“It’s a Christmas miracle,” the millionaire whispered as he watched his son walk toward the nanny. Tears streamed down Sebastián Dávila’s face as his hands covered his mouth. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t move, he could only watch the impossible unfold before his eyes.

 His son, his little Tomás, descended the mansion’s stone steps, using only his purple crutches, step by step, without a wheelchair, without help, walking. “It’s a Christmas miracle!” Sebastián whispered, his voice breaking. On the stone path, Luciana Romero knelt in the snow, her green dress against the white of the ground, her arms outstretched, her face bathed in tears.

 “Come on, my love!” she called, her voice trembling. “You can do it, you’re almost there.” Tomás was four years old and possessed a heart-wrenching determination. Every step was a victory, every movement a triumph over the fear that had held him prisoner for two years. The white hydrangeas lining the path were silent witnesses.

 Christmas wreaths with red ribbons decorated the mansion’s windows. Everything seemed to hold its breath. Sebastián wanted to run to his son, hold him, protect him from a possible fall, but his feet were planted firmly on the ground because he understood that this moment didn’t belong to him; it belonged to that working-class woman who had done what no doctor, no therapist, no million pesos had ever been able to do. She had given him back his son.

 Tomás took the final step and collapsed into Luciana’s arms. “Don’t go, Lucy!” the boy sobbed against her shoulder. “I need you.” “I’m not going anywhere, my love,” she whispered, hugging him tightly. “Never.” Sebastián lowered his hands from his face. Tears were still falling, but now he was walking toward them.

 His legs trembled, his chest burned with a mixture of gratitude, love, and shame that threatened to overwhelm him. He knelt beside them on the cold stone. “We both need you,” he said. His voice broke but firm. Luciana looked up. Her brown eyes shone with tears and something he didn’t deserve. Hope. Eight months earlier, Luciana Romero clutched her purse to her chest as the bus climbed the hills of Santiago.

 The mansions grew larger, the walls higher, the air colder. Or perhaps it was just her nervousness. I need this job, she murmured to herself. I need this job. Her grandmother depended on her. The medical bills were piling up. Her work at the rehab clinic wasn’t enough. She needed a private case, one that paid well, even if it meant working for a man who, according to the employment agencies, was impossible to please. The bus dropped her off in front of wrought-iron gates.

 A golden plaque read: “Dávila Residence.” Luciana pressed the doorbell. “Name,” a female voice asked through the intercom. Luciana Romero, “I’m here for the 10 o’clock interview.” The gates whirred open. The driveway wound through immaculate gardens. The mansion at the end looked like something out of a European magazine.

 Three stories of light stone, enormous windows, a fountain in the center of the garden—beautiful and utterly lifeless. There were no children’s laughs, no music, only silence. A woman of about sixty opened the front door before Luciana knocked. “Come in,” she said without smiling. “I’m Josefina, the housekeeper.” Mr. Dávila is waiting for her in his study.

Luciana followed Josefina through a marble foyer. Her shoes echoed in the silence. Framed photographs covered one wall. A beautiful, blonde woman, smiling in each one. The same woman over and over. “Mrs. Paula,” Josefina said, noticing her gaze. “She died two years ago. The gentleman hasn’t taken down her photos.”

 Something in his tone was a warning. They reached a dark wooden door. Josefina knocked twice. “Come in.” The voice was male, cold, and flat. The study was as impersonal as the rest of the house. Bookshelves that looked as if they had never been touched, a massive wooden desk, and behind it a man who didn’t even look up when she entered. Sebastián Dávila was 34 years old.

 According to her online research, he had precisely styled dark hair, a gray suit that probably cost more than three months of his salary, a clenched jaw, and was handsome in an intimidating way. “Sit down.” He fixed his eyes, still on the papers in front of him. Luciana sat in the chair facing the desk. She waited and waited. Finally, he looked up.

Her eyes were dark brown, empty. Her resume says she’s a pediatric physical therapist. Yes, sir. Why do you want to work as a private therapist? Luciana had prepared a professional answer, but something in his coldness made her be honest: because I need the money for my grandmother’s medical bills. Something flickered in her eyes.

 He disappeared before she could identify him. “My son is 4 years old,” said Sebastián. He was in a car accident 2 years ago. His leg injuries physically healed after 18 months of conventional therapy. Doctors say he can walk with support, but he doesn’t. He refuses.

 Luciana bowed her head. They’ve determined the block is psychological, and I’ve deemed the previous therapists incompetent. The blow was direct. Luciana maintained her neutral expression. How many therapists have you had? Three in the last month. Why did they leave? Sebastián slammed the folder shut in front of him. Because they didn’t get results. My son needs professional care, not affection.

 Will you follow Dr. Paredes’ protocols? Exactly. No deviations. You’re here to do a job, not to become her friend. Every word was icy. Luciana should get up, thank him for his time, leave, but she thought of her grandmother. Of the bills, of a four-year-old boy who refused to walk. Can I meet him? Sebastián studied her for a long moment. Luciana held his gaze.

Josefina will take her. It was a clear resignation. Luciana stood up. She stopped in the doorway. Mr. Dávila, a question. He didn’t look up. What? When was the last time you spent time with your son? The silence that followed was dangerous. Sebastián slowly raised his gaze. His face was a mask. That’s none of your business, Luciana.

She nodded. You’re right. Excuse me. She left before he could see her off. Josefina was waiting for her in the hallway. Her expression was unreadable. “This way,” she said, leading her toward a wide staircase. They went up to the second floor. The hallway was as quiet as a tomb. Josefina stopped in front of a white door. “Three therapists in one month,” she said softly.

 “They resigned. Mr. Sebastián is difficult, but little Tomás is worse. What do you mean?” Josefina knocked on the door. “You’ll see for yourself.” She opened it without waiting for an answer. The room was enormous. Expensive toys filled the shelves. A bed shaped like a race car, walls painted with clouds, and in the middle of it all, in front of a window, a boy in a wheelchair. Tomás Dávila had blond, curly hair, like his mother in the photographs.

 He was small for his four years. He was wearing dinosaur pajamas, even though it was 10 a.m. He didn’t move when they came in, just stared out the window. Luciana approached slowly, kneeling beside the wheelchair to be at his level. “Hello, Tomás,” she said softly. “My name is Luciana. Quiet. But you can call me Lucy if you like.” The boy blinked. It was the only sign that he had heard her.

 Luciana looked at what he was looking at: the garden below, a rusty swing set that no one used. “You know what?” she said. “I was in a wheelchair when I was a child, too. I hurt my leg badly.” Tomás turned his head slightly. “It was progress. I was so scared,” Luciana continued. “Scared to try to walk again. Scared it would hurt, scared I’d fall.”

 The boy’s eyes, as dark as his father’s, met hers directly for the first time. “Did it hurt?” he asked in a voice so soft it was barely audible. Luciana’s heart clenched. “Yes,” she said honestly. “It hurt.” “But do you know what hurt the most?” Tomás waited. “Not being able to run, not being able to play, just sitting and watching everyone else live.”

 Something changed in the boy’s face, a crack in his armor. “I need to pee,” he said suddenly. Josefina took a step forward, but Luciana raised a hand. “Can I help you?” she asked Tomás. The boy nodded. Luciana helped him transfer to the bathroom. His legs were thin from lack of use, but they moved. The doctors were right.

 Physically, he could walk. He just needed a reason to try. When they returned to the room, Josefina had disappeared. Luciana helped Tomás back into his chair. “Are you coming back tomorrow?” he asked. Luciana smiled. “If your dad hires me, yes, tell him to hire you.” “I don’t think it works that way, my love.” Tomás looked at her seriously.

 Then tell him I want him to hire you. At that moment, Luciana decided that no matter how impossible Sebastián Dávila was, this kid needed her. I’ll do my best, she promised. When she went downstairs, Sebastián was waiting in the lobby. Arms crossed, expression unreadable. Well, Luciana straightened her back. I’ll take it. Sorry for the work. I accept.

 Something that almost seemed like surprise crossed her face. I haven’t offered it to him yet. But he will. Sebastián narrowed his eyes. What makes her so sure? Luciana pointed upwards, where Tomás was probably still by the window, because her son had just spoken to me and according to Josefina he hadn’t spoken to anyone in weeks.

 Sebastian’s mask cracked for a second, just a second, but Luciana saw it. But pain, raw and devastating. “It starts Monday,” she said sharply. “7 a.m. Don’t be late.” She turned and went up the stairs without looking back. Josefina appeared to show her to the exit. At the door, the older woman touched her arm. “No one lasts more than two weeks here,” she warned.

 Mr. Sebastian doesn’t tolerate mistakes, and Tomás sighed. That boy hasn’t walked in two years, hasn’t laughed in two years, don’t get your hopes up. Luciana looked toward the silent mansion. She imagined the boy alone in his room, the father hiding in his study, two broken people living in the same house without touching each other.

 “Thank you for the warning,” she said. But as she walked toward the bus stop, she knew it didn’t matter. It was too late to back out. On Monday at 7 a.m., Luciana rang the doorbell of the Dávila mansion with her backpack full of therapy equipment. Josefina opened the door without smiling. The gentleman is waiting for her in the therapy room. Third floor.

Luciana followed the woman through silent hallways. They passed closed doors, rooms that no one used. The house felt more like a museum than a home. “Are you sleeping well, Tomás?” Luciana asked. “Nightmares every night,” Josefina replied without turning around. “He screams for his mother.”

 Mr. Sebastian will never comfort him. He says it only makes things worse. So who will? No one. The boy cries himself to sleep again. Luciana clenched her fists. Four years old. He was only four. The therapy room was in the east wing: parallel bars, mats, medical equipment that probably cost more than her entire apartment.

 And Sebastián Dávila, standing in the center, checking his watch. Seven o’clock, he said without greeting anyone. Good. He was wearing another impeccable suit, dark gray, this time his hair perfectly combed, not a wrinkle in his shirt. Luciana wanted to ask him if he slept in his suit. Good morning, she said. On the other hand, I don’t feel that way about myself.

 He handed her a thick folder. Protocols from Dr. Vargas, Tomás’s pediatric orthopedist. Each exercise was numbered. Each session had to last exactly 45 minutes, no more, no less. Luciana opened the folder. Pages and pages of technical exercises, stretches, strengthening exercises, all clinically perfect and completely useless for a child who didn’t want to try them.

 The previous therapists followed these protocols to the letter. And what progress there was! Sebastián looked at her coldly. “That’s why they’re no longer here, Mr. Dávila,” Luciana began carefully. “If three professionals followed the same plan and none of them succeeded, perhaps the problem isn’t the execution.” “The problem,” he interrupted, “is that you hired incompetent professionals.” “Don’t make the same mistake.” He turned to leave.

“Aren’t you staying?” she asked. Sebastián stopped in the doorway. He didn’t turn around. “I have work. Tomás will ask for you. Tomás doesn’t talk. He spoke to me yesterday.” That made him turn around. His jaw was tense. “Then make him talk again. Make him walk. That’s what I pay you for.” The door closed behind him. Luciana exhaled slowly. “Two weeks.”

 Josefina had given him two weeks before quitting. Better get started. Tomás arrived in his wheelchair, pushed by Josefina. He was wearing new workout clothes he’d obviously never worn before. His expression was the same as yesterday, blank. “Good morning, Tomás,” Luciana greeted him with a smile. The boy looked at her, didn’t answer. “I’m going to help you with some exercises today. Is that okay?” Silence.

 Josefina cleared her throat. “I’ll leave you with him.” When they were alone, Luciana knelt in front of the wheelchair. “Remember when I told you about my leg yesterday?” Tomás nodded slightly. “Well. I had to do exercises like the ones you and I are going to do. They’re not fun.”

 Some of them hurt a little, but I promise I’ll be here the whole time. She pulled out the protocol folder. Exercise number one, passive knee flexion. Three sets of 10 repetitions. For the next 45 minutes, Luciana followed every instruction exactly.

 She moved Tomás’s legs at the correct angles, counted the repetitions, and kept time. Tomás didn’t say a word, showed no pain, showed nothing; it was like working with a doll. When the session ended, Luciana documented everything on the record Sebastián had left. “Very good, champ,” she said, even though it hadn’t been good at all. “See you tomorrow.” Tomás looked at her with those dark, serious eyes. “You’re coming back tomorrow.”

 Luciana’s heart melted. Yes, my love. I’m coming back. The days turned into a week. The week turned into two. Every morning Luciana arrived at 7. Every morning she followed Dr. Vargas’s protocols. And every day Tomás showed zero progress. He didn’t even try to move his legs on his own.

 He didn’t ask questions about walking; he just silently endured the exercises and returned to his wheelchair as if it were his chosen prison. Sebastián would arrive precisely at 8:15, check the log, and ask curt questions. “Any improvement? Are you gradually building muscle strength? Can you walk?” “Not yet, but then there’s no improvement.” And then he’d leave.

 She never fully entered the room. She never spoke directly to Tomás. She never stayed for more than five minutes. It was like seeing a ghost visiting her past life. One afternoon, Luciana found Josefina in the kitchen preparing Tomás’s dinner. “Can I ask you something?” Josefina nodded as she chopped vegetables. “The Accident.”

 What exactly happened? The older woman sighed. She put down the knife. Two years ago. December 24th. Christmas Eve. Luciana felt a chill. Mr. Sebastián was driving. Mrs. Paula was in the passenger seat. Tomás was in the back. They were coming from dinner with the Salazar family, Mrs. Paula’s family. Josefina dried her hands with a rag.

 A drunk driver ran a red light. He crashed straight into the passenger side. My God. Mrs. Paula died in the impact. Tomás was unconscious. Mr. Sebastián walked away without a scratch. Josefina looked up at the ceiling, where Sebastián’s study used to be. He hasn’t been the same man since that day. He locks himself in his office. He works until 3 a.m. I hear him pacing the hallways when he should be sleeping.

 And Tomás, the boy, spent six months in the hospital, undergoing surgery on both legs. Physically, he healed well, according to the doctors. But Josefina shook her head, stopped speaking, stopped smiling, and when she was finally able to walk with assistance, she refused. Sebastián visits him in the hospital. Every day he sits by his bed for hours without saying a word.

 But when Tomás woke up and began to cry for his mother, Josefina’s voice broke. The man got up and left. Since then, he can barely be in the same room as the boy. Luciana felt nauseous. Why guilt? Mr. Sebastián blames himself for Mrs. Paula’s death, and every time he looks at Tomás, he sees what he lost, what his son took from him.

 But you said the other driver, the official report says it wasn’t his fault, but Mr. Sebastián doesn’t believe it. He says he should have driven more defensively, he should have taken another route. Josefina wiped her eyes. She’s punishing herself and unintentionally punishing the child too. Luciana looked up at the ceiling. She imagined Sebastián alone in that cold studio.

 Two broken people living in the same house, separated by guilt and pain. “Thank you for telling me,” she said gently. Josefina squeezed her hand. “You’re different from the others. I see how you look at the child, as if you really care. I do care. I know. That’s why I want to warn you, don’t get too attached.”

 This house is full of ghosts, and the ghosts won’t let anything change. But Luciana had already grown fond of it. The second week ended with no progress. On Friday, Sebastián arrived with the logbook in his hand. Two weeks, zero progress. Luciana stood up. Tomás was in his chair near the window, pretending not to hear. He’s gaining muscle mass.

 Her joints have a greater range of motion. She can walk, but she can’t hold herself up to the parallel bars. She refuses to even try. Then you’re failing just like everyone else. Something broke inside Luciana. You know what, Mr. Dávila? You’re right, I am failing. Do you know why? Sebastián narrowed his eyes. Enlighten me, because these protocols—he held up the folder—are perfect for a patient who wants to get better, but your son doesn’t.

Then make him want it. That’s not how it works. Tomás isn’t a machine you can program with the right exercises. He’s a terrified child who lost his mother and feels like he’s lost his father too. Sebastián paled. Careful, but Luciana had already crossed the line. She could finish the job now or try something real.

 When was the last time you had dinner with him? Read him a bedtime story? Hugged him when he had nightmares? Enough. Listen to me. I spend 45 minutes a day moving his legs like it’s just another exercise. And the other 23 hours he’s alone in that room, staring out the window, waiting for someone to say enough. Sebastian’s voice echoed in the room.

 Tomás shrank in his chair. Sebastián was breathing heavily. His fists were clenched. For a moment, Luciana thought he would fire her on the spot, but then she saw something in his eyes. It wasn’t anger, it was panic. “You know nothing about my son,” he said, his voice trembling. “Nothing about what he lost, what I made him lose.”

 “You’re right, I wasn’t there, but I’m here now and I see a child who needs more than physical therapy. He needs to know his father didn’t abandon him.” Sebastian recoiled as if he’d been punched. “She’s fired.” Fine. Luciana began packing her things. Her hands were shaking, but her chin was held high. “By the way,” she said without looking at him.

 Her son isn’t broken, he’s terrified, he’s grieving, and he’s hoping you’ll be brave enough to be with him in his pain. “But I guess it’s easier to hire therapists than to deal with it.” She slung her backpack over her shoulder. “Goodbye, Mr. Dávila.” She walked toward the door. “Luc,” Tomás’s voice stopped her in her tracks. She turned around.

 Tears streamed down the boy’s cheeks. “Don’t go,” he begged. “Please,” Luciana looked at Sebastián. He was staring at his son with an expression of utter horror, as if he were seeing him for the first time in two years. “Tomás,” he began. “No!” the boy cried. “You make everyone leave. That’s why Mom left, that’s why everyone leaves.” Sebastián staggered.

 Luciana dropped her backpack and ran to Tomás. She hugged him while he sobbed. “Shh, my love, I’m not leaving. I’m here.” Over the boy’s head, she looked at Sebastián. He had one hand on the wall for support. His face was ashen. “Come out,” he said, his voice breaking. “Please, just come out.” Luciana wanted to fight.

 She wanted to scream at him that seeing this was important, but she saw the breakdown coming. She saw it in his trembling hands, in his eyes filling with panic. “Tomás,” she whispered, “I’m going to get Josefina.” “Yes, I’ll be back in a minute.” The boy clung to her. “Promise me.” “I promise.” She went out into the hallway. She called for Josefina. When the woman came running, Luciana pointed toward the therapy room. “Stay with Tomás.”

 Don’t leave him alone. Where will a mistake stop him? Luciana found Sebastián in his studio. He was standing in front of the window, looking out at the garden without really seeing it. He didn’t turn around when she came in. “I told him to leave,” he said emotionlessly. “I’m not fired.” “Yes, he is.” “No,” Luciana said firmly.

 I’m not going to leave because if I leave now, I’ll be proving your son right—that everyone abandons him, that you’re the one who drives people away. Sebastián closed his eyes. I can’t do this. Do what? Be near him, see him in that chair, know it’s my fault. Luciana came closer. It wasn’t your fault. How would you know that? Because Josefina told me about the accident.

 The other driver was drunk. He ran the red light. The official report. The official report. Never mind, Sebastian exploded, finally turning around. His face was shattered. I was driving. My wife was beside me, my son was in the back, and now she’s dead and he can’t walk, and it’s my fault.

 So, face that guilt with him, cry with him, get through it together, but don’t abandon him trying to protect him from your own pain. Sebastián shook his head. Tears streamed down his cheeks. I don’t know how, I don’t know how to be around him without falling apart. Then, fall apart. Show him that it’s okay to feel, that it’s okay to cry, that it’s okay to miss his mom. Luciana took a deep breath.

 Your son doesn’t need a perfect father, Mr. Dávila. He needs a present father. Sebastián covered his face with his hands. For a long moment he said nothing. When he finally lowered his hands, his face was still broken, but something had changed. If you stay, he said hoarsely, do it your way. The protocols are there if you want to use them, but do what you think will help.

 It wasn’t an apology, but it was a surrender. And for Luciana, it was enough. Thank you. She turned to leave. Miss Romero, she turned back. Sebastián was looking at her with something that could have been gratitude or terror or both. Don’t make me regret this. Luciana smiled slightly. I won’t. But as she went down the stairs, her hands were trembling.

 She had just won total freedom. Now she had to prove she deserved it. Luciana arrived on Monday with a different backpack. No therapy equipment, no medical records, just a worn photo album and her old guitar. Tomás was in his usual spot by the window. He turned when she came in. “What did you bring?” he asked. Every word she managed to extract from him was a victory, a secret.

 Luciana said with a mysterious smile. “But first, exercises.” Disappointment crossed the boy’s face. Luciana laughed. “Only 15 minutes. I promise. Then I’ll show you the secret.” They worked on basic stretches. Luciana moved her legs carefully, feeling the resistance of muscles that had forgotten how to work. Two years of disuse had taken their toll.

The doctors were right about his physical capacity, but rebuilding his strength would take months. “Does it hurt?” she asked constantly. “A little.” “Tell me if it hurts a lot.” “Yes.” Tomás nodded, his small hands gripping the edge of the mat. After 15 minutes, Luciana sat on the floor and took out the album. “Come here,” she said, patting the space next to her.

 Tomás hesitated. Luciana waited. Finally, the boy pushed himself from the chair onto the mat. He slid down until he was sitting next to her, his thin legs stretched out in front of him. Luciana opened the album to the first page. The photograph showed a 6-year-old girl with an enormous leg brace, disheveled hair, a toothless smile, eyes full of fear disguised as bravery. “That’s me,” Luciana said.

 Tomás touched the photo with a finger. “What happened to you?” “I fell out of a tree. I broke my leg so badly the doctors thought I’d never walk normally.” He turned the page. More photos. Luciana on crutches. Luciana crying in a therapy session. Luciana trying to take a step and falling. “Did it hurt a lot?” “A lot,” Luciana admitted. “And I was so scared.”

 Fear of trying, fear of failing, fear of staying like this forever. Tomás studied the photos intently. “But did you walk again?” “Yes.” “How?” Luciana turned to the last page, a photo of her at 8 years old running in a park without crutches, arms outstretched, a huge smile on her face. “Someone told me something important.” “What?” Luciana looked him in the eyes.

 Being brave doesn’t mean not being afraid; it means trying, even when you’re afraid. Tomás looked down at his own legs. I’m afraid, I know, my love. And if I try and fall, then I’ll help you up. And if I can’t, and if you can, silence filled the room. Luciana let the question hang in the air.

 Finally, Tomás whispered, “Will you help me?” Luciana’s heart leapt. “Help you with what?” “With trying.” Luciana had to blink back tears. Trying to walk. Tomás nodded without looking up. It would be an honor to help you, champ. The parallel bars were 3 meters away. It could have been 3 kilometers. Luciana helped Tomás transfer to the wheelchair. She pushed him slowly toward the bars. She could feel him trembling.

 “Hey,” she said, kneeling in front of him. “You don’t have to do this today. We can wait.” “No,” Tomás said, his voice trembling but determined. “I want to try.” Luciana positioned the chair between the bars. Very carefully, she helped Tomás to his feet. His small hands gripped the bars as if they were lifelines.

 His legs trembled violently, two years without being able to support his own weight. “I’ve got you,” Luciana said, her hands on his waist. “I’m not going to let go.” Tomás was breathing rapidly. His knuckles were white. Now what? Now you try to move a foot. How? Like when you walk, think about how your brain feels, remember.

Tomás closed his eyes. Luciana saw the concentration on his face, the pure effort. His right foot lifted off the ground. 5 cm, trembling, uncertain. He moved forward 10 cm and took another step. Luciana wanted to shout with joy, but she remained calm. Very good, now the other one. The left foot was more difficult. Tomás grunted with the effort, but he moved. Another step.

 “You’re doing it,” Luciana whispered. “Look, Tomás, you’re walking.” Tomás opened his eyes, looked down, saw his feet planted in different positions, and smiled. Not a small smile, a huge smile that lit up his whole face. “I did it.” “Yes, you did.” Laughter burst from the boy. Pure, genuine, the most beautiful sound Luciana had ever heard. “Again. I want to do it again.”

 They took three more steps before Tomás’s legs began to give way. Luciana helped him back into the chair, but he kept smiling. “Did you see, Lucy? Did you see I walked? I saw you, champ. You were amazing. We’ll tell Dad.” The joy in his voice was mixed with uncertainty. Luciana touched his cheek.

 Do you want to tell her? Tomás thought for a moment. He nodded. I want her to know I was brave. In his study, Sebastián Dávila was on a video conference when he heard him. Laughter, a child’s laughter. He froze mid-sentence. The executives on the screen were still talking, but he couldn’t hear anything, only that impossible sound. Mr. Dávila, are you there? Excuse me, he said sharply.

 I have an emergency. She closed her computer without waiting for a reply. She left her study and went upstairs to the third floor, following the sound. The door to the therapy room was ajar. She stopped in the hallway, her hand on the doorframe.

 Inside, Luciana had put on some upbeat, ridiculous music on her phone. She was dancing, if you could call it dancing. Exaggerated, silly movements that made Tomás laugh hysterically. “Your turn,” she said, “I can’t dance sitting down. Of course you can. Move your arms, move your head.” Like this. Luciana made increasingly absurd movements.

 Tomás was doubled over with laughter. Sebastián couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. It had been two years since he’d seen his son laugh like that. Two years since he’d seen pure joy on that face. Something broke in his chest, something he’d kept frozen since the night of the accident. He felt tears on his cheeks before he realized he was crying. “Dad, it’s Tomás’s voice.” Sebastián blinked.

 His son was watching him from the wheelchair. The music stopped. Luciana straightened up, her cheeks flushed. “Mr. Dávila, we didn’t hear you arrive.” Sebastián quickly wiped his face. “I heard noise. I’m sorry. We put on music.” “No.” The word came out louder than he intended. He breathed. “Don’t apologize.” Tomás was watching him with huge, uncertain eyes.

“Dad, are you angry?” Sebastián stepped into the room. He had avoided this space for months. Too many memories of failures, too much guilt. “But now I’m not angry,” he said, kneeling in front of Tomás’s chair, at eye level. “Can I ask what you’re doing?” Tomás looked at Luciana. She nodded encouragingly.

 “We were celebrating,” the boy said shyly. “Celebrating that I walked, Dad, on the bars, five steps.” Sebastian felt as if someone had punched him in the chest. “You walked?” Tomás nodded, smiling nervously. “It was just a little bit, and Lucy held me, but I moved my feet by myself.” Sebastian looked at Luciana. She had tears in her eyes. “He was very brave,” she said gently.

 Sebastian looked again at his son, this boy who had spent two years in a wheelchair, who had lost his mother, who had survived when perhaps he shouldn’t have, and who was now smiling. Sebastian had to clear his throat. “I’m so proud of you.” Tomás’s smile widened.

 Truly, truly, for the first time in two years, Sebastián opened his arms. “I can hug you.” Tomás practically threw himself at him. Sebastián held him, feeling how small his son was, how fragile, how precious. “I love you,” he whispered against his hair. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t here.” Tomás clung to his neck.

 “Are you going to stay now?” Sebastián looked at Luciana over Tomás’s head. She had turned away, giving them privacy, but was wiping her eyes. “I’ll try,” she promised. “I’ll try to be better.” When she finally let go of Tomás, the boy’s eyes were shining. Lucy says that being brave is trying even when you’re afraid. Sebastián looked at the woman who had made this possible. Lucy is very wise.

 That night, Sebastián couldn’t concentrate on his work. He kept seeing the image of Tomás laughing, of Tomás taking steps, of Tomás alive in a way he hadn’t been in so long. At 11:00, he heard the scream. He was already running before he could fully process it. Tomás’s room was at the end of the hall. Sebastián burst through the door. Tomás was sitting on the bed, sobbing, nightmare.

 He had them every night, according to Josefina, but this time Sebastián wasn’t going to leave. “Tomás,” he said softly, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I’m here.” The boy threw himself into his arms, trembling. “I dreamt about the car, about Mom, about the blood.” Sebastián closed his eyes. “I know. I’m so sorry. Why did she have to leave?” “I don’t know, son.”

 Sebastián rocked him like when he was a baby, when everything was simple, when Paula was alive and the future seemed bright. The door opened. Luciana was there in pajamas and a robe, her hair loose, her face worried. “I heard screams.” “It’s okay.” Sebastián nodded. “Nightmare.” Luciana hesitated. “Do you need anything? Are you staying?” Tomás asked in a small voice. She looked at Sebastián. He nodded. Luciana sat on the other side of the bed.

 Between the two of them, Tomás gradually calmed down. “Do you want me to sing to you?” Luciana offered. “Yes.” Her voice was soft and warm. A lullaby that Sebastián didn’t know, something about stars and guardian angels. Tomás yawned. His eyes were closing. “You’re going to stay until I fall asleep.” “Yes,” Sebastián and Luciana said at the same time. The boy smiled sleepily, like a family.

 The words struck Sebastián in the chest. Luciana continued singing until Tomás’s breathing became deep and regular. “He’s asleep,” she whispered. Sebastián nodded, but didn’t move. “Thank you,” he said softly, “for coming, for staying. You don’t have to thank me.” “Yes, I do.” Sebastián looked at her in the dim light.

 What he did today, those five steps, is more progress than he’s made in two years. Tomás was ready. He just needed a reason to try. You gave him that reason. Luciana absently stroked Tomás’s hair. I just showed him that it’s okay to be afraid and brave at the same time. Sebastián felt the weight of those words. Can I ask you something? Sure.

 Why are you doing this? I know money is good, but do you really care why? Luciana was silent for a moment, because I know what it’s like to be broken and have someone who won’t give up on you. My grandmother took care of me after my accident. She picked me up every time I fell, literally.

 And when all the doctors said I’d be lame, she told me I could be a dancer if I wanted. And Luciana smiled. I’m not a dancer, but I walk, I run, I live my life to the fullest, because someone believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself. Sebastián nodded slowly. I want to be that person for Tomás, but I don’t know how. He already is. He came when he had the nightmare. He stayed. That’s huge.

 It doesn’t feel like enough. Luciana looked directly at him. In the darkness, her eyes were deep. “Can I tell you something you might not want to hear? That seems to be your specialty.” She smiled slightly. “Tomás doesn’t need me to be perfect, he needs me to be honest.” “Honest about what? About why he’s been absent, about his own pain, about his own guilt.” Sebastián tensed. “I don’t want to burden him with that.”

 It’s not a burden. If it’s true, children can sense when they’re being lied to. And Tomás feels like you’re blaming him for something. I don’t. Sebastián stopped. He thinks that. Today he asked me if his mom left because he did something wrong. Sebastián felt nauseous. God needs to hear it from you, that it wasn’t his fault, that you’re not avoiding him because you’re angry with him.

 Tears burned in Sebastián’s eyes. “So why am I avoiding him?” Luciana waited. Sebastián breathed shakily because “when I look at him, I see what I took from him. His mother, his ability to walk, his happy childhood, everything. You didn’t choose that accident. I was driving, and another driver was drunk. Josefina told me. I should have seen it coming.”

 I had to see what would predict the future. Luciana shook her head. Mr. Dávila, the only one to blame was the drunk driver, but you’ve been punishing yourself as if you intentionally endangered your family. Sebastián looked at his sleeping son. I came out without a scratch. Paula died instantly. Tomás spent months in the hospital.

 How am I supposed to live with that? By living, by being present, by giving Tomás the father he needs now, by not punishing myself for what happened. So, I don’t know if I can. Today he could. He came when he had the nightmare. He stayed, he took the first step. Luciana stood up carefully so as not to wake Tomás. Being brave is trying, even when you’re afraid.

 Mr. Dávila, you taught your son that today without even knowing it. He stopped at the door. Do you know what Tomás told me after he left? Sebastián shook his head. He said, “My dad was proud of me as if it were the first time. Or maybe the first time he believed it, he left before Sebastián could answer.”

 He sat beside his son’s bed, Luciana’s words echoing in his head. He looked at Tomás, his face peaceful in sleep, his small hands clutching his favorite dinosaur blanket. “I’ll try,” he whispered. “I promise. I’ll try to be the father you deserve.”

She bent down and kissed her son’s forehead for the first time in two years. Something that felt like hope stirred in his chest, and it had everything to do with a brown-eyed woman who wasn’t afraid to tell him the truth. That terrified him almost as much as it inspired him. Six weeks after Tomás’s first step, the Dávila mansion was no longer a tomb; it was a home. Luciana arrived at 7:00 every morning, but now she stayed until after dinner.

 Tomás persisted, Sebastián didn’t object. The therapy sessions had progressed. Tomás was using forearm crutches, now purple, because he had chosen the color. He could walk short distances. His legs were still weak. The two-year-old atrophy didn’t disappear in weeks, but he was gaining strength every day. And, more importantly, he was smiling.

 “Lucy, look!” Tomás shouted from the parallel bars. Ten steps. Luciana clapped from her spot on the mat. Amazing, champ. Sebastián watched from the doorway. He had started staying for the entire sessions. At first, he just watched. Then Luciana began assigning him tasks. Mr. Dávila, can you count the steps? Hold this stopwatch.

 Tomás needs motivation. Tell him he can do it. And Sebastián did it clumsily at first, but each day it became a little more natural. “Dad, did you see? Did you see how many steps I took? I saw you, son, every single one.” The smile on Tomás’s face was priceless.

 Now Sebastián would enter the room without hesitation, kneel by the bars, and celebrate every small victory. Luciana watched him transform, and something in her chest tightened. The first time Luciana had dinner with them was by accident. Tomás had had a particularly exhausting session. Sebastián had left the office early to be there. When they finished, it was 7:00. “Lucy, are you staying for dinner?” Tomás asked as Sebastián helped him put on his sweatshirt.

 “Oh, I can’t, my darling. Your dad has it.” “Stay,” Sebastián interrupted. Luciana blinked. “What? If you want, of course. Josefina always makes extra.” Tomás clapped. “Say yes. Say yes.” Luciana looked between father and son, hope in Tomás’s eyes, a thoughtful invitation in Sebastián’s.

 Okay, but only if it’s not too much trouble. It’s no trouble at all. Dinner was in the formal dining room, at a huge mahogany table that easily seated 12. Josefina served pasta with homemade tomato sauce. Tomás talked nonstop about his steps, about a book Luciana had read to him, about how he wanted a dog. Sebastián and Luciana exchanged glances over the boy’s head. “Maybe when you’re a little older,” Sebastián said.

 “But Lucy says dogs are good for motivation, right, Lucy?” Luciana almost choked on her water. “I—” That was a hypothetical example. Sebastian smiled, a real smile that completely transformed his face. “Hypothetical,” he repeated, “Sure, after dinner, they helped Tomas get ready for bed. It had become a team effort. Sebastian bathed him.”

Luciana was reading him a story. They both said goodnight. “Are you coming back tomorrow?” Tomás asked, continuing his nightly ritual. “I’ll be back tomorrow,” Luciana promised. In the hallway, Sebastián walked with her toward the exit. “Thank you,” she said, “for staying. It meant a lot to him. It’s a pleasure. Tomás is special.” Sebastián studied her.

 He’s doing an amazing job, you know? As a therapist, as a person in her life, Luciana felt warmth in her cheeks. I’m just doing my job. I don’t do much more than that. Their gazes held for a moment too long. Luciana was the first to look away. Good evening, Mr. Dávila. Sebastián, he said softly. You can call me Sebastián.

“The dinners became routine three times a week, then four, then almost every night. Josefina stopped looking at her with surprise. The household staff greeted her by name, and Luciana began to feel like she belonged. One night, while Tomás slept, she and Sebastián stayed in the living room. He had work, but he didn’t seem to want to go to his studio.”

 “Can I ask you something personal?” Sebastián said suddenly. Luciana put down her coffee. “Sure,” her father, Josefina, mentioned an accident. Luciana’s chest tightened. “She worked in a textile factory. A poorly maintained machine took her right arm. I’m sorry, I was 10 years old. I couldn’t work anymore. The bills piled up.”

 My mom worked double shifts as a domestic worker. My grandmother took care of us. Luciana played with the rim of her cup. It was hard, very hard, but we stuck together. And that taught me that family isn’t about money or big houses, it’s about who stays when everything falls apart. Sebastián nodded slowly. His family sounds strong.

 It is. And so is hers. Something darkened her expression. My parents died when I was 23. Plane crash. I inherited the company and the responsibility for hundreds of employees overnight. That must have been terrifying. It was. I threw myself into working 16-hour days.

 I built the empire they expected, but I lost. It stopped. I lost a lot in the process. Like Sebastian looked at his wine glass. My marriage to Paula wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t what it should have been either. I worked constantly. She was alone. Tomás was born, and I thought that would bring us closer, but it only gave me another reason to work harder, to secure his future.

 Her voice cracked slightly. The night of the accident, we were coming from a tense family dinner. Paula and I had argued in the car about my absence, my priority always being work. She said that Tomás didn’t even really know me. Luciana placed her hand on his without thinking. Sebastián. He turned his hand to intertwine their fingers.

 The touch sent electricity through Luciana’s arm. He was right, she whispered. And then he died before he could change. Before he could be better. He’s being better now. Tomás sees it. Sebastián looked up, his dark eyes intense. Do you see it? Luciana couldn’t breathe. Yes. The distance between them felt very small. Suddenly, Sebastián’s phone rang, breaking the moment. He ignored it.

It kept ringing. “I should answer,” Luciana said, pulling her hand away. Sebastián sighed and checked the screen. His jaw tightened. “Beatriz?” Who? “Paula’s mother,” he answered. Beatriz. It’s late. Luciana couldn’t hear the other end, but she saw Sebastián’s face tense. No, that’s not it. Look, it’s not a good time. We’ll talk tomorrow,” he hung up abruptly. “Is everything okay?” Luciana asked.

 She and her son, Antonio, are coming tomorrow. Something in her tone was a warning. Beatriz Salazar arrived the next day at 2 p.m. in a black Mercedes. Luciana was helping Tomás with his gardening exercises when she heard the engine. A woman in her sixties emerged from the car, her gray hair perfectly styled, wearing a Chanel suit and pearls, her expression sharp enough to cut glass.

Behind her stood a man in his forties, wearing an expensive suit, with a sharp face and calculating eyes. “Grandma, look,” Tomás said in a neutral tone. None of the enthusiasm he showed with Luciana or his father. Beatriz approached. Her eyes scanned the garden. Tomás on his crutches, Luciana in jeans and a t-shirt. “Tomás, my love,” she said, leaning forward without actually touching him.

You’re using crutches. I’m walking, Tomás corrected. How wonderful. His tone didn’t sound amazed. And who are you, my friend? Luciana stood up, wiping her hands on her jeans. Luciana Romero, I’m Tomás’s physical therapist. I see. Beatriz looked her up and down.

 And where is Sebastián? In his studio. I can. I know the way. Beatriz entered the mansion as if she owned it. Antonio stayed behind. Antonio Salazar introduced himself, extending his hand. Tomás’s uncle. Luciana shook it. His grip was firm, almost uncomfortable. Pleased to meet you. So you’re the miracle therapist I’ve heard about. She smiled, but didn’t meet his eyes.

 Sebastian says that Tomás has made incredible progress. Tomás has worked very hard. I’m sure of it. Antonio glanced toward the mansion. I must join my mother. Pleased to meet you, Miss Romero. As he left, Tomás tugged at Luciana’s sleeve. “I don’t like it when they come,” he whispered. “Why don’t they make Dad sad and say mean things about Mom?” Luciana frowned.

 What kind of things? Before Tomás could answer, Sebastián’s voice boomed from inside. He wasn’t shouting, but his tone was harsh. For dinner, Beatriz had invited someone else. Mariana Estéz arrived at 7 in a dress that probably cost Luciana’s entire month’s salary.

 Tall, beautiful, sophisticated, with perfect black hair, flawless makeup, and clearly uncomfortable. “Sebastián, it’s so good to see you,” she said, kissing him on the cheek. “Mariana, I didn’t know you were coming.” Beatriz insisted, looking around. “Beautiful house.” Dinner was torture. Luciana had planned to leave, but Tomás insisted she stay.

 Sebastián didn’t object, so he sat down at the enormous table between the medical staff and Santiago’s wealthy family. Beatriz dominated the conversation. She talked about society, charity events, people Luciana didn’t know. “Mariana, tell us about your work at the foundation,” Beatriz said. “Oh, it’s mainly organizing galas, fundraising for children with cancer.”

 “How noble,” Beatriz said, looking meaningfully at Sebastián. Luciana ate in silence, feeling every inch of difference between her world and this one. “And you, Miss Romero?” Antonio asked suddenly. “Where in Santiago are you from?” “La Pintana.” Icy silence. La Pintana was one of the poorest neighborhoods in Santiago. “How interesting,” Beatriz finally said.

 And your family? My grandmother raised me. My father worked in a textile factory. He worked,” Antonio repeated. “He didn’t have an accident.” He lost his arm. More silence. Mariana seemed to want to disappear. Sebastián gripped his fork so tightly his knuckles were white. “Lucy is the best,” Tomás announced suddenly.

 “She helped me walk when no one else could.” Beatriz forced a smile. “How sweet, darling. But medical professionals do their job. You don’t need to get so attached. It’s not just their job,” Tomás said with the seriousness of a four-year-old. “She loves me.” Luciana wanted to cry and hug the boy at the same time. “Tomás,” Sebastián said gently. “Finish your dinner.”

 The rest of the meal passed in tense conversation. Afterward, while Josefina took Tomás to bathe, Beatriz cornered Luciana in the hallway. “Miss Romero, just a word.” Antonio appeared behind his mother, blocking the exit. “Yes, I understand you’ve been very devoted to my grandson.”

 I’m doing my best, of course, but I need you to understand something. Beatriz stepped closer. This family has a certain standing, certain expectations. Sebastián is a widower with a son who needs stability, not confusion. Luciana straightened her back. I don’t understand what you’re implying. I think I do. Beatriz’s eyes were cold. I’ve seen the way you look at him, the way he looks at you, and I need you to know that this can’t happen.

 With all due respect, Mrs. Salazar, my relationship with Mr. Dávila is strictly professional. Fine, keep it that way. Beatriz smiled coldly. Mariana is one of our kind, she understands our world. She would be a suitable mother for Tomás. Tomás already had a mother and needs another, one who understands what it means to be a Dávila. Antonio cleared his throat.

 Furthermore, there are business considerations. The Estévez family has important pharmaceutical connections. A union would be beneficial. Luciana looked at them. They’re trying to arrange a marriage. “We’re suggesting a suitable partnership,” Beatriz corrected, “and making sure there are no undue distractions.” The study door opened.

 Sebastian left with Mariana behind him, looking miserable. “Beatriz, Antonio, I was looking for you,” she said in a strained voice. “We need to talk in private.” Beatriz smiled. “Of course, dear.” She walked past Luciana without another glance. Mariana stopped. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t know she was planning this. It’s not her fault. Just so you know, I don’t want to marry Sebastian.”

 I barely know him, but my family and his sighed. It’s complicated. Luciana nodded. I understand. When everyone disappeared into the studio, Luciana leaned against the wall. Her hands were trembling. On Friday, Sebastián had to attend a pharmaceutical industry charity gala. Luciana knew this because Tomás wouldn’t stop complaining. “That means Dad won’t be here for dinner,” the boy said sadly.

 It’s just one night, champ, but I like it when the three of us eat together. Luciana liked it a lot too. That night, after putting Tomás to bed, Luciana checked her phone while waiting for the bus. A message from her friend Daniela. Did you see the photos from the gala? Your boss looks handsome.

 Luciana shouldn’t have done it, but she opened Instagram. There was Sebastián in a tuxedo, stunning, surrounded by beautiful people in an elegant ballroom, and Mariana Esté was by his side in every photo. Luciana closed the app. It wasn’t her business. He was her employer. She was his employee. The rest was fantasy. Sebastián arrived home after midnight, loosened his tie as he climbed the stairs, exhausted from the event, the empty conversations, the fake smiles.

 Mariana was being pulled toward him from all sides. All he wanted was to be home with Tomás, and if he was honest with himself, with Luciana. The light in the therapy room was on; he frowned. It was 12:30. He opened the door. Luciana was sitting on the mat surrounded by papers. Tomás’s progress reports. Miss Romero.

 She jumped, scattering papers. “Sebastián, God, you scared me. What are you doing here so late? I forgot my keys.” Josefina let me in to look for them, and I started updating the medical records. She looked tired, her hair in a messy ponytail, no makeup, wearing an old sweatshirt, and she was the most beautiful Sebastián had ever seen her. He found his keys. “Yes, in my backpack, as always.”

She smiled shyly. Sebastián sat on the mat next to her, probably inappropriately. He didn’t care how the gala went. Unbearable. Oh, so many people talking about money, showing off connections, using charity as an excuse to dress up. Luciana was organizing papers without looking at him. Mariana looked beautiful in the photos. Sebastián looked at her. He saw photos.

 My friend sent them to me. I didn’t look for them. Luciana, she finally looked at him. What? Mariana is nice, but I don’t want to marry her. It’s none of my business. It isn’t. The air between them grew heavy. Sebastián, Luciana began. I can’t stop thinking about you, he said, the words coming out before he could stop them, about how Tomás lights up when he arrives, how this house feels alive for the first time in years, how you make me want to be better. Luciana closed her eyes. You can’t say those things.

 Why not? Because I’m his employee. I’m from La Pintana. My father worked in a factory. His family wants him to marry pharmaceutical heiresses. I don’t care what my family wants, I should. Luciana stood up. Antonio came yesterday. He told me about the Salazar investments in Dávila Pharmaceuticals, about how an inappropriate partnership could complicate the board’s relationships. Sebastián stood up too. That’s manipulation. That’s reality.

 Their world and mine don’t mix. Maybe I don’t want that world, but Tomás lives in it and deserves stability, not his father causing a scene over his therapist. Sebastián took a step toward her. That’s what we are, therapist and father. Luciana stepped back. That’s what we have to be. And what if I don’t want that, and what if it doesn’t matter what we want? They were very close.

Now Sebastián could see the freckles on her nose, the trembling of her lips. “Luciana, this can’t be happening.” Her voice broke. “I can’t. I don’t belong in your world, Sebastián.” He touched her cheek gently. She closed her eyes at the touch. “Perhaps I don’t belong there either.” He leaned toward her. Luciana didn’t move. Their lips were inches apart.

 Mr. Dávila, Josefina’s voice called from the hallway. He’s awake. Tomás is calling for you. Luciana backed away as if she’d been burned alive. I have to go, she whispered, grabbing her backpack. Luciana, wait. But she was already running downstairs. Sebastián heard the front door close. He ran his hands through his hair in frustration.

 “Sir,” Josefina said softly from the doorway. “Tomás is fine. He just wanted some water, but I thought I should interrupt.” Sebastián looked at her. “Why?” Josefina sighed. “Because that girl is right. Your world and hers don’t mix easily. And if this is going to happen, if you’re really going to go through with this, you need to be sure, because she’s going to lose much more than you if it goes wrong.” She left before Sebastián could reply.

 He was left alone in the therapy room. Luciana’s perfume still lingered in the air, and for the first time in two years, Sebastián Dávila wanted more than just redemption. He wanted to live. The question was whether he would have the courage to fight for it. November turned into December. The Dávila mansion began to transform with Christmas decorations: wreaths on the doors, lights in the gardens, a huge tree in the main foyer, but the joy felt forced.

 Tomás was now walking around the house with his purple crutches, short distances for now, his legs still recovering from two years of disuse, but with more confidence each day. “Lucy, look,” he called from the hallway. “I came all the way from my room to here by myself.” Luciana came out of the therapy room. “Incredible, champ.” She hugged him, careful not to knock him off balance. Things had been tense since the night of the almost-kiss.

 Luciana made sure she was never alone with Sebastián. She arrived at exactly 7:00 and left at exactly 6:00. No more family dinners, no more late-night conversations. Sebastián hadn’t protested, but she saw the pain in his eyes every time he declined Tomás’s invitations to stay over. “Why doesn’t Lucy have dinner with us anymore?” Tomás asked his father one evening.

Luciana listened from the hallway as she packed. “She’s busy, son.” “No, she’s not. She’s sad.” “Did you do something wrong, Dad?” “Silence.” “I’m trying to do the right thing.” “So, are you doing something wrong?” Luciana had to bite her lip to keep from crying. On the first Monday of December, Sebastián asked to speak with her in her studio. Luciana went downstairs with a knot in her stomach.

He was standing by the window. He didn’t look at her when he came in. “My family has a tradition,” he began. “Every Christmas we gather at the Salazar house. The whole extended family. Paula always insisted. Luciana waited. Beatriz hopes we’ll continue the tradition, that Tomás and I will spend Christmas Eve and Christmas Day there.” “I understand.”

 I told him I’d consider it. Sebastián finally turned around. He looked exhausted. “What do you want to do?” Luciana asked carefully. “I don’t know. Paula loved those Christmases; they were important to her. And Beatriz is grieving too. Tomás is all she has left of her daughter. But what does Tomás want?” “Tomás wants to stay here.”

 He says he wants his first real Christmas in two years. That he wants to decorate cookies with me. He stopped. Luciana finished gently. Sebastián nodded. Mr. Dávila. Sebastián. Please, Sebastián, he corrected, his heart racing. Tomás needs traditions, he needs family, but he also needs to make new happy memories.

 The question is, what does he need most? I don’t know. I think he does know. He’s just afraid of the answer. Their eyes met. “Would you stay?” he asked for Christmas. “If we stay here, would you be with us?” Luciana knew she should say no. She had to maintain professional boundaries. She had to protect her heart. “Yes,” she said, “but I would stay.”

Something flickered in Sebastián’s eyes, hope mixed with fear. “I’ll think about it.” But Luciana knew he had already made up his mind, and she knew Beatriz Salazar wouldn’t let it go easily. Beatriz arrived three days later with Antonio and a lawyer. Luciana was with Tomás in the garden when she saw them come in. “Oh, no,” Tomás muttered. “Grandma Bea looks angry.” He was right.

 Beatriz walked like a general going into battle. “Tomás, go inside with Josefina,” Luciana said. “But now, my darling.” Something in her tone made the boy obey. Beatriz stood in front of Luciana, with Antonio and the lawyer flanking her. “Miss Romero, how convenient to find you, Mrs. Salazar.”

 I understand you’ve been filling my grandson’s head with ideas about staying here for Christmas. I never would—don’t interrupt me. Beatriz’s voice cut like glass. That tradition is sacred. My daughter loved it. And you, an employee, have no right to interfere. Luciana clenched her fists. With all due respect, I haven’t interfered at all. Tomás expressed what he wanted. I only listened.

 Exactly the problem. Antonio stepped forward. You’ve consistently crossed professional lines. He pulled out a Manila envelope. “What’s that?” Luciana asked. “Evidence.” Antonio opened the envelope. “Photos. You hugging my nephew. You having dinner with the family. You in your pajamas in this house at midnight.” Luciana paled. “Those photos are out of context.” “They are.”

Beatriz smiled coldly because it seemed a therapist had become inappropriately close to a patient vulnerable to his widowed father. “I would never do anything inappropriate. We have statements,” Antonio continued, “from previous therapists saying that you were hired under unusual terms, that Mr. Dávila gave you unprecedented access, that you used emotional manipulation to secure your position.”

 Luciana’s world tilted. That’s a lie. The lawyer spoke for the first time. Miss Romero, these accusations, while not criminal, could ruin your professional reputation. No family in Santiago would hire you. Your license could be reviewed. Luciana felt nauseous.

 “What do you want?” “We want you to resign,” Beatriz said simply today. “We want you out of Tomás and Sebastián’s lives.” “No, then we’ll proceed with a formal complaint for professional misconduct. We’ll submit these photos to the licensing board. We’ll make sure you never work in pediatric rehabilitation again.” “Again, you can’t.” “We can,” Antonio interrupted. “And we will unless you leave now, quietly.”

 Tears burned in Luciana’s eyes. “Why are you doing this?” Beatriz softened slightly. “Because my grandson needs stability. He needs a proper mother, and Sebastián needs someone of his own class who understands his responsibilities. He doesn’t want to marry Mariana; he’ll do the right thing. He always does, but not if you’re here clouding his judgment.” Antonio added more papers to the envelope. “There’s also the matter of the business.”

 The Salazar family controls 30% of Dávila Pharmaceuticals’ shares, Paula’s shares. If Sebastián pursues an inappropriate partnership, we could block important decisions and make operations very difficult. They are blackmailing us. We are protecting our family’s interests.

 The front door opened. Sebastián came out with Mariana following behind him, looking uncomfortable. “What’s going on here?” Sebastián asked. Beatriz smiled, clearing up some misunderstandings with Miss Romero. Sebastián looked at the envelope in Antonio’s hands. “What’s that?” “Evidence of professional misconduct,” Antonio said.

 Miss Romero has been overstepping boundaries, getting too close to you and Tomás. We need to discuss this privately. Sebastián looked at Luciana. She saw the question in his eyes. She shook her head slightly. Not in front of Mariana. No, not like this. Very well, Sebastián said, his voice strained. My study now. Luciana waited in the garden for 30 minutes that felt like hours.

Mariana approached timidly. “I’m sorry about all this,” she said. “I didn’t know you were coming today. My family asked me to come with you because of… I don’t know. Pressure, I guess. It’s not your fault, you know. I don’t want this either.” Mariana sat down on the garden bench. “Sebastián is nice, but I don’t love him, and he clearly doesn’t love me.”

 Luciana sat down next to her. “Why did you come then? Family, expectations?” “My father has business with Antonio. It’s complicated.” Mariana sighed. “But I see the way Sebastián looks at you and the way you look at him. That’s real.” “It doesn’t matter if it’s real. Our worlds are too different.”

 Perhaps, or perhaps love is the only thing that makes differences not matter. Before Luciana could answer, the study door burst open. Antonio came out first, looking satisfied. Beatriz followed, victorious. The lawyer followed them. Finally, Sebastián, pale, defeated. Luciana stood up. What happened? Sebastián didn’t look at her. We need to talk. In the therapy room. His tone was formal, distant.

 Luciana felt terror in her stomach. The therapy room felt like a trap. Sebastián closed the door, standing beside her without moving closer. Antonio presented the photos, the statements—they’re fabricated. I know it. Finally, he looked at her. I know you’re doing your job, which has been nothing more than professional.

 So why? Because they threatened to sue you, ruin your career, and that also stopped things. What? Paula’s actions. Beatriz controls the vote until Tomás turns 18. Antonio can block the expansion into Argentina that I’ve been planning for two years. He can paralyze important mergers.

 It can make running the company impossible. Luciana felt cold, and Sebastián closed his eyes. They said that if you leave quietly, they’ll let everything go. There won’t be a lawsuit, no business complications. Tomás will come for Christmas, and I’ll seriously consider Mariana’s proposal. Will you consider marrying her? They said it’s best for Tomás. This ability.

 A proper mother, a united family. Luciana laughed humorlessly. “And you believed them?” “I don’t know what to believe,” Sebastián exploded. “My son needs stability. He needs, he needs you. Not a stepmother who’s all right, not fake Christmases with people who use love as a bargaining chip. It’s more complicated than that.” “It isn’t.”

 Either you defend me or you don’t. Either you fight for what Tomás truly needs, or you give in to his blackmail. Sebastián ran his hands through his hair. If I fight, you’ll get sued, you’ll lose your license. And the company, the company. Luciana took a step toward him. That’s what matters, the business. 300 families depend on that company for their income. I can’t be selfish. Selfish.

Being happy is selfish. Giving your child a real life instead of an act is selfish. You don’t understand the pressure. You’re right. I don’t understand why, because I come from a world where families support each other unconditionally, where we don’t use money as chains. Sebastian was breathing heavily.

 So, what do you want me to do? Luciana looked into his eyes. She saw the man who had learned to play with his son, who had cried holding Tomás after nightmares, who had confessed his deepest fears, and she saw the man who was still too afraid to be free.

 “I want you to be brave,” he said gently, “like you taught Tomás. I want you to fight, but if you can’t,” his voice broke, “if you can’t, then I need you to let me go now, cleanly, because I can’t stay and watch you marry someone else. I can’t smile and pretend while you destroy the family we built.” Sebastián closed his eyes, tears streaming down his cheeks.

When he opened them, Luciana saw his decision and her heart broke. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I can’t risk your career. I can’t risk Tomás’s stability. Don’t say another word.” Luciana raised a hand. “Just say it.” Sebastián breathed shakily. “You’re fired, Miss Romero. Effective immediately.” The silence was deafening.

 Luciana nodded slowly. “I understand, Luciana.” No, his voice was icy. “Now don’t say my name. Don’t apologize. Just don’t.” He turned to his backpack. “I thought you’d changed,” he said as he packed. “I thought you’d finally learned to fight for what matters, but you were right all along.” “About what?” Luciana confronted him. “You’re a coward.”

 You hide behind work, behind guilt, behind expectations, but the truth is you’re too afraid to truly live. I’m trying to protect you. I don’t want your protection. I want your courage, I want you to fight. But apparently that’s too much to ask. Sebastian paled. It’s not fair.

It’s not fair. Luciana laughed bitterly. I gave Tomás everything. I helped him walk. I helped him laugh again. I helped you become a father again, and this is how you repay me by choosing money and convenience over us. I’m not choosing that. So what are you choosing, Sebastián? What exactly are you choosing? He had no answer.

Luciana finished packing and slung her backpack over her shoulder. “Tell Tomás I’m sorry, that he did an amazing job, that I’m proud of him. You can tell him. I can’t. If I see him, I’ll break down. And you’ve already broken me enough for today.” She walked toward the door. “Lucy,” Tomás’s voice called. Luciana froze. The boy was in the hallway on his crutches, tears streaming down his cheeks.

 Are you leaving? Luciana knelt down, not caring that Sebastián was watching. My darling. I heard everything. Tomás was eavesdropping. I heard Dad say goodbye, that Grandma forced you to leave. Tomás, it’s not true. Don’t go. The boy lunged at her, almost falling. Luciana caught him. Please, Lucy, I need you.

 Who’s going to help me walk? Who’s going to read me stories? Your dad can. He makes everyone leave. Tomás shouted, glaring at Sebastián. That’s why Mom left, that’s why Lucy is leaving. It’s all your fault. Sebastián stumbled back as if he’d been punched. Son, I never hate you. The words dripped venom from the mouth of a four-year-old. I wish it were you who died. No, Mom.

 The silence that followed was toxic. Sebastián was pale. Luciana held Tomás as he wept. “Tomás,” Luciana said gently. “Don’t talk about your dad like that. Why not? He makes you leave. He ruins everything.” Luciana looked at Sebastián. She saw a completely broken man. Part of her wanted to comfort him, but a bigger part was too angry. “I have to go, champ,” she told Tomás. “But you’ll be okay.”

You’re so brave. I don’t want to be brave without you. That broke her. Luciana kissed Tomás’s forehead. I love you. Never forget that. She stood up before changing her mind. She walked past Sebastián without looking at him. Josefina was at the bottom of the stairs. The older woman had tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” Josefina whispered. “Me too.”

Luciana left the Dávila mansion. Behind her, she heard Tomás calling for her. She heard her name on Sebastián’s lips, but she kept walking, because staying alone would only prolong the pain, and she had already given too much. That night, Luciana arrived at the small apartment she shared with her grandmother.

 The old woman glanced at her face and opened her arms. Luciana collapsed into them, sobbing. “I’ve lost everything, Grandma. Everything.” “Not everything, my child. You still have yourself.” But as she wept on the worn sofa in the leaky apartment, so different from the mansion, Luciana wondered if she herself would be enough, because she had left her heart in that house with a child who called her Lucy and a man too afraid to fight for her.

The next three days were the darkest of Sebastián Dávila’s life, and that included the day he buried his wife. Tomás wouldn’t speak to him. The boy stayed in his room staring out the window. He refused food. He refused therapy with the new physical therapist Sebastián had urgently hired. He rejected his father.

 “Tomás, please,” Sebastián begged from the doorway. “Do you need something to eat?” “Go away, son.” “I’m not your son!” the boy shouted without turning around. “Parents don’t make the people you love leave. Parents protect their family. You’re just destroying it.” Each word was like a knife. Sebastián retreated into the hallway. Josefina was there with an untouched tray of food.

 “It’s been three days now,” she said worriedly. “She’s barely eaten and hasn’t used her crutches even once. What do you want me to do?” Sebastián’s voice broke. What he should have done from the beginning: fight. It’s too late. It’s never too late until it is. Josefina left, leaving him alone in the hallway. Sebastián went down to his studio, the place where he spent most of his nights now, working until dawn so he wouldn’t think, so he wouldn’t feel, so he wouldn’t remember the look in Luciana’s eyes when he said goodbye.

His desk was covered in unfinished paperwork. He couldn’t concentrate. The words jumbled together. The numbers made no sense. He opened the bottom drawer, the one he never opened. Inside was a Manila folder. Police report. Accident 24123. He had read it hundreds of times in two years. Every word memorized, every detail etched in his memory.

 Driver of the other vehicle: Claudio Pérez Soto, male, 34 years old. Blood alcohol level: 0.18%, more than double the legal limit. Witnesses confirm that the vehicle ran a red light at excessive speed. The driver of the vehicle that was hit, Sebastián Dávila, had no time to react. No responsibility assigned to Mr. Dávila.

 The words he could never believe because he was there. He was driving. He survived without a scratch while Paula died and Tomás was devastated. But as he read the report this time, something different resonated. Mr. Dávila didn’t have time to react. He didn’t have time.

 Not because he was careless, not because he was distracted, but because a drunk man made a selfish decision that destroyed lives. Sebastián closed his eyes for two years. He had carried guilt that wasn’t his. He had punished himself for a crime he didn’t commit. Why? The answer came like a blow. Because guilt was easier than pain. If it was his fault, he was in control.

 She could punish herself, she could deserve the suffering, but if it wasn’t her fault, then she had simply lost arbitrarily, without reason, without justice, and that was unbearable. So she had chosen guilt, she had used it as a shield against living, against feeling, against risking losing again.

 And now he had lost anyway, but this time it was truly his fault. Luciana whispered in the empty room. Her name was equal parts Pain and Longing. The door opened without a knock. Josefina entered with a fierce expression. Enough. Sebastián looked up. Excuse me. Stop hiding. Stop feeling sorry for yourself.

Stop destroying everyone around you because you’re afraid. Josefina. No, I’ve stayed silent for two years watching you torture yourself, watching you push your son away. But this pointed upwards, towards Tomás’s room. I can’t watch this anymore. Sebastián stood up. You don’t understand.

 What don’t I understand? That he lost his wife? I understand. That he feels guilty? I understand. But do you know what else I understand? Tears streamed down the cheeks of the older woman, who is making the same mistake twice. She let guilt steal two years with her son, and now she’s letting fear steal her future.

 I’m protecting Luciana. She doesn’t want your protection, she wants your courage, she wants you to fight for her, for Tomás, for the family you built together. I can’t risk your career. Your career. Josefina laughed humorlessly. Do you think that matters to you? That woman would give up everything for that child, for you. But you chose the easy way out. No 

There’s nothing easy about this. No. It’s easier to give in to blackmail than to fight. It’s easier to blame circumstances than to make a difficult decision. It’s easier to stay in this dead house than to risk living. Sebastián slumped in his chair. I don’t know how to fight them. Start by deciding what matters most: your son, or the business; love, or the approval of people who use affection as a weapon. Josefina headed for the door. She stopped.

 Mrs. Paula wasn’t perfect, nor was her marriage. But do you know what I’d say to her if she were here? Sebastián shook his head. I’d tell her to stop using her memory as an excuse. To live. To give Tomás the father he deserves and the family he needs. Even if that family isn’t what she imagined. She left, closing the door softly. Sebastián was left alone with the police report and his demons.

 On the morning of December 23, Beatriz and Antonio arrived with suitcases. “We’ve come to pick up Tomás,” Beatriz announced. “For the holidays. Sebastián found you in the lobby. He hadn’t slept in two days. Tomás is staying here.” Beatriz blinked. “Sorry, I said he’s staying here with me at his house.” Antonio stepped forward. “Sebastián, we agreed.”

 You all agreed, you all blackmailed me, but Tomás is my son and he’s staying where he belongs. His home. Beatriz looked around with disdain. This silent grave where a child rots in his room without food because you fired the only person he cared about. The blow landed. I’m handling it. Clearly not. Beatriz took a step forward. Tomás needs family. He needs joy. He needs me.

 The voice of Sebastián Tronó, his father. No manipulative grandparents using traditions as chains, no uncles threatening lawsuits. “Then act like a father to me,” Antonio spat. “Bring that woman back if that’s what Tomás needs, or admit you’re too much of a coward.” Sebastián moved so fast that Antonio backed away.

 “Careful!” Sebastian said, his voice dangerously calm. “Be very careful what you say in my house. Antonio’s recovered. Or what? Are you going to throw us out? Go ahead. But Paula’s shares are still ours. The board is still ours. And Tomás. Tomás is my son, not your bargaining chip.” Beatriz interjected, her face softening calculatedly. “Sebastian, please, I know you’re suffering. We all are.”

 But Paula would want to. Don’t use Paula. Sebastián cut her off. Don’t use her memory to justify your control. We’re family. Family doesn’t blackmail. Family doesn’t threaten. Family doesn’t destroy the future of innocent people to maintain power. Sebastián walked to the door and opened it. Get out now. If we do this, Antonio warned, there’s no going back.

The shares, the board, everything. So, go ahead. Fight it in court if you want, block whatever you need to block, but you’re not going to use my son. Beatriz studied him. She saw something in his eyes that made her hesitate. Tomás asked me why his mother died, Sebastián said softly.

 I told him I didn’t know, that sometimes bad things happen for no reason, but you know what else, I told him? He hoped his mother loved him more than anything, that she wanted to see him happy, alive, loved, not being used as a pawn in power games. Beatriz blinked rapidly. For a moment, Sebastián saw a grieving mother instead of a manipulator.

 “Paula would want you to be happy too,” she whispered. “I know, that’s why I’m letting them go.” Antonio took his mother’s arm. “Let’s go, Mom. This is a waste of time.” Beatriz stopped in the doorway. “You really love that woman.” Sebastián thought of Luciana, her laughter, how her eyes lit up when Tomás was around, her fierce courage and her gentle heart. Yes.

 Then go for it, you fool, before it’s too late. They left. Sebastián closed the door and leaned against it. He had burned his bridges; there would be a legal battle, business complications, but for the first time in years he felt free. Now he just needed to fix what he had broken. Luciana woke up on Christmas Eve with swollen eyes from crying so much.

 Her grandmother was already awake, preparing breakfast in the small kitchen. “Good morning, my child.” Luciana sat down at the table. The apartment was so different from the mansion. Cracked walls, old furniture, but full of love. “I made your favorite. Scrambled eggs with cheese.” “I’m not hungry.” “Oh, you need to eat something.” The old woman placed the plate in front of her. “You’ve lost weight.”

Luciana pushed her food away. Three days since she left the mansion. Three days of crying, of wondering if she did the right thing, of missing Tomás with a physical ache, of missing Sebastián. “I’ve decided something,” Luciana said. Suddenly her grandmother sat down. “What?” “I’m leaving Santiago. There’s a clinic in Valparaíso looking for pediatric therapists.”

 I called yesterday. I can start in January. Luciana, I need to start over. Every street here reminds me of him, of them. I can’t. Her voice broke. I can’t stay. Her grandmother took her hand, and I… You’re coming with me. I’ll rent a bigger place. With your pension and my salary, we can manage. I’m not going anywhere. Luciana blinked.

 What? This city is my home. My church is here. My friends, my memories of your grandfather. The old woman smiled sadly. But more importantly, if you leave like this, you’re running away. I’m not running away. Yes, you are. And I don’t blame you. That man hurt you. That family hurt you. But running away doesn’t make it hurt less, it only postpones it. Luciana shook her head.

 I can’t stay and watch it with Mariana. Watch Tomás call another woman. Her throat tightened. Her grandmother stood up and hugged her. Then go for today. Process the pain, but don’t make permanent decisions based on temporary pain. And if it’s not temporary, then you’ll leave when you’re ready. But today is Christmas Eve, and I have a feeling. The doorbell rang. Luciana wiped her eyes.

Are you expecting someone? No. Luciana opened the door. A messenger with a large box. Luciana Romero. Yes. Urgent package. She signed without thinking. The messenger left. The box was light, with no return address. What is it? her grandmother asked. Luciana opened it. Inside were Tomás’s purple crutches and a note in a child’s handwriting. Lucy, I miss you.

 Dad says he made a mistake. Please come back. I love you, Tomás. Underneath, another note. Adult handwriting. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but Tomás deserves his miracle. Please come, even if it’s just for him. Luciana felt fresh tears welling up. “What does it say?” her grandmother asked. “That I should go today.” “And are you going?” Luciana looked at the crutches.

 She imagined Tomás without them, alone in his room, waiting. I don’t know. But even as she spoke the words, she knew the truth. A part of her had never left that mansion. At 2 p.m., Luciana called a taxi. “Are you sure?” her grandmother asked at the door. “No, but I need to know. I need closure.”

 And if it hurts you again, then at least I tried.” The taxi arrived. Luciana placed her crutches in the back seat. “Colinas Las Condes,” she told the driver. Dávila Residence. As the taxi climbed the hills, her heart beat faster. She didn’t know what she expected to find.

 She didn’t know if Sebastián had truly changed or if this was another mistake, but she knew Tomás deserved an answer, and a part of her—the part that still loved this impossible man—needed to know if this time he would fight. The taxi stopped in front of the gates. Luciana saw the Christmas decorations, the lights, the fountain—everything the same, yet everything different. She paid the driver. “Wait a moment.”

She pressed the doorbell. Silence. She pressed it again. Nothing. She was about to leave when she heard a noise. Inside. Shouting. The gate opened electronically. Luciana walked along the path, her crutches tucked under her arm. The front door was ajar, and then she heard it.

 Lucy, Tomás’s voice, not from her room, but from upstairs, from outside. Luciana dropped her crutches and ran around the house, to the front yard. And there, at the top of the front steps, five stone steps she’d never attempted, was just Tomás, without his wheelchair, without crutches, just him, standing, clinging to the railing. Lucy screamed again when she saw her.

 Behind him, Sebastián ran out of the house, his face contorted with terror. Tomás, no, wait. But the boy was already moving, one foot descending a step, trembling, uncertain, but moving. Luciana ran to the bottom of the steps, knelt down, and held out her arms. “Come on, my love,” she called, her voice breaking. “You can do it. You’re almost there.”

Tears streamed down his face. Sebastián was behind Tomás, his hands ready to catch him and fall, but without touching him, letting him be brave. “Almost there, son,” Sebastián whispered. “Almost there!” Tomás took another step, and another. His legs trembled violently; two years without walking, eight months rebuilding his strength, but pure determination propelled him. Four steps. Three, two.

 On the last step, his legs began to give way. Sebastián lunged forward, but Tomás reached Luciana’s arms. She caught him, held him, both of them weeping. “You did it,” she cried. “You did it, my brave, beautiful boy. You didn’t leave,” Tomás said against her shoulder. “I thought you were gone forever. I could never, ever leave forever.”

Luciana looked up. Sebastián was standing on the top step, his hands covering his face, his shoulders trembling, weeping. “It’s a Christmas miracle,” he whispered through his tears. His eyes met Luciana’s, and in them she saw everything: regret, love, fear, hope.

 “We both need you,” Sebastián said, his voice broken but firm. And for the first time, Luciana believed that maybe, just maybe, she would really fight this time. Sebastián knelt on the step beside them. “Tomás,” he said, his voice trembling, “that was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen you do.” The boy looked at him with shining eyes. He had to stop her. He had to bring her back. “I know, son, I know.” Sebastián looked at Luciana.

 She was still supporting Tomás, but her eyes were filled with questions and pain. “Luciana,” he began. “Not me.” She shook her head. “Not here, not like this.” She stood, helping Tomás regain his balance. Her legs trembled with the effort. “Tomás needs to rest. That was too much physical exertion after three days without professional therapy until the very end.”

 But Sebastián saw his hands tremble as he touched the child. Inside, Josefina appeared with tears in her eyes. “My God, I saw everything from the window. That child wiped his face. It’s a miracle.” “It’s Lucy,” Tomás said simply. “She taught me to be brave.” Luciana helped him to the living room sofa. She began to examine his legs with expert hands. “Does anything hurt?” “A little.” “Where?” “My knees.”

 “What?” She pointed to her thighs. “It’s normal. You used muscles you haven’t used in days. We’ll put some ice on them.” She moved in a therapeutic way. Efficient, distant. Sebastián watched from the doorway. “Josefina, can you get some ice packs?” As soon as Josefina left, the silence became heavy. Thomas glanced between the two adults.

 You’re not mad at Dad anymore, Lucy. Luciana took a deep breath. It’s complicated, my love. He said he made a mistake. He didn’t apologize. Some things need more than apologies. Sebastian took a step forward. Luciana, please give me five minutes. Just five minutes to explain. Explain what? That you chose your business over us? That you let horrible people threaten me while you stayed silent? His voice cracked.

I’ve heard enough explanations. Haven’t you heard them all? Luciana looked at him. She saw something in his eyes that made her hesitate. “Tomás,” Sebastián said, kneeling beside his son. “You can go with Josefina to the kitchen. Just for a few minutes. I need to talk to Lucy. Are you going to make her leave again?” “No, I promise I won’t.” Tomás looked at Luciana.

She nodded. Okay, go. When the boy walked away with Josefina’s support and great effort, Luciana and Sebastián were left alone. You have three minutes, she said, not five. Sebastián nodded. After you left, I completely fell apart. Tomás stopped eating, stopped talking to me, stopped using his crutches.

 Sebastian, let me finish, please. He took a deep breath. I sat in my study that night with the accident report. I’ve read it a thousand times, but this time I finally understood something. He walked to the window. I’ve been using guilt as a shield. If it was my fault Paula died, then I was in control. I could punish myself.

 She could have avoided living because she didn’t deserve it. But the truth was, she was just afraid. She turned to her. Afraid of losing again. Afraid of being happy when Paula would never be again. Afraid of admitting that her marriage wasn’t perfect and that it was okay to move on. Luciana felt tears welling in her eyes, but she didn’t speak.

 I let that fear control me. And when Beatriz and Antonio threatened me, I chose fear again. I gave them power over my life, over Tomás’s life, over you. Sebastián took a step toward her. But after you left, Josefina told me something: that I was making the same mistake twice, letting fear steal my future, just as guilt stole my past.

 “And?” Luciana asked, her voice trembling. “And I woke up, kicked Beatriz and Antonio out of the house. I told them they couldn’t use Tomás as a weapon anymore, that they could do whatever they wanted with the shares, with the board, with everything, but they weren’t going to control our lives anymore.” Luciana blinked. “You kicked them out?” “Yes. And I hired private investigators. It took me two days, but they found the truth.”

 She pulled out her phone and showed emails. The previous therapists who supposedly gave statements had been paid by Antonio. The compromising photos had been taken out of context by a private investigator he’d hired. All fabricated. Luciana stared at the evidence, wide-eyed. “My God, I have proof of everything.”

 Bank transfers, contracts with the investigator, emails where Antonio tells his accomplice exactly what to fabricate. Sebastián put his phone away. I confronted him this morning. I gave him two options: resign from his position on the Dávila Pharmaceuticals board voluntarily or face charges of extortion and fabricating evidence. He chose to resign. Beatriz is also signing papers with my lawyers right now to sell Paula’s shares to a neutral third party.

 It will take me months to completely restructure everything. But it’s already begun. Luciana sat down heavily. Why? Why did you do all this? Sebastián knelt in front of her. Because you were right. I’m a coward. Or I was. But Tomás taught me something today. What? I went down those steps alone, without crutches, with legs that have barely supported my weight.

 Do you know why he did it? Luciana shook her head, tears streaming down her face. Because love is worth the risk, love is worth the fear. And if a four-year-old can be so brave, then his father can too. He took Luciana’s hands. I love you. I love your strength, your compassion.

 How do you see the best in people? How did you bring my son back to life? How did you teach me to be a father again, Sebastián? I’m not asking you to forgive me today. I’m not asking you to forget how I hurt you, but I’m asking you for a chance, a chance to show you that this time I will fight, this time I won’t run. Luciana sobbed openly. Now you’ve destroyed me, you’ve fired me, you’ve made me feel like our love was shameful. I know.

 And I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you let me. And if that’s not enough, then at least I tried. At least I was brave, like you taught me. Luciana wiped her eyes. I can’t come back as your employee. I can’t just be Tomás’s therapist and pretend there’s nothing more to it. I don’t want you to be my employee. So what do you want? Sebastián took a deep breath.

 I want you to be part of this family, not as staff, but as the person who saved us both, as the woman I love, as the mother figure Tomás needs. If you ever feel ready for that, that’s a lot. I know. And it doesn’t have to be today or tomorrow. We can take it slow. We can do things right this time.

 Luciana studied him, searching for lies, searching for fear, but she only saw truth. Beatriz was right about one thing. She finally said, “What? Our worlds are very different.” Sebastián’s face fell. But, Luciana continued, “maybe that’s okay. Maybe Tomás needs both worlds, yours and mine.” Hope blossomed in Sebastián’s eyes.

 That means I’m staying for now, not as a therapist, not as an employee, how? She searched for the word. Family, Sebastián offered. Luciana nodded slowly. As family, but Sebastián, if you choose fear over us again, I won’t. If you let someone talk to me the way Beatriz did, I won’t. Yes, Sebastián silenced her with a soft, tender kiss, full of promise.

 When they parted, both had tears on their cheeks. “It’s Christmas,” he whispered. “And you just gave me the best gift.” “What?” “Another chance.” They found Tomás in the kitchen eating cookies with Josefina. “Have you finished talking?” he asked with his mouth full. “Yes,” Luciana said. “Lucy’s staying.” Luciana looked at Sebastián. He nodded encouragingly.

 I’m staying. Tomás shouted with joy and jumped out of his chair. Then he wobbled. Sebastián caught him. Easy there, champ. Your legs need a rest. But I’m happy. I can be happy. Luciana laughed through her tears. You can be as happy as you want. Josefina wiped her eyes.

 Thank God, this house needed life again. The doorbell rang. Everyone froze. “Are you expecting someone?” Luciana asked. Sebastián shook his head. He walked toward the entrance. Through the window, he saw the black Mercedes. “Beatriz and Antonio. Stay here,” he said. “No.” Luciana stood up. “I’m coming with you.” He looked at her.

 Are you sure? Were you alone the first time? No, this time they took each other’s hands and walked together toward the door. Beatriz looked different, younger, tired. Antonio stood behind her, looking defeated. “Sebastián,” Beatriz began. “We came to see Luciana.” His face hardened. “I see you brought her back.” “She should never have left,” Sebastián said firmly. Antonio took a step forward.

 Sebastian, about the investigators, you already have your answer. The shares are being sold to a third party. You’re resigning your position on the board. That’s non-negotiable. You’re making a mistake. The mistake was letting you control me for so long. Beatriz raised a hand, silencing her son. We didn’t come here to fight, she sighed. We came to apologize.

Silence. “I’m sorry,” Sebastián repeated. Beatriz nodded, her eyes fixed on Luciana. “I acted terribly. You gave my grandson back something I thought was lost forever. His joy, his mobility, his hope.” Her voice broke. “And I attacked you for that, because I was afraid. Afraid of losing control. Afraid that if Sebastián went ahead, I would lose Tomás too.”

I would lose everything that’s left of my daughter. Luciana felt compassion despite everything. Mrs. Salazar, please let me finish. Beatriz wiped her eyes. Paula was my world. When she died, I didn’t know how to go on. Tomás was my connection to her. And when I saw him getting better with someone new, I felt like I was betraying her memory. She looked at Sebastián.

 But Paula would want Tomás to be happy. She’d want you to be happy. And if this woman—she pointed at Luciana—gives them that, then I have no right to interfere. Antonio cleared his throat. Fabricating that evidence was unforgivable. I was protecting financial interests, but I crossed a line. Many lines, Sebastián corrected. Yes, Antonio nodded.

 I’ll sign the papers, sell the shares, and apologize. To both of you. Beatriz looked directly at Luciana. “Can you forgive a stupid old woman?” Luciana looked at Sebastian. He squeezed her hand. The decision was hers. “What you did hurt,” Luciana said carefully. “It almost destroyed me professionally. It made me feel less than…” Beatriz nodded, embarrassed. “But,” Luciana continued.

We all make mistakes when we’re afraid, and I understand the fear of losing family. She took a deep breath. Tomás needs his grandparents. He needs to know where he came from, to hear his mother’s stories. So if they can respect boundaries and stop manipulating, then perhaps we can start over. Beatriz Soyoso. Thank you.

 Thank you. Sebastián intervened. But there are rules. No more blackmail, no more threats. No more using Tomás as a pawn. If you want to be in his life, it has to be with respect for all of us. Antonio nodded. Understood. Can we see him? Beatriz asked. Just to say Merry Christmas. Sebastián looked at Luciana. She nodded. Five minutes and behave yourselves.

 Tomás was wary when he saw his grandparents, but Beatriz knelt before him, tears welling in her eyes. “My love, your dad told me you walked all by yourself, that you went down the stairs.” Tomás nodded and brought Lucy back. “That was very brave. Lucy taught me. She says that being brave means trying even when you’re afraid.” Beatriz glanced at Luciana. “She’s a good teacher, the best,” Tomás agreed shyly.

You’re not mad at her anymore, Grandma. No, my dear. I’m not mad anymore. Good, because I love her, and Dad does too. Sebastián coughed. Luciana blushed. Beatriz smiled. A real smile. I see. Antonio said goodbye awkwardly. Beatriz stopped in the doorway. One more thing, she said. The family home in Viña del Mar. The Dávila and Salazar families always spend New Year’s together.

 If you want to come, all three of you are welcome. Sebastián started to decline, but Luciana stopped him. “We’ll think about it,” she said. “Thank you.” When they left, Sebastián looked at her in surprise. “You’d really consider going? Tomás deserves to meet his whole family, even the complicated parts. But we either go together as a family or we don’t go at all.”

 Sebastián kissed her on the 100th. Together. I like the sound of that. That night they had dinner in the dining room. Not the huge formal table, the small kitchen table. Josefina had prepared roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and salad. Simple, but made with love. “It’s the best Christmas dinner of my life,” Tomás declared. “Better than at the Salazars’ house with the whole family?” Sebastián asked. “Better, because we’re all together, you, me, and Lucy.”

Luciana felt her heart melt. Well, technically Christmas is tomorrow, but it’s Christmas Eve, and that counts. Tomás took both their hands. “Can we pray?” Sebastián and Luciana exchanged surprised glances. “I didn’t know you wanted to pray,” Sebastián said. “Lucy taught me. We say thank you for the good things.”

 “Then let’s pray,” Luciana said softly. Tomás closed his eyes. “Thank you, God, for bringing Lucy back. Thank you for giving me working legs. Thank you for making Dad brave.” And he opened one eye, looking at Luciana. “Thank you for giving us a family again. Amen.” “Amen,” Sebastián and Luciana whispered.

 After dinner, they decorated the Christmas tree, the enormous one in the hall that had been undecorated. Tomás directed from the sofa, his legs tired, but his spirits high. “That blue ball goes higher, Dad.” “Not here.” “Higher, Tomás.” “I’m taller than the tree.” “There’s no higher.” Luciana laughed as she hung ornaments. She found a special one, a picture frame.

 Inside were Paula and Sebastián, young, with baby Tomás. Sebastián saw her looking at him. “You can hang it up,” he said gently. “She’s part of our history. She always will be.” Luciana nodded. She hung it in a place of honor. “Your mom was beautiful,” she told Tomás. “I know. Dad tells me stories about her now.” “Yes.” Tomás nodded.

 She says she was funny and that she sang horribly, just like you. Hey. Luciana pretended to be offended. Tomás laughed. But that’s good. I like it when you sing badly. It’s funny. Sebastián joined in the laughter. For the first time in two years, the Dávila mansion was filled with joy. At 11:00, Tomás was asleep on the sofa. Luciana and Sebastián sat beside him, watching him.

 “I can’t believe he went down those stairs alone,” Sebastian whispered. “Me neither. It was reckless and dangerous. And unbelievable.” “Yes.” Luciana smiled. “Unbelievable.” Sebastian took her hand. “What are you thinking about?” “About how eight months ago I came to this house thinking it was just a job, a kid who needed therapy, and now I know it was so much more.”

 It was destiny, perhaps, or a miracle, or simply the right moment. Sebastián intertwined his fingers. For me too. You came into my life when I was most lost, when I had given up on everything except surviving. And now, now I truly want to live, to live with my son, with you, to build something real. Luciana rested her head on his shoulder. It won’t be easy; there’s still work to be done.

 Tomás needs months more therapy. You and I need time to rebuild trust. I know that. And I’m ready for all of it, even meeting my family. My grandmother is going to interrogate you. Sebastián laughed. Especially that. I want to meet the woman who raised you, who taught you about royal family. They sat in comfortable silence. The lights on the tree twinkled.

 Outside, it began to snow lightly. Unusual for Santiago, but perfect for tonight. “Sebastián,” Luciana finally said. “Yes, thank you.” “Why?” “For choosing to fight, for being brave, for showing that love is worth the risk.” He kissed her gently. “Thank you for giving me another chance, for not giving up on us.” “I could never give up on you.” Tomás stirred in his sleep, muttering something about purple crutches. They both smiled.

 “We should put him to bed,” Sebastian said. “Yes, but I can stay tonight. I don’t want to leave yet. You can stay as long as you like. This is your home now, too.” Sebastian carried Tomas upstairs. Luciana followed. As they tucked the boy in, Tomas opened his eyes. Sleepy. “Lucy, I’m here, my love. Promise you’ll be here tomorrow?” “I promise. And the day after.” Luciana looked at Sebastian.

He nodded. And the day after tomorrow. Forever. Luciana felt tears welling up. Forever. Tomás smiled and closed his eyes. Then it really was a Christmas miracle. He was right. Not the miracle of walking, although that was extraordinary. Not the miracle of healing, although that was important. The real miracle was this.

 Three broken people finding their way back to each other. A family being born from loss, fear, and ultimately, the courage to love again. And as Luciana and Sebastián left the room hand in hand, they both knew this was just the beginning. There was work to be done, wounds to heal, trust to rebuild, but for the first time in a long time, they had something that made it all possible: hope, love, and each other.

 The Christmas miracle wasn’t just that Tomás was walking; it was that they all finally found the courage to take steps forward together. Three months later, in March, the new sign shone brightly under the March sun: Paula Dávila Pediatric Rehabilitation Center. Luciana stood before it, feeling a mix of emotions. “Are you sure about this?” she asked Sebastián. “It’s a lot.”

 He was by her side with Tomás between them. The boy still used crutches, but only for long distances. At home he walked without help. “I’m sure,” Sebastián said. “Paula would have wanted this, to help children like Tomás. And you made it possible.”

 The clinic had been Luciana’s project for years, a dream of having a specialized center for low-income children who needed physical therapy. She never had the funds until Sebastián wrote the check, not as charity, but as an investment in something that mattered.

 The new wing had six therapy rooms, state-of-the-art equipment, two full-time therapists plus Luciana three days a week. “Let’s go,” Tomás said, pulling his hands. “I want to see inside.” They went in together. The staff was already there. Dr. Elena Vargas, Tomás’s orthopedist who had overseen his recovery. Josefina, who had insisted on coming, Luciana’s grandmother in a wheelchair, smiling proudly, and patients—five children with their families, the first to use the center.

 “Miss Romero,” a young mother said, tears welling in her eyes. “Thank you. My son has needed therapy for a year, but we couldn’t afford it.” Luciana hugged the woman. That’s why she’s here. No one should have to choose between treatment and food. Sebastián watched from the sidelines. These past few months had been transformative. The separation of the Salazar shares took two months of intense legal negotiations.

 But now Dávila Pharmaceuticals was independent. Smaller, yes, but theirs and with a new address. They had begun research into pediatric drugs for neuromuscular conditions. Luciana was a consultant on the project. Her field experience was invaluable. They worked together, they lived together. She in her own suite in the east wing of the mansion.

 They ate dinner together, raised Tomás together, but took things slowly, rebuilding trust, learning from each other without rushing. “Dad, look,” Tomás called from the therapeutic play area. “They have the same dinosaur as me.” Sebastián walked over to it, not just watching from afar, but participating. Luciana smiled. Three months later, the transformation still amazed her.

 Sebastián arrived home at 5 every day, had dinner with them, read stories before bed, and played with Tomás. He had also started therapy, processing the trauma of the accident, the guilt, the pain, sometimes alone and sometimes with Luciana. Paula’s photo was still in his studio, but it wasn’t a shrine; it was a loving reminder of someone who had been important to him.

 Sebastian had learned that honoring the past didn’t mean living in it. Luciana called Dr. Vargas, “Ready for the demonstration?” “Demonstration?” Luciana asked. Vargas smiled. “Your star patient wants to show you something.” Tomás was standing in the center of the main room, without crutches, just his legs, stronger now after almost a year of steady work.

 “What are you doing, Tomás?” Luciana asked. “I’m going to walk all the way to you by myself.” Luciana’s heart leaped. “My love, you don’t have to. I want to do this to show you how much I’ve improved.” Tomás was 10 meters away. He had walked without crutches at home. Yes, short distances, but this was different. An audience, pressure. Sebastián positioned himself close, but not too close.

Ready to help if needed, but letting him try. “You can do it, champ,” she said. “I’ve got you if you need me.” Tomás took a deep breath, just like Luciana had taught him almost a year ago, and took the first step, shaky but firm. Then another. The room fell silent, everyone watching. Three steps. Five. Eight.

 His legs were strong, muscles rebuilt, confidence gained. He wasn’t perfect. His gait was still uneven. It probably always would be, but he walked on his own. At step 10, Luciana couldn’t hold back any longer. She ran to him. Tomás laughed as she lifted him into a hug. “You did it. You walked the whole way. I told you I was strong.”

You’re more than strong. You’re incredible. Sebastián joined them. This time he wasn’t crying, just smiling with pure pride. Well done, son. Tomás looked between the two adults he loved. You know what the best part is? What? they asked at the same time. That we did it together as a family. Luciana felt tears welling up. The good ones this time. Yes, she said, as a family.

That night everyone had dinner at the mansion. Luciana’s grandmother, Josefina, was there, as was Dr. Vargas, who had become a friend, and surprisingly, Beatriz. The relationship with the Salazars was still delicate, but they had reached an uneasy agreement. Beatriz visited Tomás twice a month without Antonio. He had chosen to distance himself completely after the scandal. The visits were supervised and polite.

 Beatriz had learned to respect boundaries. “Tomás,” she said during dinner, “your mother would be so proud of you.” The boy smiled. “I know. Dad tells me stories about her. Which one is your favorite? When she and Dad went camping and she was scared of a raccoon.” Tomás laughed. “Dad says she screamed so loudly that the raccoon got even more scared.” Everyone laughed.

Sebastian squeezed Luciana’s hand under the table. “I also have a new favorite story,” Tomás added. “Which one?” Luciana’s grandmother asked. “About how Lucy came to our house and taught us to be brave, and how Dad almost ruined everything, but then fixed it.” And since we’re a family now, Beatriz discreetly wiped her eyes.

 After dinner, as the guests were leaving, Beatriz approached Luciana. “Take care of him,” she said simply to both of them. “I will.” And Beatriz hesitated. “Thank you for not pushing me away completely. I know you had every right.” Luciana gently touched her arm. “Tomás needs to know where he came from. He needs all his mother’s stories. You’re an important part of that.” Beatriz nodded, her voice filled with emotion.

 You’re good for them. Better than I cared to admit. Later, after Tomás was asleep and the house was quiet, Luciana and Sebastián sat on the balcony of their suite. The garden below was softly lit, spring in full bloom. “What are you thinking about?” Sebastián asked.

 Almost a year ago, I got off a bus in front of these gates, with no idea what awaited me. And my life changed completely, in the best and worst ways possible. Sebastián pulled her toward him. You regret the difficult parts. Yes, how you hurt me, yes, but the outcome. Luciana glanced toward Tomás’s room. Never. I still feel like I need a lifetime to make up for those three days.

 So, it’s good that we have a whole life together. Sebastián looked at her. Is that what you want? A life with me, with us. Luciana smiled. Are you proposing to me, Mr. Dávila? Not yet. When I do, it will be perfect, romantic. Tomás will probably be involved in the planning. Probably, but I am asking if you can imagine a future together.

 Luciana snuggled up to him. I can imagine it. In fact, I can’t imagine anything else. They sat in comfortable silence. “Do you know what Tomás told me today?” Sebastián asked. “What? That the Christmas miracle wasn’t that he walked, it was that he got a new mom?” Luciana felt her throat tighten. “That’s what he said.” “Yes.”

 And she asked if she would ever call you Mom. I told her she had to ask you. Tears were streaming down Luciana’s cheeks now. “And what do you think?” Sebastián turned her to look directly at her. “I think you’re already her mother in every way that matters.”

 The title is just a formality, but if you want to wait, I don’t want to wait. Luciana wiped her tears. When he’s ready, when it feels right for him, I would love for him to call me Mom. Sebastián kissed her softly, deeply, full of promise. I love you! he whispered against her lips. I love you too. Thank you. Why? For not giving up on us, for giving us another chance, for teaching us how to move forward. Luciana smiled.

 That’s my specialty, teaching children to walk. You’re doing well. In his room, Tomás woke up briefly. He heard voices on the balcony. His dad and Lucy smiled in the darkness. His grandmother Beatriz was right. His mother Paula would be proud—proud that he was walking, proud that his dad was happy again, proud that they had found love after their loss.

 Tomás fell asleep again, dreaming of dinosaurs and purple crutches and a family that loved him. Not the family he was born into, but the family he had built. And that was enough, more than enough, it was perfect. The true miracle of that Christmas wasn’t that a child walked, it was that three broken people—a father drowning in guilt, a son trapped in fear, and a woman with a heart too big to give up—found their way back to life.

 Together they learned that being brave didn’t mean not being afraid, it meant taking the step anyway, that love is worth the risk, that families come in all shapes and sizes, and that sometimes miracles don’t come from heaven, they come from ordinary people doing extraordinary things, like a therapist who refused to accept the impossible, like a father who finally found the courage to live.

 And like a little boy who took one step and then another, until finally he ran toward his future without fear, with love, with hope, and that in the end was the greatest miracle of all. What did you think of Sebastián, Luciana, and Tomás’s story? Leave your comments below. On a scale of 0 to 10, how would you rate this story? Subscribe to the channel and turn on notifications so you don’t miss any of our stories.