Ten years ago, Alejandro Cortés, heir to one of Madrid’s most powerful business families, spent an unforgettable night with Lucía Herrera, a young maid working temporarily at the family’s summer home. It was an intense, impulsive night, marked by heartfelt confessions and their desperate yearning for freedom, even if only for a few hours. But the next day, reality tore them apart: he had to leave for London to manage a new subsidiary, and she vanished without a trace.

For years, Alejandro tried to convince himself it had all been a trivial indiscretion. Even so, every now and then, a memory would strike him without warning: the way Lucía laughed, or how her voice trembled when she spoke of her dreams. He decided to bury it under work, investments, and constant travel.

One cold autumn night, while returning from a charity event, traffic was diverted onto a quiet street. There, in the rain, he saw three huddled figures by a bus stop. Curiosity compelled him to look more closely… and then his world stopped abruptly.
It was Lucía.

Her hair was soaked, her clothes worn, and beside her were two twin boys, about nine years old, hugging each other for warmth. The three of them were timidly begging for coins while trying to shield themselves with a piece of cardboard.

Alejandro rolled down the window, wondering if his eyes were playing tricks on him. But when Lucía looked up, he felt the air leave his chest. It was her. Thinner, tired, but unmistakable.

“Lucía?” he asked in a whisper.

She opened her eyes in surprise, then in fear, and finally with an indescribable mixture that pierced him completely.

Their eyes met, and in that instant, an irrational but inevitable thought crossed Alejandro’s mind: What if… those children…?

The twins had the same eye color as him.

Before he could form another word, thunder crashed over the city. One of the children began coughing violently.
Alejandro got out of the car and went straight to them, not caring about the rain or his soaked suit.

And just as he was inches from Lucía, she murmured, trembling,

“Alejandro… we need to talk…”

Alejandro took Lucía and the children, Daniel and Diego, to a nearby hotel. He got them dry clothes, hot food, and asked a private doctor to check on Diego’s persistent cough. He did everything urgently, almost frantically, as if every minute lost could cause irreparable damage.

When they were finally alone in a small hotel room, Lucía took a deep breath and began to explain. After the night they spent together, she discovered she was pregnant. She tried to contact him, but the Cortés family had changed their house number and Alejandro was already living in London. Without support, without financial stability, and with the fear that no one would believe her story, she decided to face motherhood alone.

She worked as a waitress, cleaner, caregiver—anything to support her children. But the economic crisis and a series of misfortunes—the closure of the restaurant where she worked, an illness that left her unable to lift anything for months, and finally an eviction—forced her onto the street. The twins had managed to survive thanks to her strength, but the exhaustion had become too much.

Alejandro listened with his fists clenched. Each word was like a knife wound: guilt, anger against himself, helplessness.
“Lucía, I would never have abandoned you,” he said, his voice breaking. “Never.
” “I know,” she whispered. “That’s why I didn’t want you to find out like this… but I can’t take it anymore.”

Daniel and Diego entered the room at that moment. Alejandro observed them closely: the shape of their eyebrows, their intense gaze, even their posture as they walked… it was obvious. All three of them knew it without saying a word.

With a tremor he’d never experienced, not even during the biggest negotiations of his life, Alejandro knelt before them.
“I want to know everything about you. And I want to…” He took a deep breath, “…I want to take charge. If you’ll allow me.”

The twins exchanged nervous glances. To them, the man was a stranger. But there was something in his eyes, a mixture of surprise and warmth, that reassured them.

Lucia silently held back her tears.

Suddenly, the doctor came out of the next room:
“Mr. Cortés, the child’s fever is rising. It would be best to take him to a hospital as soon as possible.”

It was then that Alejandro made a decision that would forever change the lives of the four of them.

That same night, Alejandro took them to the best hospital in Madrid. While Diego was being treated, he made calls, arranged admissions, and authorized treatments. Lucía watched him with a mixture of relief and confusion: it was like seeing a stranger and the man she had met that night, combined into one.

When Diego’s condition stabilized and the doctors assured him he would recover well, Alejandro collapsed into a chair, exhausted. The twins were asleep in an adjoining room, and Lucía sat across from him.

“You don’t have to do all this,” she said softly.

“Yes, I do,” he replied without hesitation. “Not only because they are my children, but because… I failed you without knowing it.”

Lucia lowered her gaze.
“I don’t want to be a burden.”

—You’re not. You never were.

In the days that followed, Alejandro arranged a small apartment for them, temporary but decent. He got the twins into a good school and hired academic support to help them catch up. He offered Lucía a job at a foundation his family funded, but she hesitated.

“I don’t want you to think I’m accepting your help because…” she paused, searching for the words, “…because I still care about you more than I should.”

Alejandro smiled sadly.
“I don’t expect anything from you. Just that you’re okay. The rest… we’ll work it out in time.”

With each passing day, the twins began to trust him more: they discovered that they liked the same kind of music, that Alejandro was surprisingly clumsy at video games, and that he always showed up on time to pick them up after class, no matter what meetings he had.

Lucía, for her part, was regaining the strength and dignity that life had stolen from her. Every gesture from Alejandro disarmed her a little more, but she was afraid to get her hopes up. Ten years had passed, too many wounds, too many silences.

One afternoon, while the children were playing in a park, Alejandro approached her.
“Lucía, I don’t want to pressure you. I just need you to know something: I don’t plan on leaving again.”

She looked at him, with silent tears, but this time without fear.
“Then… stay,” she whispered.

And Alejandro took her hand, for the first time in a decade, while the twins laughed a few meters away, oblivious to the magnitude of what had just happened.