“Son, forgive Mom, there’s no dinner this year,” she said, her voice trembling as she tried to sound strong. The millionaire, listening just a few feet away, felt something break inside him. Five minutes later, what he did would change the course of that night forever.

 “But Mom, can’t we buy a little turkey?” Joao’s voice echoed with that mixture of hope and disappointment that only children know how to express. His little fingers gripped the nearly empty shopping cart as his eyes scanned the holiday food section of the supermarket. Mariana Sale crouched down to be at eye level with her 5-year-old son.

 Her face, framed by strands of brown hair escaping from a makeshift ponytail, tried to maintain a smile despite the lump in her throat. She wore a worn gray sweater that had seen better days, just like her. “Joao, listen,” she whispered, taking her son’s little hands in hers. “This year will be different.”

 “We can do something special, just you and me. We don’t need a big turkey, but we always have turkey at Christmas,” Joao insisted. His big eyes filled with an understanding premature for his age. “Is Dad no longer with us?” Mariana swallowed. Her ex-husband had left the family almost a year ago, leaving her with debt, a tiny apartment, and the responsibility of raising Joao alone while juggling two low-paying jobs. “No, my love,” she replied gently.

 

 

 

It’s because prices are so high this year. Son, forgive Mom. There’s no dinner this year, at least not like the ones we used to have. But I promise we’ll make something special. Yes, maybe some Christmas cookies. We can decorate them together.

She tried to make her voice sound enthusiastic, but the reality was that she could barely afford basic necessities. The last electricity bill had eaten up what she had set aside for Christmas dinner, and her next payment wouldn’t arrive until after the holidays. A few meters away, Augusto de Lima watched the scene while pretending to examine a bottle of imported wine. With his perfectly tailored navy blue suit and upright posture, he seemed out of place in that neighborhood supermarket.

His personal assistant usually took care of these mundane tasks, but for some years now Augusto had made a habit of doing some shopping himself in the days leading up to holidays. It was his particular way of connecting with reality, as he liked to think. What had begun as simple curiosity upon hearing the woman’s halting voice transformed into genuine interest as he witnessed the exchange.

 There was something about the dignity of that mother and the maturity of the little boy that contrasted sharply with the superficial conversations that filled his life. At 40, Augusto de Lima had built a real estate empire that placed him among the most prosperous businessmen in the country.

 

 

 

He had everything money could buy: a mansion in the most exclusive part of town, a collection of luxury cars, works of art worth millions. And yet, as he watched that woman comfort her son with the promise of some simple homemade cookies, he felt a familiar emptiness settle in his chest.
Family games
 The night before, he had hosted a lavish pre-Christmas dinner at his residence. Fifty guests, a Michelin-starred chef, exquisite decorations, and French champagne. He remembered the overly loud laughter, the pointless conversations, the exaggerated compliments. “Augusto, this party is magnificent. You should have seen the look of envy on Rodríguez’s face when I walked into your house.”

 

 

 

That painting must have cost you a fortune, right? No one had asked how he really was, what he felt he was hoping for in the new year. “Mom, can we at least get these cookies?” The boy’s voice brought him back to the present. Joao was holding a box of star-shaped Christmas cookies, while Mariana checked the price with an expression Augusto immediately recognized—the mental calculation of someone who has to count every penny.

 “Okay, my love, but we’ll have to return the cereal then,” she replied, swapping the items in the cart. Augusto felt an impulse he couldn’t explain. He put down the bottle of wine and walked purposefully toward the couple. As he approached, he noticed details he hadn’t been able to see before: the dark circles under Mariana’s tired eyes, the small smudges of nail polish on Joao’s nails, suggesting recent school art projects.

 

 

 

The care with which the mother arranged the few items in her cart to maximize their limited budget. “Excuse me,” Gusto said, surprising himself with the gentleness of his tone. Normally his voice in the boardroom was firm, authoritative. Now it sounded almost tentative. Mariana instantly looked up, on guard.

 

 

 

 A woman alone with a child quickly learned to be wary of strangers, especially men in expensive suits. “Yes, sorry for intruding,” Augusto continued, suddenly feeling awkward. “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation and was wondering if I might invite you to Christmas dinner.” The words tumbled out of his mouth before I could process them.

It wasn’t like him to make impulsive invitations, much less to strangers in a supermarket. His life was meticulously planned. Every meeting carefully evaluated for its strategic value. Mariana frowned, confused and wary. “Excuse me, I’m sorry, I haven’t introduced myself properly. I’m Augusto from Lima.”

 

 

 He extended his hand, aware that his name probably meant nothing to her, and that strangely, he found it refreshing. “Mariana Sales,” she replied automatically, shaking his hand briefly. “And this is my son, Joo.” “Hello,” the boy said, looking at him with childlike curiosity. “You have a very elegant suit. You’re a prince.” Augusto couldn’t help but smile at the question.

 He couldn’t remember the last time he had smiled so spontaneously. No, I’m not a prince, just a man who’s going to spend Christmas alone and would rather not. Mariana looked puzzled. She studied Augusto more closely, assessing him. His suit probably cost more than her three months’ rent, but there was something in his eyes, a loneliness she recognized because she saw it reflected in her own mirror every morning. “Mr. de Lima, I appreciate your offer, but we don’t know each other.”

“Please, call me Augusto,” he interrupted gently. “And I completely understand your misgivings. My proposal must sound quite inappropriate. A little. Yes,” Mariana admitted with a small, cautious smile. “It’s not every day that a stranger in a supermarket invites a mother and her child to dinner.” “You’re absolutely right,” Augusto conceded.

 He hesitated for a moment, considering how to proceed without seeming more awkward or intimidating. “Perhaps we could have a coffee right here. The supermarket has a small café. You could get to know me a little and decide if my invitation is worth considering.” Joao tugged on his mother’s sweater sleeve. “Mom, can we? We never get coffee at the supermarket.”

 

 

 

Mariana studied Augusto for a moment longer. Her instinct told her he posed no immediate threat, and the idea of ​​sitting down and resting for a few minutes before heading home with her meager purchases was tempting. Besides, the café was in plain sight, in a public place. A coffee, she finally said. That’s all.

 The supermarket’s small café was nothing like the elegant restaurants Augusto frequented. Plastic tables, machine-made coffee, and mass-produced pastries under fluorescent-lit display cases. Yet, as he watched Joao savor a hot chocolate with the intensity only children can show for the little things, he felt this place had something Michelin-starred restaurants couldn’t offer.

Then Mariana began after an initial awkward silence. “Why would a man like you spend Christmas alone? If you don’t mind me asking.” Augusto stirred his coffee, pondering how to respond. “I suppose it’s the result of prioritizing work over relationships for too long,” he said.

 Finally, I built a successful business, but I neglected to build a family. I have no one. No parents, no siblings. My father passed away years ago. My mother lives in Europe with her new husband. We call each other during the holidays, but the relationship is cordial at best. I have a brother in Australia, but we haven’t spoken in a long time. I’m sorry, Mariana said.
Family games
 And what surprised Augusto most was that she seemed sincere. There wasn’t the slightest trace of the false sympathy he usually received in his social circle. “And you?” he asked, genuinely interested. “If you don’t mind talking about it.” Mariana sighed softly, running a hand through Joao’s hair, who was engrossed in drawing with some crayons the waitress had given him. Joao’s father passed away last year.

One day he simply said he wasn’t cut out for family life and left. He works in another city now. He sends some money occasionally, but it’s not enough. He works as a secretary in the mornings and cleans offices in the afternoons. He said it without self-pity, as a simple statement of fact. His dignity impressed Augusto.

 “It must be difficult,” she remarked. “It is,” she admitted, “but I have Joo, and that makes up for everything.” She gazed at her son with a pride that Augusto found touching. “He’s an incredible child—intelligent, compassionate. Even when I explain that we can’t afford certain things, like that Christmas dinner he wants so badly, he understands.”

 Sometimes I think he understands too much for his age. Joao looked up from his drawing. “Look, Mom, I’m drawing you.” “And this is Mr. Augusto,” she said, pointing to two stick figures, one with long, wavy hair and the other with what looked like a blue rectangle representing a suit.

 “He’s a great artist,” Augusto smiled, feeling an inexplicable warmth spread through his chest at the simple gesture of the boy including him in his art. “About his proposal,” Mariana said after a moment, returning to the original topic. “That’s very kind, but I understand your caution,” Augusto interrupted gently. “Really, and you’re absolutely right to be cautious.”

 Let me make you a different proposal. I could provide the ingredients for a Christmas dinner. You cook at home, just for you and me. No commitments, no expectations. Mariana seemed surprised by this change. That’s unexpected. Or, if you prefer, Augusto continued, I could reserve a table at a restaurant. You choose the place. You can go with Joao, with friends, or family if you prefer.

I’ll simply cover the expenses. Mariana stared at him, clearly puzzled. “Why would you do that for strangers?” It was a valid question, one that Augusto himself was only beginning to understand. Why did he feel this need to help this woman and her son? Was it simple Christmas altruism, or was there something deeper, a connection to the authenticity they represented in contrast to the falsehood that surrounded him daily? He honestly began by deciding that the truth, however uncomfortable, was the only thing he could offer. See your son

Asking about a dinner they can’t have made me realize how empty my own celebration is. I have everything money can buy, but nothing that truly matters at this time of year: genuine connection, family, meaning. Joao, who had been listening, though pretending to concentrate on his drawing, suddenly chimed in.

 If you don’t have family for Christmas, you can come to our house. Mom makes the best cookies in the world, although this year we can only make a few. Joau. Mariana seemed mortified by her son’s spontaneous invitation, but Augusto felt something extraordinary at that moment, a feeling of warmth he hadn’t experienced in years.

 The simplicity and generosity of the offer from a child who had so little, yet was willing to share it, deeply moved him. “That’s a very special invitation,” he said, looking at Joao with sincere gratitude. Then he turned his attention to Mariana. “I don’t intend to impose my will. I simply want to help you have the Christmas dinner you deserve. No strings attached.”

 Mariana observed the man before her, this stranger in an expensive suit with eyes that reflected a familiar loneliness. Against all her better judgment, something about him inspired trust. Perhaps it was the way he looked at Joao, without condescension, with genuine interest. Or perhaps it was simply that she recognized in him a kind of loneliness she herself had experienced.

“I suppose we could consider your offer of the ingredients,” she finally said. “But I need to think about it. I’m not used to accepting help from strangers.” “Of course,” Augusto replied, taking a card from his wallet. It was a simple, elegant card with his name and phone number on it.

 No fancy titles or corporate logos. Take all the time you need. My offer still stands. As Mariana took the card with some hesitation, Augusto reflected on the unusual situation. He had gone into the supermarket looking for a bottle of wine for his solitary Christmas Eve and had somehow ended up offering dinner to a family he didn’t know.

It wasn’t like him to act on impulse, and yet, for the first time in a long time, something about this interaction felt genuine, free from the layers of false politeness and calculation that characterized their usual relationships. “We have to go,” Mariana said, glancing at her watch. “Joao has to get ready for his school presentation tomorrow. I’m a reindeer,” Joao announced proudly.

I even have a red nose. I bet you’ll be the best reindeer in the show, Augusto grinned. As he watched them gather their things and prepare to leave, Augusto felt a strange reluctance to end the encounter. “Can I at least pay for your shopping today?” he offered, gesturing to the modest cart they had left by the table. Mariana hesitated, but finally nodded.

Thank you. That’s very kind of you. In the box, Augusto discreetly added a few extra items: a small turkey, stuffing ingredients, fresh vegetables, and a box of Christmas cookies for decorating. He did it without fanfare, almost as if it were an afterthought.

 

 

 

When it was time to say goodbye in the parking lot, Joao surprised Augusto with an impulsive hug of his legs. “Thank you for the chocolate and for helping Mommy with the shopping,” the boy said. Augusto, momentarily taken aback by the gesture, crouched down to be at the little boy’s eye level. “Thank you for spending your afternoon with me, Joao. It was the best part of my week.”

And as she said these words, she realized they were absolutely true. Amidst meetings with executives, multi-million dollar negotiations, and high-level events, this simple interaction in a supermarket cafeteria with a working mother and her 5-year-old son had been the most genuine thing she had experienced in a long time.

 Mariana took Joao’s hand, ready to leave. “Thank you again, Mr. de Lima.” “Augusto, please,” he insisted. “Augusto,” she conceded with a small smile. “I will seriously consider your offer.” As he watched them walk away toward a modest compact car, Augusto remained motionless in the parking lot, completely forgetting that he had come to buy wine and that his driver was probably waiting for him somewhere nearby.

 For the first time in years, he felt that something important had happened, something he couldn’t express in terms of gains or losses, something that perhaps, just perhaps, could fill that persistent void that neither lavish parties nor professional achievements had managed to eliminate. Augusto’s chauffeur, Rodrigo, watched his boss curiously as he approached the luxurious black sedan.

 After 15 years working for him, she had rarely seen him with such a thoughtful, almost vulnerable expression. “Everything alright, sir?” she asked when Augusto settled into the back seat. “Yes, Rodrigo, just thinking.” Augusto glanced out the window at the modest car where Mariana was helping Joao fasten his seatbelt. “You have children, right?” The question took the driver by surprise.

In all his years of service, Augusto had never shown any interest in his personal life. Yes, sir. Two daughters, 18 years old. And what will you do for Christmas? Rodrigo adjusted the rearview mirror, meeting his boss’s gaze. My wife is preparing the traditional dinner. Nothing extravagant, but it’s our favorite time of year. Augusto nodded slowly, pondering the driver’s words.

 You know, I can’t remember the last time I had a real Christmas dinner. One of those prepared with love, not out of obligation. The chauffeur remained silent, puzzled by the sudden introspection of his usually reserved employer. “Home, please,” Augusto finally said, taking out his phone and beginning to type something with determination.

In their two-bedroom apartment on the outskirts of the city, Mariana was finishing helping Joao practice his reindeer role for the school presentation the next day. The small red plastic nose refused to stay in place, causing laughter between mother and son. “Mom, look at all the things the man with the costume gave us.

Joao excitedly pointed to the shopping bags they had placed on the kitchen counter. “There’s a real turkey.” Mariana looked at the extra food items Augusto had discreetly added to his shopping. It was a kind gesture, but it also made her uncomfortable. She wasn’t used to receiving help, much less from a stranger, especially one who was obviously wealthy.
Supermarkets

 

 

 

 

Her phone vibrated with a message from an unknown number. “I hope you got home safely. I apologize if my offer was inappropriate. I just wanted to help, with no expectations. Augusto.” Mariana contemplated the message for a long moment. Under other circumstances, she would have ignored a stranger who contacted her after a chance encounter.

 But something about Augusto had struck her as genuine. Perhaps it was the way he had spoken to Joo, without condescension, with real interest. Or perhaps it was simply that, despite his obvious wealth, his eyes reflected a loneliness she recognized all too well. After hesitating, she replied, “Thank you for the extra ingredients. Joao is excited about the turkey.”

The reply came almost immediately. I’m glad. You deserve a nice Christmas dinner. Mariana bit her lip, carefully considering her next words. If you don’t have other commitments, our invitation still stands. A simple dinner, but a heartfelt one, think about it. As she sent the message, she wondered if she had made a mistake.

She was inviting a complete stranger to her home, but something inside told her that Augusto posed no threat, just a lonely soul like her own. In his Belvedere mansion, Augusto reread Mariana’s message as he surveyed the spacious living room, professionally decorated for the holidays.

 A towering 3-meter Christmas tree dominated the space, adorned with crystal ornaments and lights programmed to subtly change intensity. Everything was perfect, elegant, and utterly devoid of meaning. Her phone rang. It was Victor Mendez, her closest business partner.

 Augusto confirming for the Christmas Eve party at the club. Carvajal’s wife got that famous pianist for the event. It’ll be the party of the year. Augusto suddenly remembered the previous year’s pre-Christmas dinner at the country club. Drunken faces of executives, forced laughter, conversations about yachts and stocks. Nobody really talking to anyone.

 I’m sorry, Victor. I have other plans this year. Other plans. You. The surprise in his partner’s voice was evident. Some competitor’s party offers better champagne. He promised. No, something more personal, Augusto replied vaguely. Personal. Since when do you have a personal life at Christmas? The question, although posed jokingly, struck Augusto with its stark truth. Maybe it’s time to change that, he replied simply before taking his leave.

After hanging up, he looked at Mariana’s message again. A simple dinner, but made with love. The words resonated in his mind in a way he couldn’t explain. After a moment of reflection, he replied, “I’d love to accept your invitation. Can I bring anything?” The answer came quickly: “Just your presence and maybe a board game. Joao loves them.”

Augusto smiled, feeling a warm anticipation he hadn’t experienced in years. The next two days passed with a strange mix of normalcy and expectation for both of them. Mariana continued her usual routine: taking Joao to school, working at the office in the mornings, and cleaning two apartments in the afternoons.

 Only her coworker, Elena, noticed anything different. “She’s smiling more,” she remarked as they organized some files. “Did something good happen?” Mariana hesitated. How could she explain her encounter with Augusto without it sounding completely far-fetched? “Joao will have his Christmas dinner after all,” she finally replied. “And we might have a guest this year.” Elena raised her eyebrows in interest.

A guest. Someone I should know. He’s just a friend, Mariana said, surprising herself with how easily she’d used that word to describe Augusto. Someone who didn’t have family to spend the holidays with. For his part, Augusto found himself strangely distracted during their meetings.
Family games
 In the middle of a presentation on financial projections for the next quarter, he found himself wondering what board game a 5-year-old might like. During a lunch with potential investors, he wondered if he should also bring a dessert for Christmas dinner. Augusto. His assistant Carolina’s voice brought him back to reality.

They were alone in his office, going over the next day’s schedule. “Excuse me, were you saying something?” Carolina looked at him, puzzled. In ten years of working for him, she’d rarely seen him distracted. “I was asking if you’d like me to reserve our usual table at Leserk for your Christmas Eve dinner.” “That won’t be necessary. I have other plans this year.”

 The surprise on Carolina’s face was evident. Other plans. Do you want me to coordinate something different? No, Carolina, they’re personal plans. The word “personal” hung in the air like something strange, almost out of place in Augusto de Lima’s usual vocabulary.

 The night before Christmas Eve, Augusto found himself in a toy store at the mall, a place he hadn’t visited in decades. He felt completely out of his element amidst hurried parents and excited children. Finally, after consulting with a saleswoman, he settled on a simple but entertaining strategy board game, suitable for all ages.

 While paying, he impulsively added a reindeer plush toy, remembering Joao’s role in the school play. When he returned to his mansion, he noticed his housekeeper, Doña Constanza, watching him curiously as she placed the carefully wrapped gifts on the hall table. “You’re leaving tomorrow, sir?” asked the woman, who had worked for the de Lima family for over 20 years. “Yes, Constanza.”

I’ll be having dinner out. Should I prepare anything special for your return? Augusto considered the question. For the first time in years, he hadn’t planned every detail of his Christmas Eve. It won’t be necessary. In fact, he hesitated for a moment. You can take the day off. Go with your family. Doña Constanza looked at him as if she had suddenly grown a second head.

 Are you sure, sir? Never in all these years. I’m sure. He interrupted her gently. Family is important at this time of year. You should be with yours. That night, while checking some emails before bed, Augusto received a message from Mariana. Jo asked three times today if it will be much longer before our special guest arrives.

I hope the anticipation I’ve created doesn’t scare you. Augusto smiled at the screen, feeling an inexplicable warmth in his chest. He replied, “On the contrary, I can’t remember the last time someone eagerly awaited my presence, not for what they could get from me. It’s refreshing.” He sent the message and then, after a brief moment of reflection, added, “Thank you for opening your home to a stranger. It means more than you can imagine.”

In her small apartment, Mariana read Augusto’s message with a smile while Joao slept, clutching his favorite teddy bear. The turkey was already prepared to be cooked tomorrow, and she had improvised some Christmas decorations with materials she had at home.

 It wasn’t luxurious, but she had put her heart into every detail. She looked at the photo on her nightstand: her and Joao last summer, smiling in a park. Since Alberto had left them, she had built a life for the two of them, sacrificing many things, but always maintaining her dignity and optimism. It wasn’t easy, but she managed it day by day.

She was crazy about inviting a wealthy stranger to share her modest Christmas dinner. Perhaps, but something about Augusto, a loneliness she recognized all too well, had touched her heart. Everyone deserved Christmas company, even millionaires with empty mansions.

 She fell asleep thinking about the strange series of coincidences that had led to this moment. A simple comment to her son in the supermarket, overheard by a stranger, had triggered something unexpected, as if fate, or perhaps the Christmas spirit, had decided to intertwine two seemingly incompatible lives in search of something they both needed, but didn’t know they were looking for.

 Christmas Eve dawned cold but clear, with a sky so blue it seemed unreal over the city. Augusto woke up before his alarm went off, which was unusual for him. He normally needed at least two cups of coffee to start the day, but today he felt strangely alert, almost expectant.

 His phone vibrated with the familiar sound of emails and messages piling up, ignoring the automated corporate congratulations and last-minute invitations. He scanned for a message from Mariana, finding it near the bottom. Good morning, Joao. He’s so excited he barely slept. We’ll be waiting for you at 7. Here’s the address. Nothing fancy. I’m warning you.

 Augusto smiled at the honesty of the warning. He replied simply, “That will be perfect.” After his morning routine, he dedicated the morning to resolving some pending matters. He wanted to have the day completely free, without work interruptions. At midday, he received a call from Victor.

 Augusto, have you reconsidered about the club? The table is still reserved for you. No, Victor. Like I told you, I have other plans. With whom? The direct question reflected his partner’s disbelief. In 15 years you’ve never turned down the club dinner. Augusto briefly considered how to answer. Let’s just say I met someone who made me a more interesting offer.

 The whistle on the other end of the line was immediate. Well, a woman. About time. Someone I know. No, you don’t know her. And I’d rather not discuss it further. As you wish, Víctor replied, though his tone suggested the matter wouldn’t be forgotten so easily. But if you change your mind, call me. After hanging up, Augusto stared at the phone.

 It was so strange that he preferred a home-cooked dinner with genuine people to a frivolous night at the club. When had his life become so predictable, so empty? In the middle of the afternoon, Augusto stood in front of his wardrobe, facing a dilemma he hadn’t anticipated: what to wear.

 He didn’t want to look too formal, but he also didn’t want to be disrespectful. He finally settled on dark trousers, a gray cashmere sweater, and a smart, but not ostentatious, coat. No gold cufflinks or collector’s watches, just a man visiting Amigos on Christmas Eve. The word “Amigos” echoed in his mind as he drove.

 Was that what they were? I barely knew Mariana and Joo, and yet I felt a connection with them that I didn’t experience with people I’d known for years. Meanwhile, in their small apartment, Mariana was running back and forth, alternating between the kitchen and the living room. The turkey was in the oven, filling the space with its enticing aroma.

 She had decorated the table with her best: an embroidered tablecloth she had inherited from her grandmother, the crystal glasses she reserved for special occasions, and candles she had bought with the ingredients Augusto had added to his cart. Coao followed her everywhere, dressed in his party clothes: slightly oversized dress pants bought to last him and a light blue shirt she had carefully ironed.

 Mom, Mr. Augusto won’t be here for a while. Do you think he’ll like my drawing? Mariana smiled at her son’s enthusiasm. He had spent the morning creating a Christmas card for his guest: a Christmas tree with three figures underneath, labeled Mom, Me, and Mr. Augusto. “I’m sure he’ll love it,” she replied, adjusting Joao’s shirt.

 And remember, you can just call him Augusto, like a friend. The innocent question made Mariana pause for a moment. Yes, like a friend. A special friend of yours, Joao insisted with that childlike perspicacity that sometimes surprised her. He’s a new friend for both of us, she replied diplomatically, avoiding her son’s curious gaze.

 Now help me set the table with these napkins. At 6:30, Mariana allowed herself a moment to look at herself in the mirror. She had chosen a simple but elegant burgundy dress that she almost never wore. She had applied light makeup and pulled her hair back into a soft bun. She wasn’t trying to impress, she told herself. She just wanted to look presentable for the occasion.

 “You look so pretty, Mom,” Joao commented from the bathroom doorway. “You look like a Christmas princess.” Mariana Rio appreciated the children’s simple compliments. “And you look like a very handsome prince.” At 6:50, the doorbell rang. Joao ran to the door so fast he almost slipped in the hallway. “Wait,” Mariana stopped him.

 Remember what we talked about regarding opening the door? Asking who’s there first. Joao recited obediently. Exactly. Joao approached the door. “Who is it?” he asked in a sing-song voice. Augusto answered from the other side. “I’ve brought gifts for Joao and his mom.” The word “gifts” was all Joao needed to hear.

 He looked at his mother with pleading eyes until she nodded, allowing him to open the door. Augusto stood on the threshold, holding several elegantly wrapped gift bags and a bouquet of white and red flowers. He seemed slightly nervous, something completely unusual for a man accustomed to leading meetings with the most powerful executives in the country.

 “And you arrived!” exclaimed Joao, his face lighting up with a smile. “Just like I promised,” replied Augusto, crouching down to the boy’s eye level. “And I brought something special for the best reindeer in the class.” Joao jumped for joy while Mariana watched the scene with a mixture of warmth and something close to disbelief.

 The powerful businessman, having researched Augusto de Lima after their meeting, seemed surprisingly natural interacting with his 5-year-old son. “Welcome,” he finally said, approaching her. “Please come in.” Augusto handed her the bouquet of flowers. “Thank you for the invitation. It smells wonderful. It’s the turkey,” Mariana replied, feeling a slight blush at the implied compliment.

I hope you like it. It’s not haute cuisine, but I’m sure it will be the best dinner I’ve had in years. He interrupted her sincerely. The apartment was exactly as Augusto had imagined it, modest but cozy, decorated with small personal touches that reflected the personality of its inhabitants.

 Photographs of Joao at different stages of his growth, some framed childhood drawings, well-tended plants in the windows, and a small collection of books neatly arranged on a shelf. There was nothing luxurious, but everything was impeccably clean and organized. “And look what I drew for you!” exclaimed Joao, running to get his card. He handed it to Augusto with the pride of an artist presenting his masterpiece.

 Augusto examined the drawing with genuine interest. “It’s magnificent, Joo. Look how you captured all the details of the tree. And this is us, right?” Yes, Joao nodded enthusiastically. You, Mom, and me, a Christmas family. The innocent comment created a moment of silence among the adults.
Family games
 Mariana seemed momentarily uncomfortable, but Augusto responded matter-of-factly. “It’s the best gift I’ve received this Christmas. I’ll treasure it forever.” The tension dissipated, and Mariana smiled, grateful for how Augusto had handled the situation. “Would you like something to drink while we finish setting the table?” “Anything you have will be fine,” he replied, handing her the gift bags.

 These are for you. Nothing extravagant, I promise. Mariana hesitated before accepting them. “It wasn’t necessary, please,” she insisted gently. “It would make me happy if you accepted them.” Joao was already examining the bags with the curiosity typical of his age. “Can we open them now, Mom? Please.”

“After dinner,” she replied automatically, then looked at Augusto. “If it’s alright with you, whatever you prefer,” he agreed. “Although I understand that in some families it’s a tradition to open a present on Christmas Eve.” “Yes,” exclaimed Joao. “Like at Miguel’s house, he always opens one on Christmas Eve.”

 Mariana smiled resignedly. “Fine, one gift now, the rest tomorrow.” While Joao carefully selected which package to open first, Mariana led Augusto into the small kitchen. The contrast with the professional kitchens he was used to was obvious, but there was something infinitely more appealing about this space where every utensil had a story and a purpose.

“I hope it’s not too easy for you,” she remarked, pouring some red wine into a glass. “I don’t usually receive guests of your caliber.” Augusto took the glass, appreciating the gesture. “Mariana, it’s been years since I’ve felt so comfortable somewhere. Your house is perfect precisely because it’s authentic.”

 She looked at him, gauging the sincerity of his words. What she saw seemed to convince her because her posture visibly relaxed. “Mom, look!” Joao’s excited voice interrupted the moment. He ran into the kitchen, holding the reindeer plushie Augusto had bought. “It’s just like my costume. It’s beautiful, honey.” Mariana smiled.

 “What do you say?” Joao turned to Augusto with a solemn expression. “Thank you very much, Mr. Augusto. It’s the best reindeer in the world.” “I’m glad you like it,” replied Augusto, surprised by the warmth he felt at the boy’s reaction. No successful negotiation, no million-dollar acquisition had ever given him comparable satisfaction.

 The next few minutes passed in a coordinated dance as they finished preparing dinner. To Mariana’s surprise, Augusto offered to help and proved quite competent at cutting bread and preparing the salad. He told her that although he now had staff who cooked for him, there was a time during his university years when he lived alone and had to prepare his own meals. “Really?” she asked with genuine interest.

 I can’t imagine you cooking instant noodles in a student residence. Augusto Río. Well, you should. My specialty was elaborate sandwiches. My roommates said I could turn any leftover into a delicacy with enough mayonnaise and creativity. This unknown side of Augusto fascinated Mariana.

 He didn’t fit the image of the ruthless businessman she’d researched online, the owner of a real estate empire worth millions. When they finally sat down at the table, Joo insisted that Augusto sit at the head. “Because you’re our special guest,” she explained with the irrefutable logic of a five-year-old.

 Mariana had prepared a traditional dinner: roast turkey, mashed potatoes, sauteed vegetables, and an apple tart for dessert. Nothing extraordinary in culinary terms, but cooked with care and attention. “This looks delicious,” Augusto commented sincerely as Mariana served the dishes.

 “I hope he knows how it smells too,” she replied with a mixture of pride and nervousness. Joa watched everything with bright eyes, dividing her attention between her new reindeer plushie and the adults’ interaction. “Before we begin,” Mariana said, “we have a little tradition in our house. Each of us says something we’re grateful for this year.” Augusto looked at her somewhat shyly.

“If you don’t think it’s too much, Cursy.” “Not at all,” he replied. “It’s a beautiful tradition.” “Me first!” exclaimed Joao, raising his hand like he was in school. “I’m grateful for my new reindeer, for the turkey that smells so good, and because Mom isn’t sad like she used to be.” The simplicity and honesty of his gratitude touched the adults.

 “My turn,” Mariana continued after a moment. “I’m grateful to have such a wonderful son, to have a job and my health,” she paused briefly, adding, “and unexpected new friendships.” Her gaze met Augusto’s for an instant before she looked back at her plate. “And I,” Augusto began, surprised by the lump in his throat.

 I am grateful to be included at this table, for the generosity of opening your home to a stranger, and for rediscovering, thanks to you, what Christmas truly means. His words, spoken simply but with profound sincerity, created a moment of connection that transcended the social and economic differences that should have separated us. “Now let’s eat,” declared Joao, breaking the silence with his childlike enthusiasm.

And so, under the warm glow of the candles Mariana had arranged, began a dinner that none of those present would ever forget. The first bite of turkey provoked an unexpected reaction in Augusto. He closed his eyes briefly, savoring the food as if it were the first time he had tasted something authentic.

“This is delicious,” he said sincerely. “Really delicious.” Mariana smiled, visibly pleased. “The recipe was my mother’s. It’s nothing fancy, but it has its secrets. The best dishes always do,” Augusto replied.

 In fine dining restaurants, they strive so hard to impress that they sometimes forget that food should, above all, comfort. Dinner unfolded with a naturalness that surprised both adults. Joao led much of the conversation, jumping from topic to topic with the enthusiasm typical of his age: his role as a reindeer in the school play, his kindergarten friends, the puppy he longed to own someday.

 “And do you have any pets?” Augusto asked as he attacked his second piece of turkey. “Not currently,” he replied, “although I had a dog named Duke when I was a child.” “And why don’t you have any now? Don’t you like animals?” “Joao,” Mariana gently chided him, “don’t bombard Augusto with so many questions.” “Okay,” Augusto smiled. “It’s a valid question. The truth is, I travel a lot for work.”

 It wouldn’t be fair to have a pet that would spend so much time alone. Could you hire someone to take care of it? Joao suggested with the practical logic of a child. I could, Augusto conceded. But a dog needs more than physical care. It needs companionship, affection, time together. It’s not something you can completely delegate.

 Mariana watched Augusto with renewed interest. His response revealed a sensitivity that contrasted sharply with the public image of the ruthless businessman she had investigated. “And what exactly do you do?” she asked, seizing the opportunity. “You said you were in the hotel business, but I suspect it’s more than that.” Augusto hesitated briefly.

She didn’t want her financial situation to change the dynamic of the evening, but she also didn’t want to lie. “I develop properties,” she finally replied. “Mainly hotels and residential complexes.” “Like what?” Mariana’s curiosity was genuine. “The horizon in the northern area, the dunes on the coast.”

 He mentioned some of his best-known projects, carefully observing her reaction. Mariana’s eyes widened slightly. “Those are yours. I walk past the horizon. Every day I walk to work. It’s impressive.” “Not just mine,” Augusto clarified. “I have investment partners, but my company did develop them.” “Then you’re kind of important,” Joao chimed in, impressed. Augusto smiled at the childlike simplification.

In some circles, perhaps, but tonight I’m just a grateful guest, thankful to share this dinner with you. The response seemed to satisfy Joao, who quickly changed the subject to the board game he hoped to open after dinner. Mariana, however, kept her gaze on Augusto for a few more seconds, as if trying to reconcile the millionaire businessman with the simple man who shared their table.

 By the time dessert arrived, the tone of the conversation had become more personal. Augusto told them about his early years building his company, the initial difficulties, the failures that preceded his success. “People only see the end result,” he explained as he savored the apple pie. “Not the moments of doubt, the crippling loans, the sleepless nights.”

 “I understand you perfectly,” Mariana agreed. “Although on a different scale, of course. What do you mean?” “The sacrifices. The doubts.” Mariana fiddled with her fork. “When Alberto left us, I had to reorganize our entire lives. There were times when I didn’t know if I could pay the rent the following month. I learned to live one day at a time.”

 The vulnerability in his voice moved Augusto. It takes a special kind of courage, he said. I was only risking money and pride. You had much more at stake. Their eyes met briefly in a moment of mutual understanding that transcended the differences in their circumstances. “I’m finished,” Joao announced, showing his empty plate.

 “Can we open the presents now? Just one more present tonight,” Mariana reminded him. The rest tomorrow. While Juao ran to find another package among those Augusto had brought, Mariana began clearing the dishes. Augusto got up to help, following her into the kitchen. “Let me help you,” he offered, taking a cloth to dry the dishes she was washing.

 “No need, please,” he insisted. “I’d like to contribute something.” They worked in comfortable silence for a few minutes, establishing a natural rhythm. She washed, he dried. The domesticity of the scene was strangely satisfying for both of them. “Can I ask you something personal?” Mariana finally said, keeping her eyes on the plate she was rinsing.

Go ahead with your position. You must know a lot of people, have plenty of options for spending the holidays. Why did you choose to have dinner with us? With two complete strangers. Augusto considered the question with the seriousness it deserved. Precisely because you are strangers, or were. Mariana looked at him, confused.

In my world, he explained, everything has an ulterior motive. Every invitation, every conversation, every gesture of apparent generosity, there’s always something behind it. A potential contract, a future favor, a strategic alliance. No one approaches me for who I am, but for what I represent or what I can offer. He laid the cloth on the counter, searching for the right words.

When I overheard you in the supermarket, I saw something real. A mother being honest with her son about a difficult situation, a child showing understanding beyond his years. None of you knew who I was, nor did you care. That authenticity drew me in like a magnet. Mariana absorbed their words silently, reflecting on them.

“It must be difficult,” she finally said. “Not knowing if people are being honest with you. Do you get used to it?” Augusto replied with a small smile. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t yearn for something different.” “Mom, Augusto.” Joo’s voice broke the silence. “I found the one I want to open.” They returned to the living room where Joao was holding a rectangular box wrapped in silver paper.

“May I?” Mariana nodded, and the boy eagerly tore the paper. His eyes lit up as he discovered the board game Augusto had selected. “Wow, it has pirates and treasure!” he exclaimed, examining the box reverently. “Can we play it now, please?” Mariana glanced at her watch.

 “A quick game. It’s almost bedtime.” The next 45 minutes passed amid laughter, shouts of victory, and playful complaints as the three navigated the colorful board. Augusto, accustomed to high-pressure negotiations, found himself completely absorbed in the search for pirate treasure and avoiding the traps that Joao, with unexpected cunning, laid for him.

Mariana watched their interaction, noticing how Augusto transformed during the game. The formal rigidity that occasionally appeared in his posture had completely vanished. He laughed openly, celebrated Joao’s successes with genuine enthusiasm, and accepted his own defeats with humor and grace.

 “I won!” Joao finally proclaimed, placing his token on the treasure chest. “I’m the best pirate, without a doubt,” Augusto conceded, feigning disappointment. “You plundered my ships mercilessly.” “That’s because you’re very good at sharing your treasure,” Joao replied with that innocent wisdom that sometimes surfaced in his remarks. The words, those ulterior motives, resonated deeply with Augusto.

 Sharing his material wealth had never been a problem for him. He regularly donated to charities, funded scholarships, and supported community projects. But sharing his true self—his thoughts, his feelings—that was a treasure he had jealously guarded. “Time for bed, pirate captain,” Mariana announced, noticing Joao starting to rub his eyes.

 “Tomorrow is Christmas, and you need to rest to open the rest of the presents.” “Will Augusto be here tomorrow?” Joao asked hopefully. The question created a moment of silent tension. They hadn’t discussed any plans beyond Christmas Eve dinner. “I have some commitments in the morning,” Augusto replied cautiously, glancing at Mariana.

 “But if your mom doesn’t mind, I could stop by and say hello this afternoon.” “Of course,” Mariana said, surprising herself with how quickly she responded. That would be nice. Joao’s smile was immediate. “And great, we can play with all my new toys.” After a bedtime ritual, which included brushing his teeth, putting on his pajamas, and a Christmas story, Joao finally settled into bed, hugging his new reindeer plushie.

 He insisted that Augusto also participate in the ritual, asking him to help tell the story. “Good night, Joao,” he said from the doorway of the small bedroom, touched by the trust the boy had so readily placed in him. “Good night,” Joao replied, already half asleep. “I’m glad you’re alone.” Only Augusto didn’t understand the reference. “Yes.”

 “That way we can share our Christmas with you.” With those words, the little boy finally succumbed to sleep. Mariana and Augusto returned to the living room in silence, each processing Joao’s words in their own way. “He has a huge heart,” Augusto finally remarked. “He does,” Mariana agreed with maternal pride. “Sometimes I’m amazed at how perceptive he can be. He picks up on things I don’t even notice.”

 They sat on the sofa, gazing at the small Christmas tree that decorated the corner of the living room. The twinkling lights created hypnotic patterns in the dimness. Mariana offered more wine. Just a little. Thank you. She poured two glasses and handed one to Augusto, sitting down again, this time a little closer. “It’s been a wonderful evening,” he said.

I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed a Christmas dinner so much. “We enjoyed it too,” she replied sincerely. Joao, especially. I hadn’t seen him so enthusiastic in a long time. He’s an extraordinary boy. Augusto swirled the wine in his glass, watching it swirl. He deserves all the Christmas dinners in the world, and you deserve genuine company.

Mariana replied gently. Not just people interested in what you have to offer. The honesty of her words created a moment of unexpected intimacy. Augusto looked at her, appreciating not only her physical beauty, but the inner strength that emanated from her, the dignity with which she faced her circumstances, the authenticity she had demonstrated since their first encounter.

 “I think I should go,” he finally said, though without moving. “It’s getting late.” “Yes,” Mariana agreed, equally motionless. “I suppose so.” They remained silent for a few more moments, enjoying the shared stillness, the soft Christmas music playing from the small radio in the kitchen, the moment of connection they both felt, but neither dared to name yet.

Finally, Augusto stood up and Mariana walked him to the door. As they said goodbye, he gently took her hands in his. “Thank you,” he said simply, “for everything.” “Thank you,” she replied, “for the gifts, for your company, for making this Christmas special for Joao.”

 “Tomorrow afternoon, then,” Augusto confirmed, “we’ll be waiting for you.” When the door closed behind him, Augusto stood for a moment in the hallway, feeling a mixture of emotions he couldn’t quite name: joy, certainly; gratitude, undoubtedly; and something else, something warm and promising he hadn’t felt in a long time.

 In her apartment, Mariana gathered the last remnants of dinner, softly humming a Christmas tune. She paused for a moment by the window, watching the city lights and reflecting on the unexpected twists of fate. Just a few days ago she had been worried about not being able to give Joa a traditional Christmas, and now she smiled to herself.

 Now Christmas promised to be far more meaningful than he had ever imagined. Christmas morning dawned with an unusually clear sky for the time of year. Augusto woke up early, as was his custom even on holidays. However, something felt different. The usual emptiness he experienced upon waking alone in his enormous mansion had been replaced by a strange warmth, an echo of the previous evening that lingered in his memory.

 She made herself a coffee and walked to the terrace overlooking the property’s gardens. The contrast with Mariana and Joao’s small apartment was overwhelming. Here, everything was designed to impress: the large windows, the designer furniture, the strategically placed artwork. And yet, none of it had ever given her the feeling of home she had experienced for a few hours in that modest two-bedroom apartment. Her phone rang with the ringtone assigned to work calls. It was Victor, her

Partner. Merry Christmas, Augusto. How was your mysterious evening? Good morning, Victor. Merry Christmas to you too. It was revealing. Revealing. It sounds intriguing. I look forward to details when we meet. We’ll see. Augusto replied evasively. Were you calling about something in particular? Yes. I received an email from the Japanese investors.

 It seems they want to move up the meeting for the Osaka project. Augusto frowned. They can’t wait until after the holidays. Apparently, they’re not suggesting a video conference tomorrow. At any other time, Augusto would have rearranged his schedule without hesitation. The Japanese investors represented an international expansion opportunity he had been pursuing for months.

 But I can’t make it tomorrow, Victor. I have personal commitments. The silence on the other end of the line was telling. Personal commitments. You, yes, I, Augusto replied firmly. He suggests the day after. If that doesn’t work for them, they’ll have to wait until after New Year’s. After hanging up, Augusto stood contemplating the city that stretched beyond the boundaries of his property.

Somewhere in that vast urban expanse, Mariana and Joao would be waking up, perhaps opening the presents she had left under their small tree. The mental image brought an involuntary smile to her face. Her phone vibrated with a message. It was a photo sent by Mariana. Joao, in pajamas and with tousled hair, was holding the reindeer plushie with a radiant smile.

The message simply read, “Merry Christmas from your number one fan. Second favorite stuffed animal after the reindeer you gave her.” Augusto gazed at the image for a long time, feeling something he was slow to identify as simple, pure happiness. Meanwhile, in her apartment, Mariana watched Joa methodically unwrap the gifts Augusto had left.

 Besides the board game and the reindeer plush toy, she had carefully selected other gifts: a construction kit suitable for his age, picture books about pirates and sea adventures (recalling the boy’s enthusiasm for the board game), and a small children’s telescope with a note that read, “To explore the universe from your window.”

“Look, Mom, I’ll be able to see the stars.” Joao held the telescope reverently. “It’s beautiful,” Mariana agreed, touched by the thought Augusto had put into each gift. They weren’t simply expensive objects; they were selections that reflected genuine attention to Joao’s interests and personality.

 For her, Augusto had left a package wrapped in silver paper with a small handwritten card. “Something for you, though nothing could ever match the gift of your hospitality.” Opening it, Mariana found an elegant cashmere shawl in deep blue tones. It was luxurious yet understated, exactly the kind of garment she herself would have chosen if she’d had the means.

 Next to the shawl was an envelope. She opened it curiously, finding inside a certificate for an advanced architectural design course at the local university. Her eyes moistened as she read the attached note: “To continue building your dreams without conditions, only admiration for your talent and determination.” Ah, Joao approached, noticing her excitement.

“Why are you crying, Mom? Don’t you like your present?” “I love it,” she replied, wiping away a tear. “Sometimes we cry when we’re very happy.” “Honey, adults are strange,” Joao declared with conviction, returning to his telescope. Mariana smiled, running her fingers over the soft fabric of the shawl. Augusto’s gesture touched her deeply.

She hadn’t chosen ostentatious jewelry or expensive perfumes, the typical gifts a wealthy man might select to impress. She had opted for something beautiful, yet practical. And more importantly, she had acknowledged and supported his long-postponed career aspiration. The morning passed with games, laughter, and preparing a simple meal with the leftover ingredients from the previous night’s dinner.

 Mariana noticed Joao repeatedly asking about Augusto, frequently checking the time. “When is Augusto coming? After lunch, it’s already afternoon.” “It’s still early, darling. Augusto said he’d come this afternoon. We have to be patient.” But she found herself looking at the clock more often than usual, anticipating his arrival with a mixture of nervousness and expectation she hadn’t felt in a long time.

 A few kilometers away, Augusto faced an unusual dilemma for his afternoon visit. He didn’t want to arrive empty-handed, but he also didn’t want to overwhelm Mariana with more gifts that might make her uncomfortable. Finally, he opted for something simple yet meaningful: fresh ingredients for homemade hot chocolate and dough for Christmas cookies that they could bake together.

 He remembered Joao mentioning how much he enjoyed decorating cookies with his mother. As he carefully selected each ingredient at a gourmet shop near his home, Augusto reflected on the unexpected turn the holidays had taken. Just three days ago, he had been preparing for another solitary Christmas, surrounded by luxuries but lacking genuine connections.

 Now he was planning an afternoon of homemade cookies with a family he barely knew, but who had touched him deeply. At 4 o’clock, the doorbell rang at Mariana’s apartment. Joao ran to the door, remembering his mother’s safety instructions. “Who is it?” he asked, though the excitement in his voice betrayed that he already knew the answer.
Family games
 Augusto arrived with supplies for a special Christmas cookie mission. The door opened immediately, revealing Joao with an expression of pure joy. He was wearing a new T-shirt, clearly a Christmas present with a pirate ship on it, and was carrying the reindeer plushie under his arm. “You came!” he exclaimed, as if he had actually doubted his promise.

 “Of course,” Augusto replied, crouching down to be at his level. “Pirates always keep their word, right, Captain?” Joao nodded solemnly before noticing the bags Augusto was carrying. “What did you bring?” “Ingredients for a secret operation,” he explained conspiratorially. “But we’ll need your mother’s help.” Mariana appeared in the hallway, and Augusto felt a strange flutter in his stomach.

 She was wearing simple jeans and a blue blouse, her hair pulled back in a casual ponytail. Nothing extraordinary. And yet, he found her absolutely beautiful in her naturalness. “Merry Christmas,” she said with a smile that lit up her eyes. “Come in, please.” “Merry Christmas,” he replied, entering the apartment. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

 “We were just testing the telescope,” Joao explained, taking his hand to lead him into the room. “It’s incredible. I can see the buildings on the other side of the city as if they were right in front of me.” “I’m glad you like it,” Augusto smiled, letting the boy lead the way. “Thank you for the gifts,” Mariana said as they walked. “They were all very thoughtful.”

Their eyes met briefly, and Augusto knew she was referring specifically to the course certificate. “It’s been a pleasure,” he replied simply. And speaking of gifts, he held up the bags he was carrying. “I thought we could make Christmas cookies. Joao mentioned yesterday that it’s a tradition among you.”

 Joao’s eyes lit up. Yes. Christmas cookies. Mom and I always make them, but this year we were only going to make a few because flour is so expensive there. Joao gently interrupted him. Mariana, remember it’s not polite to talk about prices. Okay, Augusto chimed in. Joao’s honesty is refreshing, and now we have enough ingredients to make all the cookies we want.

The kitchen, though small, proved to be the perfect setting for the activity. Augusto demonstrated surprising culinary skills, explaining that during his university years he had worked part-time in a bakery to pay for his studies. “You working in a bakery?” Mariana looked incredulous as she kneaded the dough for the cookies. “I wasn’t always an entrepreneur,” he smiled.

There was a time when I needed every penny to pay for college. My father believed I should forge my own path. But now you’re rich, aren’t you? Joao interjected with the typical frankness of his age, as he sprinkled flour all over the countertop and a good portion of his shirt. Joao, Mariana scolded him again.

“It doesn’t bother me,” Augusto assured him. “Yes, Joau, now I have more money than I need. But you know what? Sometimes I discover that the best things in life are priceless.” “What do you mean?” the boy asked, genuinely interested. Augusto considered the question as he helped Joao cut the dough with star and Christmas tree-shaped cookie cutters.

 Like this afternoon, for example, he finally replied, “Making cookies with you all.” The laughter, the company, the feeling of creating something together. I couldn’t buy this even if I wanted to. Mariana watched him with an unreadable expression, as if she were assessing the sincerity of his words. Making the cookies became a festive activity that took up the entire afternoon.

 Jo insisted on decorating each one with colored icing and small candies, creating designs that ranged from artistic to chaotic. Augusto participated enthusiastically, discovering a creative side he rarely had the opportunity to express in his daily life. “This one looks like you,” Joao said, showing a star-shaped cookie decorated with what looked like a smiley face and what he described as stylish hair.

 “It’s a great resemblance, Rio Augusto. Should I hire the artist for my next official portrait?” “You have official portraits?” Joao asked, fascinated. “No, not really,” Augusto admitted. “Although there are some rather serious photographs in the lobby of the main office, perhaps they should replace them with decorated cookies.”

It would be much more inviting. Mariana laughed at the mental image, and Augusto found himself enjoying the sound, subconsciously searching for ways to bring it back. While the cookies baked, filling the apartment with their sweet and spiced aroma, they prepared hot chocolate following a recipe Augusto had learned during a trip to Belgium.

The combination of high-quality dark chocolate, cream, a touch of cinnamon, and no nutmeg resulted in a drink that Joa solemnly declared to be the best chocolate in the entire universe and beyond. The sun was beginning to set when they finally sat down in the living room with a plate of freshly baked cookies and steaming cups of hot chocolate.

 Joao insisted they try the telescope before it got completely dark, strategically positioning it near the window. “Look, Augusto, can you see the big building with the antenna? Is it yours too?” “No, that one belongs to a telecommunications company,” he replied, slightly adjusting the focus for the boy. “Which ones are yours?” Joao’s curiosity was insatiable.

Let’s see. Augusto scanned the horizon visible from the window. “Do you see that glass building to the right of the cathedral? That’s one of my company’s projects.” “It’s enormous,” exclaimed Joao, impressed. “It must have thousands of rooms.” “122, to be exact,” smiled Augusto.

 But you know what? None of them feel as cozy as this apartment. The sincerity in his voice made Mariana look at him intently, as if trying to decipher the enigma this man represented. A powerful businessman and skyscraper builder who found warmth in a modest apartment while baking Christmas cookies with a five-year-old boy. Why? she asked gently.

Augusto looked away from the telescope, meeting Mariana’s questioning eyes. “Because there’s real life here,” he replied simply. “There we built spaces to live in. Here, here people truly live.” Night had completely fallen by the time they finished cleaning up the last remnants of their Christmas baking session.

 The kitchen, though spotless once again thanks to the combined efforts of the three of them, still held the sweet aroma of freshly baked cookies. Joao, his face slightly smeared with chocolate despite Mariana’s attempts to clean it, continued enthusiastically explaining his plans for the telescope. “I’ll be able to see the moon and the stars.”

Miguel says his older brother saw a satellite once. Do you think I’ll be able to see one too? I’m sure I will, replied Augusto, helping to pack the last of the cookies into an airtight container. You just need patience and a clear sky.

 Mariana watched the interaction between the two with a mixture of wonder and warmth. In just two days, Augusto had established a connection with Joa that seemed to have always been there. There was no condescension in his treatment of the boy, only genuine respect and sincere attention. “It’s time to get ready for bed,” he finally announced, noticing that Joao was beginning to yawn despite his enthusiasm.

 Tomorrow he can continue exploring the universe, but Augusto has to leave. The concern in the little boy’s voice was evident. Augusto exchanged a quick glance with Mariana, seeking her guidance. He didn’t want to overstep boundaries or take on any responsibilities. “Well,” she began somewhat hesitantly, “Augusto can stay a little longer if he wants.”

 We could have some tea while you go to sleep. You’ll stay. Joao turned his big, hopeful eyes toward Augusto. I’d love to, he replied gently. The bedtime ritual became a collaborative effort. While Mariana oversaw the bath and pajamas, Augusto was given the honor of reading Goodnight, a story about a boy who traveled to the stars that seemed particularly appropriate considering the new telescope. “Will you be back tomorrow?” Joao asked as his eyelids began to droop.

Augusto glanced briefly at Mariana, who stood in the doorway watching them. “If your mom is okay with it,” he replied cautiously. “Mmhm,” Joao murmured, already half asleep. “Could you stay forever?” The innocent words hung in the air, laden with a meaning neither of the adults was prepared to address directly.

 Augusto placed a soft kiss on the boy’s forehead, a gesture that arose naturally without premeditation. “Sweet dreams, Captain,” he whispered. When they returned to the living room, a comfortable silence settled between them. Mariana prepared tea, grateful for the activity that gave her something to do with her hands and a moment to organize her thoughts.

 “It’s extraordinary,” Augusto finally remarked, accepting the rate she offered. “What is it, Joao? Her capacity to accept me without reservation, her spiritual generosity.” Mariana smiled with maternal pride. “Children have that quality. They see the essence in people, without prejudice or calculation. A talent we lose with age, unfortunately.”

 They sat on the sofa, gazing at the lights of the small Christmas tree. The closeness between them seemed natural, as if they had shared many similar evenings. “The certificate for the course,” Mariana began, turning the mug in her hands. “It’s too generous.” “It’s not generosity,” Augusto replied firmly. “It’s recognition. I saw your project at the supermarket, the way you explained to Joao why they couldn’t afford certain things.”

 You have a clear and practical intelligence that deserves to be designing buildings, not cleaning offices. Mariana looked directly at him, assessing the sincerity of his words. What she saw in his eyes moved her deeply. “Why are you doing all this, Augusto?” The question hung between them, laden with vulnerability.

At first it was an impulse, he admitted, deciding that total honesty was the only possible path. I saw a mother explaining with dignity to her son why there wouldn’t be a Christmas dinner, and I felt—it wasn’t pity, he quickly clarified. It was admiration, and also recognition, recognition of something authentic in the midst of a world that, for me, had become increasingly artificial.

Augusto placed his cup on the table, searching for the right words. In my everyday life, Mariana, everything is transactional. Relationships, conversations, seemingly kind gestures—everything has an ulterior motive. And I myself had become part of that system.

 He paused, gathering his thoughts, but then you appeared. You and Joo, without knowing who Joles was, showed me something real, and I realized how hungry I was for authenticity. Mariana listened attentively, not interrupting what began as an impulse. It continued, “It transformed into something deeper when I truly got to know you.”

 Joao, with his open heart and boundless imagination. And you, her voice softened. You, with your quiet strength, your unwavering dignity, your ability to create a true home with so little. We don’t have much, Mariana admitted, but we try to make what we have worthwhile. And they succeed. This apartment has more warmth, more life, more meaning than my entire mansion.

They looked at each other in silence for a moment, aware that something important was taking shape between them, something fragile but promising. “I’m afraid,” Mariana finally confessed. “Of what? Of this, of what’s happening.” She made a vague gesture that seemed to encompass them both. “Our worlds are so different, Augusto.

 You build skyscrapers, I clean offices. I don’t want Joao to get his hopes up about something that could disappear when she stopped, unsure of how to continue. When I got bored of playing happy family with you all, Augusto finished, identifying his unspoken fear. Mariana nodded slightly, embarrassed but honest.
Family games
 “It’s an understandable fear,” he acknowledged. “And I can’t offer you absolute guarantees because life doesn’t work that way. But I can tell you this: what I’ve found here with you isn’t a whim or a novelty. It’s—” he found the right word. It’s like finding an oasis after years of crossing a desert I didn’t even know I was crossing.”

 He gently took Mariana’s hand in his. “I don’t know exactly what the road ahead will be like, but I do know that I want to walk it with you, if you’ll allow me.” Mariana’s eyes welled up with tears. “Joa already adores you,” she said, her voice trembling. “I’ve never seen him connect with an adult like this, not even with his father when he was still with us.”

 “And you?” Augusto asked gently. “How do you feel?” Mariana considered the question, appreciating that he was seeking her feelings, not just Joao’s. So many men saw single mothers as an inseparable package with their children, without considering their personal needs and desires. “I think what scares me is how easily it’s been to let you into our lives,” she confessed.

 “And how much I wish you would stay.” Augusto felt something expand in his chest, a warmth he didn’t remember ever experiencing before. Wordlessly, he gently brought his hand to Mariana’s cheek, giving her time to pull away if she wished. She didn’t. Instead, she leaned slightly toward his touch, closing her eyes briefly.

 The kiss that followed was soft, tentative, a first step on an unknown but promising path. When they parted, they were both smiling. “I think Christmas cookies will be our new tradition,” Augusto murmured. “Ours.” The word contained an implicit question. If that’s what you want, he replied. I don’t intend to rush anything, Mariana.

 We can build this slowly on solid foundations, like the best buildings. She smiled at the architectural metaphor. I’d like that. The next morning, Joao woke up to the surprise of finding Augusto making pancakes in the kitchen as if he’d always belonged there. Far from questioning him, the boy accepted his presence with the ease of someone who finds exactly what they were expecting.

 During breakfast, Augusto told them about a property his company had recently acquired, a house with a garden on the outskirts of the city, originally designed as a model project, but now unused. “It needs some repairs and a personal touch,” he explained, trying to keep his tone casual. “I was thinking of turning it into a rental property, but now it occurs to me that perhaps you could help me decide what to do with it.” Joao’s eyes lit up.

 “Do you have room for a dog? I’ve always wanted a dog, but Mom says our apartment is too small.” “You have a fairly large garden,” Augusto replied, looking at Mariana. “Perfect for a dog, I think.” Mariana understood the implied suggestion and considered it carefully. She wasn’t a woman who made rash decisions, especially when they affected Joao.

 But something inside her told her that this man, who had entered their lives by chance or perhaps by fate in a supermarket, was genuine in his intentions. “I’d like to see that house,” she finally said, offering a professional opinion on its architectural potential. “Of course.” Augusto smiled, understanding that she needed to proceed cautiously, setting clear boundaries for Joao’s sake and her own.

 “Of course,” he nodded. “A purely professional question.” Joao watched them, sensing that something important was happening between the adults. “Can we bring the leftover cookies when we go to see the house?” he asked, oblivious to the complexities of the moment, but perfectly attuned to what was essential. “The cookies are indispensable,” Augusto confirmed solemnly.

No home can be considered complete without good Christmas cookies. Mariana gazed at this man who had transformed what promised to be a dreary Christmas into something magical, not through expensive gifts, though those had been present too, but through his genuine presence, his respect for them, and his ability to find joy in the simple things his world of luxury had forgotten to value.

 “I guess there was a Christmas dinner this year after all,” she remarked with a smile. “And it was the best one of my life,” Augusto replied with a certainty that came from the depths of his soul. While Jooo ran to get her telescope, insisting that it had to be part of the essential equipment for any expedition to a new house, Augusto and Mariana shared a knowing glance.

 The future that unfolded before them was full of unknowns, adjustments, and challenges, but also of possibilities. An impromptu family, born from a chance encounter, united by something far more valuable than gifts under the tree: the ability to see beyond appearances and find a home in the hearts of others.

 Because in the end, that’s what Christmas was all about: not opulent banquets or expensive gifts, but the magic that arises when hearts open and lonely souls find their place in the world. A lesson a millionaire had learned thanks to a simple phrase overheard in a supermarket: “Son, forgive Mom, there’s no dinner this year.”

 Except now there were dinners and breakfasts and cookies and all the shared meals that a family, a real family, could wish for. M.