Don Ernesto had already turned 70. After a small stroke that weakened his legs and arms, his daughter Carmen decided to hire a nanny to care for him.
The one chosen was María, a 25-year-old woman from a distant village, quiet, humble, and very respectful.
For six months, María cared for Don Ernesto with devotion.
Every morning she helped him get up, prepared his oatmeal, and gave him his medicine.
In the afternoon, she accompanied him to the garden, guiding his slow steps.
At night, she massaged his legs while telling him stories from his village in a voice as soft as the breeze.
Little by little, Don Ernesto recovered, smiled more often, and the neighbors praised Carmen for hiring the right person.
But one June morning, returning from the market, Carmen left the bag of vegetables in the kitchen and found María standing in the doorway, pale and trembling, holding a pregnancy test.
Upon seeing her, the young woman burst into tears. Carmen snatched the proof from her: two light red lines. Her legs weakened, and rage filled her:
“Maria! You’re barely 25 years old, you’ve been here for half a year, and you’re already pregnant? Who? Who’s the father?”
Maria just cried without responding.
A terrible thought crossed Carmen’s mind: what if it was her own father?
She remembered that Don Ernesto had been talking a lot about Maria lately. In horror, she murmured, brokenly:
“Don’t tell me… my father? No, impossible! He’s already 70 years old…”
Maria shook her head, sobbing:
“No, madam, it’s not him! I beg you not to think that…”
“Then who? If you don’t talk, I’ll send you back to your village right now!”
Maria fell to her knees, covering her face:
“I… I didn’t want to say it… I was afraid… But if you insist… I’ll tell the truth.”
Carmen held her breath. María wiped her tears and confessed in a trembling voice:
“The father… is your husband.”
The words fell like a lightning bolt. Carmen collapsed in a chair. María continued between sobs:
“When you left for a three-day trip, he came back home. He had been drinking… he called me to clean the room. I… couldn’t stand it.”
Carmen felt her world crumble. Her husband, Ricardo, had been struggling with his business for two years; he had become brusque and a hard drinker.
But she never imagined he would do something so despicable.
Rage and shame mingled.
She looked at María, and although she was angry, she also felt compassion.
“Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“I was afraid he would kick me out, afraid of saddening Don Ernesto… I was planning to leave at the end of the month and raise the baby alone.”
At that moment, Don Ernesto came out of his room, leaning on a cane, alarmed by the screams.
“What’s wrong, Carmen?”
She burst into tears. María fell to her knees, weeping:
“Forgive me, sir… forgive me…”
Don Ernesto listened, and his eyes filled with tears. He placed a hand on the young woman’s shoulder and said in a broken voice:
“That child… even if it doesn’t have a father, stay here. I will raise it as if it were my own.”
María wept inconsolably. Carmen did too, knowing their marriage was over, but unable to throw the girl out. The baby wasn’t to blame; he needed a home. And his father, his hair already gray, was willing to offer his love.
Shortly after, Carmen took Ricardo to court for a divorce. María stayed behind to care for Don Ernesto, awaiting the birth of their child.
And he told his daughter:
“It doesn’t matter whose fault it was. The baby isn’t to blame. May he grow up surrounded by love.”
The weeks passed. Every night, María continued to massage Don Ernesto’s legs, his belly now rounded. Sometimes, he would place his hand on her belly and whisper:
“Little one, don’t worry. I’ll be here to take care of you and your mother.”
The song of the cicadas faded with the end of summer. A serene autumn arrived, where the kindness of a 70-year-old man saved a young worker… and an unborn child.
