no applause from magazines or flashes from photographers, but there was something much more important: the certainty of a new beginning. Herpa lifted Amalia in his arms while Lorenzo laughed and spun around her.
—Now yes —said the man, his heart calm for the first time in years—. We are a complete family.
She looked at the children and thought about everything she had lost. About everything she had recovered. About how a barefoot girl, with a worn dress and an enormous heart, had changed her life more than any million-dollar business.
“Pain destroyed me,” he said to himself in silence, “but the love of a child rebuilt me.”
And although the world went on, with its haste and its indifference, in that house where before there had only been an echo of loneliness, now there were dreams of laughter, small footsteps, and voices calling each other “dad,” “brother,” “daughter.” It wasn’t a perfect ending, but it was real. And, above all, it was full of something that neither money nor tragedy can buy: a second chance.
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