Karina blamed herself: “How can I feel this way about a man who saved us?” Leonardo held back for fear of seeming abusive, for fear of destroying the refuge he himself had offered.
But one night, with the echo of the clock on the wall and the smell of freshly brewed coffee, Leonardo decided that life was too fragile to remain silent.
“Karina… I’m in love with you,” he said, his voice bare. Karina remained motionless, and then confessed what she had kept hidden for weeks with shame and hope: “Me too.”
They held hands like someone grasping the edge of a new life. They kissed carefully, without haste, as if love were also a way of asking fate for permission.
On Christmas Eve, Leonardo transformed the garden into a small universe of warm lights.
He hung Karina’s creations as if they were works of art and waited, his heart pounding in his ribs.
Karina came downstairs with the children, and they stopped, mouths agape. Camila squealed with excitement.
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