I. The Test of a Father
“Money has no meaning here,” said the old man, his voice calm but cutting.
“What matters is whether you are willing to do what you have never done before.”
Rodrigo froze, uncomprehending. For years, his world had revolved around figures, contracts, signatures — not sacrifices.
“What do you mean?” he demanded, his voice trembling with both fear and impatience.
Dr. Asiún looked at him for a long moment before replying.
“You have spent your life buying solutions, Señor Alarcón. But life does not yield to money. It yields only to humility… and love.”
Rodrigo’s jaw tightened. “You speak in riddles, old man. Tell me what to do.”
The doctor sighed and gestured toward a worn armchair near the fireplace.
“Sit,” he said simply. “If you truly wish to help your daughter, listen — not as a man of power, but as a father.”
Rodrigo obeyed, reluctantly. Claudia, holding little Camila, stood silently by the window. The child’s breathing was faint — shallow waves rising and falling in fragile rhythm.
The old man began to speak.
“Your daughter’s illness eats her blood from within. The hospitals treat symptoms, not cause. Her body rejects what they give her because she feels nothing pulling her back. You may not understand, but the will to live is stronger than any medicine.”
He leaned closer, his weathered face illuminated by the firelight.
“If she has three months left, what she needs now is not drugs… but her father.”
Rodrigo’s eyes filled with frustration. “Don’t you think I love her? I would die for her!”
“Would you?” the old man whispered. “Because what she needs from you is not your death, but your heart — something you’ve hidden even from yourself.”
Claudia glanced at him. For the first time, she saw Rodrigo Alarcón speechless.
II. The Healing Begins
The days that followed blurred into each other.
The old doctor agreed to treat Camila — not with machines or injections, but with herbs, compresses, and a strange regimen that blended science with something older, gentler. He brewed tonics that smelled of rosemary and smoke, and applied oils to her chest while whispering words in a language Rodrigo didn’t recognize.
Claudia tended to the child day and night, her devotion unwavering. She cleaned, cooked, fetched water from the mountain spring. The doctor observed her with quiet respect.
“Your love keeps the air warm around her,” he told her once. “Without you, she would have already gone.”
At first, Rodrigo kept his distance, pacing outside like a restless shadow. He hated the smell of the herbs, the sight of the rustic house, the uncertainty of it all. But every time Camila whimpered and Claudia took her hand, he felt something crack inside him.
One night, unable to sleep, he entered the small room where his daughter lay. Her tiny chest rose and fell with effort. Her face was pale, but peaceful.
He sank to his knees beside her bed. “My little girl…” he whispered.
His voice broke. “I’m so sorry. I thought I could fix everything. I thought love was something I could buy.”
He covered his face with his hands and wept silently — not as a businessman, but as a man stripped bare of everything he believed in.
From the doorway, Dr. Asiún watched, his expression unreadable.
“The medicine is working,” he murmured to Claudia. “Because now her heart is being called back.”
III. The Sacrifice
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