evicted from; the days of surviving on a shared pot of food;

her parents killed in an accident; the father of her children, Fernando, who one day simply disappeared, leaving behind debts that were collected from her.

She spoke with sadness, yes, but also with a quiet strength, a strength that doesn’t sound heroic, but is. Leonardo listened with a tight chest.

Suddenly, his grief for his father felt different: no less painful, but accompanied by shame for having lived so long locked away in comfortable sorrow, protected by expensive walls.

When Karina finished, Leonardo had already made a decision, his voice trembling. “My house… it’s too big for me,” he said, feeling how ridiculous it sounded coming from someone who was only just beginning to grasp the true extent of loneliness. “There are empty rooms, food going to waste.

I want you and your children to stay there while Camila recovers. No rent. No commitment. Just… until things get better.” Karina looked at him as if she’d heard an impossible language.

In her world, nothing was free.

There was always a hidden price. “I can’t accept something like that,” she whispered, tears streaming down her face. “Why would you do this for us?” Leonardo took a deep breath, thinking of his father, his advice, the bench under the ash tree.