A 10-year-old boy is abandoned by his parents and left in a terrible state, locked in his old empty house, with no food or water. Days later, a mysterious young man arrives home and discovers the boy in a terrible state. Something incredible happens. “No, please, don’t go away without me. Listen, come back. Dad, Mom, Clara, I’m here. You left me behind. Please come back. Don’t leave me alone,” cried little Nico, barely 10 years old, while hitting the thick glass of the living room window hard.

His thin, trembling arms insisted on knocking on the glass, knowing that no one would hear him from there. His eyes, filled with tears, couldn’t take his eyes off the car that was getting further and further away. It was his family’s car, loaded with boxes and suitcases strapped to the roof: the fashion company. He was leaving, he was leaving. Nico remained there, motionless as a statue, between hope and surprise. He was sure that at some point the car would stop, that his parents would realize, that they would run to look for him, that they would laugh at the creepy guy and hug him tightly.

After all, who would have killed the boy like that? No one. He didn’t have any sense. But the car didn’t stop. In fact, it kept going faster and faster, slowly disappearing down the dirt road. The boy stared at it until the vehicle turned into a distant point and then ceased to exist. That silence after watching the car disappear was deafening. As soon as he realized that no one was coming back, panic began to take hold of him.

He took a step back. Then another, and suddenly he turned around and ran through the house, his eyes open and his heart pounding. That house, which had once been so full of life, was now empty, completely empty. Nico ran to the living room door and turned the handle forcefully. With his sore hands, he tried again, harder this time, but it was no use. Then he headed for the kitchen, which was also closed. Desperation drove him to search every corner of the house, looking for the exit, trying to escape, but all the doors were closed.

All the doors were tightly closed. It was as if he had closed them. By the way. This couldn’t be over. No… he couldn’t have forgotten about me, Nico exclaimed, standing in the middle of the empty living room. Not even the old sofa where he slept was still there. Just bare walls, just dust, and the echo of his own voice. Not knowing what to do, he ran back to the door in the living room, the same one he had seen his family leave.

The street was empty. No car, no sound, no sign that anyone was near. Only the wind rustling the dry leaves in the garden. Little Nico pressed his face against the glass, trying to see something on the horizon. He stood there for several minutes, motionless, convinced that at any moment the car would reappear, that it was all a mistake. “No, you have to come back. It will come back.” “You wouldn’t leave me here alone,” he whispered, almost in prayer.

But time passed. The hour dragged on slowly. Nothing, except the sound of the engine, footsteps at the entrance, the creaking of the gate, no sign of his mother, no sign of his father, no trace of his sister. Clara, the silence was unbearable. Exhausted, the boy collapsed on the floor, his back against the wall. His eyes were still looking out at the street, but now with a different brightness, a flash of light. A painful pain was beginning to take hold of him.

I was trying to make sense of it, to explain. “Maybe, maybe she thinks I’m asleep in the back seat. She didn’t realize I was getting in the car,” he blurted out, trying to convince himself. Clara was probably on her phone, playing some typical nonsense, and hadn’t noticed my presence. But as the minutes passed, that hope faded too. The theory of the discovered icy element was beginning to seem absurd. If it had really been a mistake, I would have turned back already.

Could it be that everything didn’t fit in the car and I had to drop off my things first? Maybe they told me I was coming back and I didn’t listen, I murmured, trying to find a guiding thread to cling to. Mom always says I have to pay more attention. But the hours kept passing. The sky, which had been blue and clear before, was now turning pale and golden. The sunset tinged the empty walls of the house with a warm light. And soon, darkness began to settle in.

The boy woke up with a start when he heard a loud noise. Mom screamed, “Hopefully,” but then he was still there. It was just his stomach rumbling. He hadn’t eaten anything since he woke up. He ran to the kitchen, but what he found there was even more desperate. The kitchen, like the rest of the house, was completely empty. There was no refrigerator, stove, or even a forgotten bottle of water or packet of crackers. There was only an old cupboard with the door open.

Covered in dust and smelling of damp. Nico opened all the closet doors, checked every single thing, but found nothing. All that remained was the rumbling in his stomach and the growing thirst in his throat. He ran to the sink, turned on the tap, and nothing, not a drop, not even a trickle. The water was gone too. The dryness in his mouth began to bother him. His head was spinning.

Fear began to rise in his chest like a wave. He tried to open doors, to force them open. He even tried to slam his shoulder against the back door, but it couldn’t open. He was trapped, completely trapped. The pain threatened to explode, but Nico held back his tears for several seconds until he couldn’t stop them. Tears came to his eyes, and he slid slowly down the wall until he was sitting on the icy floor of the living room. Weeping in silence, he hugged his knees.

The house was dark, cold, and silent. The place where he’d grown up, where he used to watch his sister comb her dolls, where he’d heard his mother humming in the kitchen and his father complain about soccer, was now nothing more than an empty box. “Why?” he sobbed through tears. “Why did you leave me here? What did I do? What did I do to make you abandon me?” Desperate, little Nico closed his eyes tightly, trying to escape the cruel reality of that empty house, the hunger, the thirst, the dejection.

And in that moment, something happened. As soon as he got inside, it transported him to another time, to another moment. When he opened his eyes again, it was no longer darkness; he was back in that house, but in a completely different way. The house was full of life. Furniture everywhere, sounds and creaks bounced off the walls. The aroma of cooking floated in the air. The sound of the television came from the living room. “Voices, goal!” shouted Nico’s father, Pedro, excited as he watched a soccer game.

The shout was accompanied by applause, laughter, and curses from the opposing team. He was sitting on the couch, as always, celebrating his favorite team’s goals. On the other side of the house, Clara, his 13-year-old sister, was listening to music at full volume and dancing in her room. Her footsteps hit the floor in rhythm. She spun around in front of the mirror, tossed her hair, and hummed the melody with a smile. In the kitchen, Soraya, her mother, stirred the pots while humming to herself, challenged but encouraged.

It was rare to hear her sing, but at that moment she seemed unconcerned, absorbed in preparing the meal. Nico began to walk around the house, observing every detail. Every piece of furniture was in its place. The curtain moved smoothly. Dust accumulated on the corners. The frames were still crooked as always. With skittish steps, he reached Clara’s bedroom door. It was half-open. He cautiously pushed it open, and when he opened it a little further, he saw his sister twirling around in the middle of the room to the rhythm of the music coming from her cell phone.

She was distracted, happy, laughing to herself. Her gaze then shifted to her desk. On top was a box of colored pencils neatly placed next to the sheets of drawing paper. Nico smiled at the scene. That scene reminded him of how much he loved to draw. Maybe for me he could revive it. In a low, almost surprised voice, Clara asked: “Can I get a pencil and paper? I want to do a quick drawing.” The girl answered. He continued dancing, moving his shoulders, with his eyes closed.

Nico called him back. “Just a pencil. I swear I’ll take it.” But nothing. He asked a third time, a little louder, and immediately there was no answer. He didn’t know if his sister heard him or if she was just pretending to hear him. Given the silence, he thought it would be nice to take a pencil and paper. Careful, he held out his hand and touched the case. But as soon as her fingers touched the pencil, Clara abruptly stopped the music.

She stopped dancing abruptly, turning to her brother with an angry expression. “What do you think you’re doing, you useless brat?” she yelled, her eyes wide open. The boy froze. He stammered. He tried to justify himself. “I just wanted to draw a little. I was about to pay you back. How many times have I told you you can’t come in?” Clara bellowed. “Get out! Get out of here! Don’t touch my things, you bore. I’ve told you a thousand times.” He brutally snatched the pencil and paper from her hands, almost throwing her back.

Nico’s eyes filled with tears, but he still tried to back away without causing any more trouble. Before he could take a step, quick footsteps came down the hall. The door burst open and Soraya appeared, her face irritated. “What’s wrong?” she asked brazenly. Clara responded quickly. “What’s happening is that this useless guy is bothering me and knocking over my things,” she said angrily. Nico turned around, distressed. “I just wanted to draw, Mom.”

Just a little. He wasn’t going to hurt anything. But Soraya didn’t let him finish. “Shut up, Nicolás!” she shouted, approaching quickly. “This is what happens when I let you go in this house. The moment any of us turns around, you’re already up to something bad.” She grabbed him tightly by the arms and dragged him down the hall to the kitchen. Nico didn’t resist; he was used to it by now. He dragged his feet on the floor while his mother pushed him toward the sink. “Now wash all these dishes,” she ordered, pointing at the pile of dirty dishes and pots.

And when it’s over, I want this apartment clean. Dirty? The boy’s eyes widened when he saw the state of the kitchen. It was a mess. The stove was greasy, the floor was covered in food scraps, and the sink was overflowing with dirty dishes. Without saying a word, he grabbed the sponge and started scrubbing. It was part of his routine. While he was washing, Soraya kept giving him orders. “Then he cleans the refrigerator; it’s a mess. Did you hear me right? And then he mows the lawn, which already looks like a mess.”

Nico nodded, still struggling to answer, but after a few minutes, he was able to answer the question that was ringing in his head. “Mom, why does Clara have to help? Why does it always fall to me for everything?” Soraya stopped for a moment. Her face hardened. She looked at the boy coldly. “Because Clara can’t waste time on this. She needs to study, to rest.” Someday she will be a doctor, she will have a brilliant career, and you have to help, contribute in some way.

The boy looked down. The answer hurt him, but he didn’t stay silent. “But I want to be a doctor too. I can be one.” His mother burst into a mocking laugh. “You, doctor, don’t even want to study, don’t even know how to write if you’re human.” “But you took me to school,” the boy moaned. “If you took me, I’d show you that I’m a good student. I really could make it.” She just shook her head. «Iпteпté cυaпdo was vυy small, bυut пo paid attention to meпcióп».

You had a deficit. School wasn’t for you then, and I’m sure it isn’t for you now. Nico swallowed. “I don’t remember that,” the boy said, almost surprised. Soraya came closer, crossing her arms. “Of course you don’t remember. You were very little, and that only proves what I’m telling you. You’ll never fit in at school. You’ll never learn anything,” she stated as if dictating. She bent down a little to look her son in the eyes.

Life is like that, Nicolás. There are those who accept important positions, to be doctors, lawyers, and others to work for free. You agreed to that, and there’s nothing wrong with that. Is that so? You should thank your best friend for having your family, and more than that, for contributing in some way to the future of your sister, who will be a doctor. Soraya stood up. She wiped her hands with the rag she had slung over her shoulder and pointed to the empty sink. “Now finish washing these dishes.”

I want to serve lunch with this kitchen clean. The boy nodded. “Yes, ma’am,” he replied automatically, without emotion. A silent sadness grew inside him, but at the same time, part of him believed it. He believed his mother was right. “I’m stupid,” he thought to himself. “She only speaks the truth.” With his gaze lowered and his fingers wrinkled from washing, the boy returned to his work, cleaning plate by plate, pot by pot. The soap slid down the sink, like the pride of a child who didn’t know what he was worth.

Suddenly, a scream echoed through the living room, making his heart skip a beat. Nicholas—it was Peter—his voice was dry, raspy, and he knew it. His father didn’t like waiting. He immediately dropped the sponge and tea towel and ran into the living room. “Sir,” he said, approaching the sofa. Peter didn’t even turn around to look at him. Instead of staring at the football game on TV, he simply picked up the empty beer bottle.

Nicolás grabbed the bottle without saying a word and ran to the kitchen. When he opened the cupboard, his eyes lit up at the sight of his father’s chocolate cake mixed with his beer. “Did you make this cake, Mom?” he asked, his eyes shining and saliva pooling in his goggles as he tried a piece. Soraya looked at him seriously. “Yes, I did, but don’t you dare touch it. That cake is for Clara and her friends, of course.”

If I see you coming, you’ll have to deal with me. The boy immediately backed away. “I’m not going to touch it, I promise,” he replied, carefully grabbing the bottle and hurrying out, but something made him stumble in the hallway. Pink sneakers were lying on the light-colored floor. Nicolás tried to keep his balance, but he couldn’t. He stumbled, and then the glass bottle fell to the floor, shattering. The beer splattered all over the floor. Within seconds, Pedro shot up from the sofa like a wild beast.

“It’s useless!” he shouted, advancing quickly toward the boy. Nicolás continued trying to explain himself. “Sorry, I tripped on Clara’s slippers. But your father didn’t hear me. Now you’re going to blame your sister. That’s what you’re doing,” Pedro shouted before the boy could finish his sentence. Glaring, he raised his hand and slapped him. The blow made Nicolás fall sideways, bringing his hand to his cheek, feeling the burning pain of the reddened skin.

His eyes filled with tears as he stood there, but he still managed to stammer something. Pedro shouted angrily, “Do you know how much this beer like this costs? Do you know how many hours I have to work to buy this case?” Before the boy could say anything, Soraya appeared, alerted by the noise. “Get up and pick all this up right now,” she ordered as if nothing had happened. “And while you’re at it, pick up your sister’s slippers too, because if you had done it before, as is your duty, none of this would have happened.”

It was your responsibility, right? I’ve told you a thousand times. I don’t like seeing things lying around the house. See? You’re an idiot, don’t you learn anything. I have to repeat everything to you. Nico just nodded. He didn’t argue, he didn’t cry, even though his eyes threatened to fill with tears. He simply stood up, his eyes burning, his cheek still marked from the slap. He picked up the broken glasses, cleaned the spilled beer from the floor, and carried Clara’s paws up to his room.

Pedro, back on the couch, continued to look at him coldly and said, “Try not to cry, brat. Men don’t cry.” Those words echoed in Nico’s mind like an unchallengeable sign. Don’t cry, don’t nap, just obey. A few minutes later, Soraya called him in for lunch. The table was already set. Large plates piled high with rice, beans, roast beef, sautéed vegetables, soda, and, of course, the chocolate cake still intact on the table. Nico approached, hoping to find the place reserved for him, but there was nothing.

Soraya held out her hand and gave him a flat plate. It only had a spoonful of rice, a little watered-down bean broth, and a chicken leg. “You’re going to eat the delicious food from the living room,” she said. “And when you’re done, you’ll clean the whole house, every last piece, and then go straight to detention. You’ll stay there until the end of the day. You were very bad today, and you need to learn to recognize your place. If you improve your skills, you’ll eat more.”

Nico looked at his plate. It was small, almost empty, especially compared to what the others were eating. His stomach hurt, but his soul hurt even more. He tried to say something. “Mom,” but I was the only one who interrupted him. “Listen to your mother and shut up. This is all for your good, brat. We’re showing you what life is all about.” The boy lowered his head, took the plate, and walked slowly to the back of the room. He sat hunched on the floor and began to eat silently.

Meanwhile, the laughter came from the table. Pedro laughed out loud. Clara told stories from school. Soraya talked about the cake and how she was going to get the house ready to receive her daughter’s friends. And Nico, there in the richness, was invisible. Chewed in silence, he closed his eyes once more, disappearing into his interior. When he opened them again, Nico realized that he was no longer in the past. There was no more laughter, no more loud music, no more smell of food in the air, only the cold silence of that empty, dilapidated house, where he had forgotten him.

He sat up sluggishly, rubbed his eyes, and looked around. He looked at his arms, thin as dry twigs. His wasted body was proof that this was not the first time he had ever been hungry. It wasn’t just this situation. For a long time, he had lived surrounded by food that was not meant for him. In the house where the food was, he always kept pieces for himself every time he tasted them. Could it be that they really wanted me?, he thought, with his throat in his throat, finally understanding the harsh reality of his life.

Disheartened, he got up from the floor and walked slowly through the corridors of the house. His bare feet made small, rumbling sounds on the dusty floor. He stopped in front of Clara’s bedroom door, the place that had always been forbidden to him. How many times had he heard that he couldn’t enter there? How many times had she chased him away just by touching the handle? But now, now the door was wide open, as if that forbidden space prevented him from entering. And he entered.

The light from the lamp filtered through the slit in the window and illuminated part of the room. An almost sacred silence reigned. Nico looked around and saw something gleaming in the light on the floor: a pencil and a piece of paper lying there as if it didn’t matter. He bent down and carefully picked them up. He sat down on the cold floor, crossed his legs, and began to draw. His strokes were simple but clear. He drew the car driving away from the back seat, boxes, and suitcases.

On the window of the house, the child was crying, his hand against the glass. That was what had happened, that was what hurt. And there, on that icy floor, with his eyes heavy from sleep and his soul still more exhausted than his body, Nico fell asleep. When he woke up, the bright sunlight was coming through the window and shining on his face. He blinked several times, trying to understand where he was. The paper was still in his hands.

The drawing from the previous night stared at him like a stark reminder. His stomach rumbled, his mouth was as dry as sand. And then everything came back to reality. He was there, alone in that house. He jumped up. “Dad, Mom, Clara!” he shouted in a trembling voice, running through the rooms, but there was no response, nothing audible, only the echo of his own voice. He tried to escape once more. He forced doors, turned handles, pushed doors, everything locked like clockwork, as always.

He tried to break the window pane, but realized it was too thick. His thin, weak arms could barely make it vibrate. He began to pace, like an abandoned animal, trying to think of something, anything that might help him. And then he remembered the laundry room. Soraya, his mother, always said he should save water. On rainy days, she would ask him to bring bags instead of using the tap to clean the house. It was his custom, which he knew well.

He ran over, his heart nearly leaping out of his chest at the sight. He’d been drinking water. A smile crossed his face, perhaps the first in a long time. Without thinking twice, he knelt and buried his face in it, drinking as if he were drinking from a river in the middle of the desert. The water was lukewarm, but it was the best thing he’d tasted in hours. It was a relief. At least that, at least for now, he knew. After drinking every last drop, he looked down and saw something that paralyzed him completely.

His reflection, his thin face, his sallow eyes, his tired expression. It was as if he were seeing another child. And when he looked at himself again, he went back in time. But this time it wasn’t very far away. The memory made him go back two days. He was in the laundry room, holding the bucket, when Soraya approached him and said: “You don’t have to clean the house today, Nicolás.” He was surprised. That wasn’t normal. There was always something to do. Why? he asked.

“Why are we moving?” Soraya responded, completely dry. “Move,” the boy repeated, confused. Pedro, his father, appeared in the hallway. “Yes, we’re going to the city. The apartment is waiting for us,” Soraya replied. “Today, instead of cleaning, you’re going to help pack everything, put things in boxes. Yes. Start with your sister’s clothes.” She pointed to the cardboard boxes Pedro had left on the living room floor and gave some to the boy.

Nicholas became excited, his eyes lit up. He ran to Clara’s room. She was lying down, lazily playing with her cell phone. He didn’t care. He started folding the dresses, the shirts, the skirts. He put everything neatly in the boxes, and she, of course, kept complaining. “Don’t ruin my dress. Take care of that. Pay attention, idiot.” But Nicholas ignored him; he just wanted to do everything right. He was overcome with emotion. He had never left that room.

Never. Her life was that house, that yard. The idea of ​​living apart in grace seemed like a dream. There I could meet people, make friends, and who knows, who knows if I’ll enroll in school like Clara. I was excited, but the truth was different. The truth was that none of that was going to happen. Far from the boy, Soraya spoke to Pedro in a low voice, almost in surprise. So, what are we going to do with the brat?

Pedro was direct. We left him. There’s no way to take him to the city. It will be difficult to keep him locked up there. And if he escapes, and if he talks, we’re lost. Clara, who was passing by in the hallway, overheard part of the conversation. So that annoying Nico isn’t leaving. Soraya turned to her daughter with a friendly smile. “No, my love, he’s not leaving. But don’t say anything about that. Shut up.” Clara frowned. “And who’s going to take care of the house? And who’s going to wash my clothes?”

Pedro responded as if it were the most logical thing in the world. We did it. We paid the money to the needy wife. But Nico, he’s not leaving. Enough of boring that kid. The cruelty of those words was so patrimonial that it almost went unnoticed. But there was something else. Nicolás was not his son, but his blood son. He was not Clara’s brother, but Soraya’s biological son, and much less Pedro’s. And then, once again, time changed.

But now, through Soraya’s eyes, the house—a little older, worn, with peeling walls—seemed alive. And as if it were, the house began to breathe again. In that state, it was no longer the empty house; it was another time, another stage. The kitchen was full of luxury furnishings. Imported pots gleamed in the light. The living room had a classic sofa set, the kind that looks like it’s straight out of a home-styling magazine.

On the walls, valuable paintings decorated each corner. And the garden… oh, the garden looked botanical, with well-tended flowers, pruned bushes, and a green lawn that looked like it had been painted. It was practically a farmhouse in the middle of the countryside, an isolated display of culture. But Soraya wasn’t the mistress of the house. She was there, yes, but very different. Young, with her features marked by time, she wore a simple maid’s uniform: a white apron over a navy blue dress, her hair tied back in a neat bun and her gaze atheistic to everything around her.

With silent steps, she walked toward the garden. She looked around, making sure no one saw her, and then took her cell phone out of her jacket pocket. She quickly typed and made a call. “She’s leaving, Pedro. Our future is secure,” she said, very coldly, almost triumphantly. A few moments later, a loud violet broke the afternoon silence. Screeches of panic, muffled screams, and then a metallic crash, like a thunderstorm breaking the floor. A pile of debris had overturned in the shack near the property.

Pedro, who was parked nearby in his own car, accelerated toward the scene of the accident. He braked hard and looked at the back seat, where little Clara, barely three years old, was sleeping. He got out of the car and approached the wreckage. The hood of the overturned vehicle was smashed and the windshields shattered. Inside, the man and the woman lay dead, but they were not alone. Between the seats, the baby was crying. He was alive. He held Pedro’s cell phone. It was Soraya.

I heard the noise. “Muriero,” she asked from the other side of the line. “Yes,” Pedro replied. “But the baby, the baby is alive. He’s crying. I’m leaving him here. I hope someone passes by here soon. If I leave him, he’ll die too.” Soraya was silent for a few seconds and then replied: “Don’t leave him there. Bring him. That baby could be useful.” And that was the truth. That house had belonged to them. It belonged to Nicholas’s real parents, to those who loved the boy, to those Soraya and Pedro who got rid of them out of pity and remorse to take what belonged to them.

He took the house, the belongings, the structure, the comfort. For years he enjoyed it all. But now, now that the house was in bad condition, the furniture old, the paintings worn out, he was ready to leave. Pedro was still determined. There’s just one problem. What if I find the boy later? Soraya let out a cold laugh. And who do you think is going to come to this lost place, Pedro? The old man wanted to do it all for nothing. By the time he gets there, that stinking Nicholas will already be dead.

His voice sounded like a dripping from his lips. And since we’ve made all his documents disappear, since no one has seen him outside this house, they’ll think he was just a thief, a robber who came in and starved to death. And by then we’ll be far away. No one will ask you for explanations. So those who claimed to be parents, those who pretended to take care of Nicholas, prepared to leave. Calmly, they loaded everything they still needed onto the truck.

They put the rest in the car. The next morning, Nicolás woke up full of hope. He had spent the night dreaming of grace, of school, of his room all to himself. But every time he opened his eyes, there was no one. Neither Pedro, nor Soraya, nor Clara had left. She had left him behind. Back in the present, the boy approached the solitude of that house that had once been the scene of so many disappointments. With only the water at his side, he was beginning to despair.

He tried every means possible to find a way out, but everything was blocked. His strength was running out with each attempt. His body was already responding well. And so five days passed. In another part of the state, a modest car traveled on dirt roads. In the flight was Hector, a man in his early thirties, well dressed, with a serious smile. He was not a millionaire, but he was a stable businessman with a comfortable life. He spoke aпtimameпte for his cell phone υsaпado the maпos free.

“I can’t believe you’re going to live in that remote little town,” his sister said, laughing across the line. Hector laughed too. “I need a break. Spending the months closer to home, away from the chaos of the city, will suit me.” “Have you seen that house yet?” she asked suspiciously. “I really didn’t buy it for nothing.” “What?” she exclaimed. “You bought the house for nothing, Hector.” “Work it out,” he said, laughing.

I saw a lot of photos and videos, looked it up on Google Maps, and the price was great. The previous owners wanted to move to a more central location. “I don’t doubt it.” “I hope it’s not a scam,” he said. “Don’t worry. I like that more classic style. The house is well built, it just needs some repairs, and all the documentation was in order.” But the call was immediately cut off. Hector had entered the dead zoo, hung up the phone and focused on the road.

He drove for several more hours through rural landscapes until he finally arrived. In front of him stood a vast property, a house that had once been an aesthetic country manor. Now it looked dilapidated, with dusty walls, peeling walls, and a door creaking in the wind. At that, Hector smiled. “It’s going to need a major overhaul,” he said, taking the keys out of the ignition. “But I’m going to turn this house into a home.” He got out of the car, smoothed down his coat, and walked toward the main entrance, unable to imagine what was really waiting for him inside.

But before sharing another story and finding out what happened to little Nicholas, click “Like,” subscribe to the channel, and activate the notification campaign. That way, YouTube will let you know every time we upload another story. And tell me, do you think children should do chores? Yes or no? Share it in the comments, and while you’re at it, tell me if you prefer the countryside or the city. I’ll mark each comment with my heart. Now, back to another story.

Hector paused for a moment in front of the front door of the old house. The whistling of the wind through the trees created a strange, unsettling sound. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the anxiety that had gripped him since he’d entered that dirt truck. He reached into his pocket and took out the set of keys he’d received in the mail. The keys rattled between his fingers. “Let’s see how it is inside,” he said, almost as if giving each other a hug.

He carefully turned the key. The old lock offered some resistance before giving way with a sharp click. Héctor pushed the door firmly, and it opened slowly, with a loud creak, as if protesting the possibility of letting someone in. But what he found inside was not exactly what he expected. The space was empty. There was no furniture, no paintings, no trace of recent life. Only the echo of his footsteps filled the abandoned space. However, it was not the lack of objects that worried him.

It was something more, something invisible, but present. A weight in the air, a strange shiver that ran down his spine and made the hair on each arm stand on end. He stopped for a second and took a step back, as if his own body were actively warning him that something was wrong there. That house seemed strange, as if it were hiding a secret. The businessman shook his head, trying to dispel the dark sorrows. “Don’t get caught up in nonsense, Héctor,” he said, trying to dream logically. «It’s just an abandoned house; “He only needs his hand.”

He put his right foot in and forced himself to walk, breathing heavily. He explored the interior of the property: the long hallways, the empty rooms, the kitchen with its old furniture. Everything seemed frozen in time, but curiously there was no dirt, no debris, not even accumulated dust. It was as if the house had been unoccupied, but maintained with care. “That’s strange, it looks clean,” he murmured. “Could it be that the previous owners came to fix it up before they left?” Fυe eпtoпces cυaпdo heard it.

A low, trembling, almost imperceptible sound. A light, rhythmic, steady tapping. He frowned, trying to identify it. But what was it? He remained silent. He craned his neck, listening. The sound came from the rooms beyond, at the end of the corridor. As he drew closer, the noise became clearer, more real, as if someone were knocking or calling for attention. He stopped in front of the half-open door. She moved slightly, swaying, as if pushed by the breeze, but the door to the room was closed.

The old man asked, “Could it be?” His heart began to beat faster. A cold breeze appeared in his throat. He felt it immediately. Something was about to happen, something that would change everything. With a trembling hand, he slowly opened the door, and the scene before her made the movement stop. On the floor, lying on his side, lay a boy so thin that his bones could be seen under his skin. His lips were chapped, his eyes were wet and dull, and his body was trembling slightly.

It was him who was banging on the door with the weak palm of his hand. Hector brought his hand to his mouth. “My God, my God, God,” he said, shaken. The boy turned his face with difficulty. His watery eyes stared at him. His voice came out weak, a cry that seemed like a lifeline. “Help me, please, help me.” Hector stood paralyzed for a second. A million questions invaded him. What was that boy?

Why was he there? How could anyone leave him alone in that state? But he couldn’t waste time. He turned and ran through the house. His footsteps echoed like thunder in the empty hallways. From his room, Nicolás watched him walk away through the crack in the door, heard the echo of his run. Tears ran down his dry cheeks. He, too, weighed me down, his chest burning with pain. Just like the others. His body was no longer responding; he could barely move his fingers.

His head felt heavy and his stomach ached. He felt like his fate was sealed. He was ready to close his eyes and never wake up again. But then, quick, firm steps led back to the room. Hector was back. He had a bottle of water, some ice, and a sleeping bag. He’d brought everything he could from the car. He’d prepared to spend several days in that house. That’s why the trunk was full of survival gear.

But he imagined, in his worst nightmares, that he would find the boy almost dead inside. Nicolás looked up and, seeing the man approaching, felt a timid warmth in his chest, and although weak, he smiled. A faint smile, but one that said it all. Héctor quickly bent down, spread the sleeping bag on the floor and carefully picked up the boy. His heart ached when he felt how light the body was. “You’re like a thread,” he said, alarmed by the fragility of the child in his arms.

He laid Nicolás in the sleeping bag, opened the bottle, and brought it to his mouth. “Slowly, slowly,” he said as he drank desperately. “Everything’s going to be okay. I’m going to help you.” Nicolás choked a little on the water, but soon stabilized. Héctor cut off a small piece of cornstarch and offered it to him. “Eat slowly. Take it easy, champion.” Nicolás took the piece with difficulty, chewing it slowly. The sweet taste of the cornstarch reached his mouth like a miracle.

That wasn’t just food, it was life. It was impossible to remember the last time he’d tasted something like that. Ever since I was little, fresh and juicy food had been my thing. Clara ate, he watched. And now, after five days of not putting anything in his mouth, that piece of cornmeal was a blessing. Nicolás looked at Héctor with shining eyes. His voice came out low, but full of emotion. Thank you. Héctor swallowed with difficulty. You’ll be fine, I promise. Héctor stayed by the boy’s side, still shaken by everything that had happened.

While helping him eat, he looked out the door and saw the sky change color. The sun was about to set over the horizon, turning the sky orange and red. The businessman seriously considered taking the car and taking the boy directly to the hospital, but he knew the area well. The nearest hospital was hours away, and he was also exhausted from the long trip. Returning to that state would be risky.

We’re going to have to spend the night here, but bring them, there’s water, food, hidden baskets, everything’s going to be okay, he said, trying to convey certainty. Nicolás, his eyes still heavy and his body weak, only responded in a low voice: “Thank you.” It was the only word he could repeat, the only one he knew to express that mixture of relief, surprise, and hope. Gratitude flowed from his mouth unfiltered, even though he still couldn’t believe what had happened. Hector spent the next few minutes unloading everything from the car.

He brought more mats, litter boxes, canned food, the small portable stove, and other items. He created a cozy place for Nicolás in the house’s least humid room, improvising a kind of shelter. He was determined not to let the boy spend another night hungry, cold, or scared. With his stomach getting a little fuller and his strength growing a little stronger, Nicolás raised his head and looked at the man with curiosity. “Why? Why are you helping me?” he asked in a stony voice.

Hector smiled as he sat down beside her. “Why is this the right thing to do? A child like you needs care.” The child blinked sluggishly. He didn’t know what the word “care” meant. Soraya and Pedro said they cared for him, but what they did was the complete opposite. They used that term to justify yelling, punishment, violence, and deprivation. Hours passed. The sky darkened completely. Nicolás ate little by little, slowly, until he managed to sit more firmly. His expression was that of a chaste man, but there was a different spark in his eyes, a spark that had not gone away for a long time.

Hector cleaned the house and prepared a place to sleep there. He placed Nicholas there and, without moving, lay down on the other side so the child would feel safe. That was the first night the little boy slept for a long time without fear. The next morning, the sun gently illuminated the surrounding field. Nicholas woke up feeling the lightness in his body that had seemed impossible the day before. His eyes, still small, opened slowly.

He looked around, puzzled by the silence, but then he smelled it. A delicious aroma wafted from outside. He cautiously went out into the garden and saw the man who had saved him preparing breakfast on a plate spread out on the grass. There was bread, fruit, a thermos of warm milk, and even a jar of jam. Nicholas stood there, watching. His body reacted with hunger, but his mind was fading. He had never invited him to the table. He had never allowed her to sit next to Pedro, Soraya or Clara.

He always ate standing up, sneaking around the kitchen counter, or crouching in the living room. Héctor saw the boy’s unsure look and smiled. “Go eat with me. I made it for us,” he said parentally. Nicolás didn’t stop. He ran to him, threw his arms around his neck, and burst into tears. “Thank you, thank you,” he repeated with a broken voice as he leaned against the man’s chest. The businessman stroked his hair and replied tersely: “You’ve thanked him enough, now it’s time to enjoy.” They sat together on the grass.

Nicolás ate slowly, trying to savor each bite. It was like discovering the second dimension of life. While he ate, Héctor watched him, waiting for the right moment to talk about something important. “After breakfast, we’re going into the city. I want to take you to the hospital to see if you’re okay, and I also need to meet your family,” he said calmly. The effect was immediate. Nicolás shrugged, looked away, and stepped back a little. Panic was reflected on his face.

Hector was surprised. “Don’t you want to see your family?” he asked. “Were they the ones who left you here like this?” Nicholas didn’t say anything at once. His eyes filled with tears, and then he nodded silently. Hector took a deep breath, knelt down next to the boy, and, in a low, firm voice, said, “You can trust me. I’m here to protect you, and no one will hurt you again. Do you hear me? But to do that, I need to know what happened.” Nicholas looked him in the eye.

For the first time, he saw firmness, harshness, strength, violence, and then he began to speak. He told of how he lived locked away in the house, how he had gone to school, how he always slept on the sofa, how hungry and cold he was. He recounted punishments, humiliations, separate meals, Clara’s difference, Pedro’s screams, Soraya’s cruel orders. He talked about everything, and each word cut Héctor like a razor. The businessman listened to the silence. When the boy finished, he gently held his chin and lifted his little face.

No one else is going to hurt you. Not while I’m here. I promise. Those people won’t come near you again. The boy nodded excitedly. Then Hector suggested, “Let’s go get some things. I left some in the room and then we’ll go to town. I’m sure you’ll like it.” Nicholas smiled shyly and followed the man. But as he re-entered the house, something unexpected happened. As he crossed the old room, Hector tripped over a loose floorboard.

The piece of wood was slightly raised, uneven like the rest of the floor. “Oops!” the man exclaimed, bending down to examine it. Nicholas looked and said, “My mom always asked my dad to fix it, but he just didn’t.” Hector ran his hand over the wood and noticed it was moving strangely. Curious, he gently tugged on it, and then the floor opened. A secret entrance appeared beneath the floor, a dark space like a shaft that led directly under the house.

Hector was perplexed. There’s something down there. Nicolas approached, wide-eyed. That, that was always there. Hector looked at him. Didn’t you know this place? The boy looked at Hector, wide-eyed, and shook his head. “No one knew about this,” the businessman asked, astonished. Nicolas simply repeated the gesture, indicating that nothing had happened. Without wasting time, Hector took a small litter box from his pocket that was part of his camping gear. He knelt on the ground and wired the opening.

I’m going down. “Fridays?” he asked, looking at the boy seriously. Nicolás said. Inside, there was a mixture of fear and curiosity. This place had been his home his whole life, and yet, he had no idea that there was anything hidden down there. He took a deep breath, swallowed his uncertainty, and nodded. He went down, worried by the opening. It was dark, but Hector’s litter opened just enough to reveal the limits of the secret room.

When they finally stood there, they both froze. It was as if time had stopped. The underground room was filled with relevant objects. Several paintings covered in protective plastic were leaning against the walls. Hector recognized some of them immediately. They were priceless paintings that he had only seen in catalogs or museums. In addition to the paintings, the silverware was at the light of the litter. Carefully kept jewelry with padded cases, precious stones and gold ingots.

“My God, this is worth a fortune!” the businessman exclaimed, bringing his hand to his mouth in total amazement. Nicolás couldn’t take his eyes off that scene. It was like being in something he’d never imagined existed. And at the same time, all of this had been there, right under where he’d slept so many nights on the living room sofa. He walked slowly, observing every detail. Eп tпriпcóп of the room, Héctor eпcoпtró tпthe old wooden bookshelf, and there, among dusty objects, was a picture frame with a photograph.

It was a photo of a couple alone in front of that same house, but restored, beautiful, full of life. The woman was holding a baby in her arms. The three of them seemed happy. Nicolás approached and stared at them. He felt something in his chest, a shiver. That image moved him, as if it were part of him. Right next to the photo was an old, worn-out, leathery notebook, worn by time. Héctor carefully opened it. It was a diary in a woman’s handwriting.

She began to read aloud, holding the litter box over her shoulder. Today is one of the happiest days of my life. We discovered we’re going to have a son. We’ll call him Nicolás in honor of my father. Nicolás, motionless, opened his eyes wide. Héctor talked. The diary spoke of the pregnancy, the baby’s growth, and the happy life in that house. The woman recounted the details of the arrival of the former employees: Soraya, the maid, her daughter Clara, and Pedro, the gardener.

The silence that followed the reading was depressing. Nicolás didn’t say anything immediately, but the truth assaulted him with penetrating clarity. Those people—Pedro, Soraya, Clara—weren’t his family. They had stolen everything from him, even his origins. “They took everything from me,” Nicolás said, his voice breaking. Héctor closed the diary quietly, his expression serious. “We have to go to the police now.” Without wasting time, he helped Nicolás find out. And when they left the house, the businessman called his sister while he was heading towards the city.

Through the loudspeaker, he told her everything he had discovered. On the other end of the line, the woman reacted in horror, even though she couldn’t believe it. “That boy needs help. You have to say goodbye to those monsters, Hector.” Meanwhile, in the same city Hector was heading to with Nicolás, in a small, cramped apartment, Soraya was complaining loudly from the kitchen. “Oh my God, so many dishes. I can’t keep up; I made a mess today. How am I going to wash all this?”

—Clara shouted, irritated. Clara appeared with her cell phone in her hand, stopping at the kitchen door. Seeing the state of the sink, her eyes turned white. Oh, Mom, I’m not going to wash anything, if I even know how to do it. And it was your idea to leave that brat Nicolás behind. At least he came in handy for this. Pedro appeared from the living room, heading for the refrigerator. Don’t even look at me. I’m already mad I have to get up to get my beer.

Soraya snorted. “We need to hire a housekeeper urgently,” Pedro retorted. “And what money, woman? Rent isn’t cheap here. And if we spend what’s left of the sale on that old house, we’ll be bankrupt. That house was falling apart. We didn’t even get a good price. But we’re going to have to get our money back. You can’t live like this,” Soraya retorted, crossing her arms. Pedro paused for a moment and murmured: “Maybe we can strike again.”

There are a lot of old coots in this town. Maybe we can get a job with some millionaire. Let’s be employees again. Never, the indignant woman shouted. “I don’t want to mow the lawn again either,” Pedro replied. “But if it’s only a short time, we can trick someone. In the meantime, Clara will have to help with the chores. There’s no other option. I’m a man. That kind of work isn’t for me.” Before the discussion could get any more heated, Clara, who had slipped out to wash the dishes, shouted from the living room.

Dad, Mom, Vega, it’s urgent. The two of them ran. Upon entering the living room, they paled at the image on television. On the news, the journalist spoke seriously. A child was found in a deplorable state inside the old rural property. He was alone and in disrepair. The most shocking thing was that a fortune estimated at more than 100 million dollars was discovered hidden in the secret underground room of the house.

The fortress was hidden under a loose floorboard. Pedro opened his eyes. His jaw dropped. Millions of dollars. Where was all that? As if the journalist were answering him directly, the story continued. The police confirmed that the secret room was protected by a hidden structure camouflaged with boards. The boy, identified as Nicolás, was taken to the hospital and is in stable condition. Meanwhile, the entire fort is placed under official protection until the courts determine its legal destination.

Soraya slapped her forehead. “Idiot, I told you to fix that blackboard. If you had, we’d be millions by now. I always knew those miserable parents of Nicolás had more money than they let on. Those little cards on the wall were just a farce to fool everyone, and they fooled us. The real money was right under our feet all these years.” The couple began to argue heatedly, exchanging insults, shouts, and insults. But Clara, who had been watching in silence all the time, turned around, her eyes filled with greed, and then she cried out in impatience.

Enough. If that fortress was in another house, then it’s another. Soraya stopped for a moment, thoughtful, and then nodded firmly. That’s it. That fortress is another, she said, her eyes wide open and full of ambition. Pedro followed suit. “And now what do we do?” he asked, and as expected, he ordered. Soraya was direct, with a serious face and a firm voice. “Let’s go to the hospital. We’ll get our little son back and then we’ll close down the house. All of this belongs to us by right.”

Meanwhile, in the city hospital, Nicolás was recovering surprisingly well. His once gaunt face was returning to its pale state. His expression remained sad, but no longer hopeless. He had eaten, slept well, and was receiving medical attention. Even so, in the pit, the boy carried the weight of his new and cruel face. Héctor was always by his side, caring for him affectionately, asking him how he was feeling, and making sure he was there at all times. When Nicholas cried, I held his hand.

When the boy fell silent, he respected the silence. It was a constant presence that conveyed security. In one of those moments of calm, Nicolás looked at Héctor with tears in his eyes and asked him in a low voice: “If you are not my parents and my real parents, do you want to be my new dad?” Héctor froze. The question pierced him like an arrow to the heart. His eyes filled with tears. But before I could say anything, the reception stopped and the moment was cut short.

Doors swung open, voices, shouts. It was Soraya, followed by Pedro and Clara, who had fled like a mob. “Where’s my baby?” Soraya shouted in a dramatic, false voice. “I came to look for my dear little boy, my love.” Pedro followed closely behind, with the same theatrical tone. “Where’s my son, Master Nicolás? We have to protect him.” Clara, like a loving sister, pulled out the box of colored pencils in her hands. “Little brother, look, I brought some pencils.”

We can draw together, remember? In the room, Nicolás heard the voices and turned pale. His body was shaking. He clutched the sheet tightly. “It’s them. They came for me. He’s going to hit me,” he gasped, panicking. Héctor crouched firmly next to the boy and put his hand on his shoulder. “No one is going to hurt you, Nicolás. I promised you and I’m going to keep it.” He stood up determinedly and left the room. In the hallway, Pedro recognized him standing still.

I’d seen his photo in the news. He approached with a fake smile. “So it’s you,” said Pedro, seeming friendly. “Look, friend, it’s all messed up. We’ll give you your money back, close the door to the house, and take you to our beloved boy. He got lost in the woods.” Soraya supported him. “Yes. And since you found our beloved boy, we’re even thinking of giving you a reward.” “Let’s go home, of course, to protect ourselves from another fort.”

While he was speaking, Nicolás appeared behind Héctor, shyly hiding behind his legs. He looked at the three of them in terror. Pedro and Soraya, frozen stiff, stretched out their arms. “Come with me, Mom, my love. Son, everything’s okay now. Come with us,” added Pedro. Héctor, calm, turned to the commissioner who was following the case. The commissioner asked: “Are you Soraya and Pedro?” They both nodded confidently. Clara added: “I’m his sister. His name is Nicolás.” Pedro had already warned them.

Give us the key to the house. Now that everything is back to normal, let’s keep this treasure. But it was at that precise moment that the commissioner raised his hand and said loudly: “Officers, handcuff them both and take the girl to the shelter.” The trio froze. “What?” Soraya cried. “This is a mistake.” Pedro writhed. “We raised him, we took care of him. We are his parents and owners of that house, of that fortress.”

The commissioner was firm. He arrested you for child abuse, murder, ideological falsification, theft, and homicide. You left this girl to die. The only thing left for you now is an old prison uniform. Hector, looking Pedro and Soraya directly in the eyes, spoke firmly. All your crimes are out in the open. Now you’ll rot in jail. Clara tried to resist. I’m underage. You can’t arrest me. The commissioner corrected her. As I said, you will go to the foster home, and there you will learn what real life is.

Soraya screamed as she struggled in the officers’ arms. Pedro cursed, trying to get away. Clara cried like crazy, but it was in vain. The three of them, both adults, were taken directly to jail. Clara, without privileges, was taken to a shelter where, for the first time, she would have to wash her own clothes and wash her own dishes. Days later, the hospital fell silent. Nicolás sat up in bed, looking out the window. Hector sat down next to him and, with a calm smile, answered the question that had been left in the air.

Yes, Nicholas, I want to be your dad. The boy smiled, and that smile was like the sun in Hector’s chest. The investigation confirmed everything. Nicholas was the legitimate heir to the hidden fortune in the house. The original documents appeared. Everything remained in his hands and was kept secret until he came of age. Hector didn’t touch the cetavo. Their own money was enough for a good life. They will return to the old house, but this time with open eyes.

He completely renovated it. He painted the walls, restored the garden. That place, which had once held fear and silence, now vibrated with love, life, and warmth. Nicolás was no longer the skinny, bored boy. He began to gain weight, to smile more, and to sleep peacefully. For the first time, he had a real home. Over time, Héctor met a teacher who became not only his companion, but also a loving mother to Nicolás. The boy, who had already gone to school, proved to be very clever.

She learned everything quickly. She captivated the teachers, and years later, with effort and dedication, she became a doctor. Clara, on the other hand, rejected every opportunity to change when she left the center. She became an unwanted person, committed crimes, and ended up in prison. She ended up behind bars, where, ironically, she reunited with her mother, Soraya, now sick, and devastated inside and out, because in the end, justice may take a while, but it always comes. And as the saying goes, those who do wrong pay.