Elena served them carefully, measuring each portion with obsessive precision.
“Eat slowly,” she said gently, brushing one boy’s hair with a gloved hand.
“There’s enough for everyone today.”
Those hands—still inside cheap yellow cleaning gloves—now touched children’s faces with pure, maternal tenderness.
Alejandro should have exploded.
He should have stormed in, demanding explanations.
Thrown them out.
Defended his sanctuary of grief and solitude.
But his feet wouldn’t move.
Something about the boys’ profiles hypnotized him.
When the child at the far left laughed and turned his head, the chandelier’s light caught his face.
Alejandro felt the floor disappear beneath him.
That nose.
That smile.
The way the child held his fork—too elegant for a child raised in poverty.
It was like looking into a distorted mirror… forty years in the past.
His heart slammed painfully against his ribs.
His mansion was a fortress. No one entered without permission.
And yet here they were—four tiny intruders eating yellow rice at his forbidden table, cared for by his maid like hidden royalty.
The intimacy of the moment terrified him.
Soft laughter.
A home that hadn’t existed in years.
“Elena wiped their mouths with his embroidered linen napkins and spoke quietly:
“One day, when you’re big and strong, you won’t be hungry anymore. You’ll be important… but never forget to share your rice.”
Alejandro’s knuckles turned white around his briefcase.
