She was just a simple maid, but when she saw those two babies crying every night, she discovered a dark secret that the millionaire father was hiding. What she did next changed everything forever. “I pay R$3,000 a month and you can’t get two babies to stop crying.”

 Marcos Silveira yelled at the 12th nanny who had quit in three months. “What kind of professionals are you?” Fernanda, a 40-year-old woman with 20 years of experience, was trembling as she packed her things. “Mr. Marcos, I’ve never seen anything like it. These babies don’t stop crying for even 5 minutes. It’s like they’re possessed.” “Possessed?” Marcos laughed bitterly. “They’re 8 months old.”

They’re normal babies. Normal? Fernanda turned to face him. Normal babies don’t cry for eight hours straight. Every night, normal babies don’t stare at the ceiling as if they see something that doesn’t exist. And normal babies have parents who hold them. The last sentence cut Marcos like a blade. He felt his face flush with anger.

 “How dare you question how I raise my children? I work 16 hours a day to give them everything they need, everything except affection,” Fernanda muttered, picking up her suitcase. “What did you say?” “Nothing, sir. I just hope you find someone who can help these children, because they are suffering.” The door slammed shut, leaving Marcos alone in the mansion’s entrance.

 From upstairs came the familiar cries of the twins Pedro and Paulo, who at 8 months old seemed to have declared war on the silence. It was 2 pm on a Thursday and they had already been crying for 4 hours straight. Marcos climbed the stairs with heavy steps, stopping at the door of the babies’ room. Through the crack he could see the two solid wood cribs rocking with the desperation of his sons.

 Pedro was red from crying so much, his fists clenched, his whole body tense. Paulo was doing the same thing, as if they were synchronized in their agony. “Carmen!” he shouted, and the housekeeper appeared running. “Yes, sir. I need another nanny today. Call all the agencies you know.” Carmen lowered her eyes.

 Sir, I already tried yesterday after Fernanda said she was leaving. No agency wants to send employees here. What do you mean they don’t want to? They say their nannies always come back traumatized. One agency even said they’re going to put us on their list of problematic clients. Marcos felt his world crumble. In eight months he had tried everything.

 Certified nannies, specialized nurses, even a woman who claimed to be an expert in difficult babies. They all fled as if the house were on fire. And now what do I do? There’s a young woman at the door wanting to talk to you about a job, Carmen said hesitantly. Nanny? No, sir. Housekeeper. But she said she has experience with children.

 Marcos looked at Carmen as if she had gone mad. “Carmen, the house is already clean. I need someone to make these babies stop crying.” “I know,” she insisted too much. And the way things are, the shouting from upstairs got louder, as if the babies knew they were being argued with. Marcos ran his hands through his hair, feeling like he was going crazy.

 Okay. Let her in, but I’m not promising anything. Helena Silva entered the room as if she weren’t afraid of anything. 28 years old, blonde hair tied in a ponytail, a simple white blouse and faded jeans. She didn’t seem intimidated by the luxurious mansion, nor by the shouts echoing through the house.

 “Good afternoon, Mr. Marcos,” she said, extending her hand. “My name is Helena Silva.” Helena, I’ll be direct. I don’t need a maid. I need someone to make my children stop crying. I heard them outside. It must be very difficult for everyone. Difficult? Marcos almost shouted. I haven’t slept properly for 8 months.

I’ve already lost important contracts because I arrive at meetings looking like a zombie. Twelve nannies have resigned. Helena kept her voice calm. And what did the doctors say? That there’s nothing wrong with them. Normal exams, perfect health, but they cry as if they’re being tortured.

 “Can I go upstairs and see them? Why? Aren’t you a babysitter?” “No, but I’ve taken care of babies who cried a lot.” Marcos looked at her suspiciously. “When I raised my younger brother alone when I was 18. My parents died when he was two months old. And he cried like that.” Worse, there was something in Helena’s voice that made Marcos stop questioning.

 Okay, but just to look, they went upstairs together, the sound of their crying becoming deafening. The twins’ room was a frightening contrast. Expensive furniture, imported toys, everything perfect. And in the midst of so much luxury, two small babies cried as if the world were ending. Helena approached the cribs slowly.

 Pedro’s face was wet with tears, his little arms stretched upwards. Paulo was writhing as if something was hurting him. How long have they been like this today? Since 10 a.m. and yesterday, from 9 p.m. to 6 a.m. Helena watched the babies in silence. She didn’t try to pick them up, didn’t make any noises, didn’t try to distract them with toys, she just watched.

“Marcos,” she said after a few minutes. “Can I ask a question? Go ahead. How often do you hold your children in your lap?” The question was like a slap in the face. Marcos felt anger explode in his chest. “Listen here, Helena, whatever her name is. I don’t need lessons on how to be a father. I need someone to solve this problem. I’m not giving lessons.”

 She said calmly, “I’m just trying to understand.” Understand what? Why are they crying? I already told you the doctors didn’t find anything. I believe you, but the problem isn’t always physical. Marcos stopped shouting. “What do you mean?” Babies feel everything, sir. They feel anger, sadness, loneliness. Even without understanding, they absorb the emotions of adults.

That sounds crazy, maybe. But my brother stopped crying when I learned to stay calm around him. The twins kept crying, as if nothing in the world could console them. Marcos looked at his children and, for the first time in months, truly saw them. Two small, defenseless babies, who were perhaps asking for something he didn’t know how to give.

 What do you want in return for trying to help? Work as a maid. R$2,000 a month. And 2,000? That was less than he spent on a night out at a restaurant. Why so little? Because I’m not a professional babysitter. I’m just someone who understands sad babies. Marcos looked at Helena, then at his children. He had nothing left to lose.

You can start early tomorrow, but let me make this clear, don’t perform miracles. Just try to figure out why they’re crying so much. Helena nodded. I’ll find out, sir, I promise. When she left, Marcos was left alone with the babies who continued to cry.

 For the first time, he wondered if the problem wasn’t with them, but with himself. That night would be the last he would completely ignore his children’s cries, because tomorrow Helena would arrive, bringing with her truths he wasn’t prepared to face. Helena arrived the following morning at 7 o’clock sharp, as agreed. Carmen greeted her at the back door with a pitying expression on her face, as if she were watching someone walking straight towards a precipice.

 “Young lady, are you sure you want to work here?” whispered the housekeeper, glancing nervously at the stairs. “There’s still time to change your mind.” “Why would I change my mind?” Helena asked, fastening her apron. “Because they’ve been crying since 5 a.m.?” Mr. Marcos hasn’t even come down for breakfast. He’s locked in his office with the door slammed shut, as if it were a signal. The twins’ cries echoed throughout the house.

 A desperate sound that would make anyone want to run away. Helena listened attentively, as if deciphering a complex piece of music. “Are they hungry?” she asked. “They already had a snack at six. They’ve already been changed. They’ve had a bath, everything’s fine, but they won’t stop crying.” Helena climbed the stairs slowly, following the sound of the crying.

 The second-floor hallway was elegant, with expensive paintings on the walls and a thick carpet that muffled footsteps. But there was something strange that she noticed immediately. All the doors were closed, except for the one to the babies’ room. “Carmen!” she called as the housekeeper came up behind her. “Which is Mr. Marcos’s room? The last one down the hall.” After his office, Helena looked in the indicated direction.

 There was at least 20 meters of distance between the babies’ room and the father’s room. And he always slept there, always, ever since the boys were born. And before, when his wife was alive, Carmen felt uncomfortable. Before, they slept in the master bedroom, which is on the other side of the house. But after Mrs. Isabela passed away, he moved to the more distant room.

Helena stopped at the door of the twins’ room. Pedro and Paulo were in their cribs, crying with an intensity that seemed impossible for such small babies. But she didn’t go in immediately. Instead, she stood observing the hallway. “Carmen, show me the whole house. I want to see every room.” “Why? You’ll only be working in the kitchen and the service areas.”

 I want to understand how this family lived before the babies were born. The housekeeper hesitated, but eventually agreed. They went downstairs and Carmen began the tour. The house was immense. Living room, dining room, library, office, gourmet kitchen, recreation area, all impeccably decorated, but with a cold air, as if no one really lived there.

 “Where did you all have your meals when Mrs. Isabela was alive?” Helena asked. “Always in the dining room. She insisted that they be family moments. And now Mr. Marcos eats in his office when he eats, sometimes he spends the whole day just drinking coffee.” Helena went to the dining room. The mahogany table for 12 people was immaculate, as if it had never been used.

 But on top of the sideboard there were circular marks on the wood, as if someone had removed objects that were always there. “What was up here?” she asked, running her finger along the marks. Carmen lowered her eyes. Family photos. Mr. Marcos had everything put away after the boys were born. Put away where? In the room that used to belong to Mrs. Isabela.

 He locked the door and no one could enter. Helena felt a tightness in her chest. He forbade anything of his wife’s from being in sight. Not only did he forbid it, he himself collected everything. Photos, clothes, perfumes, even the plants she cared for. He said he didn’t want painful reminders in the house. And when did this happen? Right after he brought the babies home from the hospital.

 In the first week, Helena went back upstairs to the second floor, this time paying attention to details she had missed before. The hallway walls had lighter rectangular marks, as if pictures had been removed. At the end of the hallway was a door with a lock different from the others. “Is that Mrs. Isabela’s room?” she asked. It was the couple’s master bedroom. It has been closed for eight months now.

 Helena approached the door and pressed her ear against it. On the other side, there was a sepulchral silence, as if the room were dead. But what caught her attention most was the location. The room was right next to the babies’ room. “Carmen, can I ask you a very personal question?” The housekeeper tensed. “It depends on the question.”

 Because Mrs. Isabela died during childbirth, due to complications from the cesarean section, she lost a lot of blood and they couldn’t save her. And Mr. Marcos was present. He was in the operating room when she passed away. He left completely devastated. Helena returned to the babies’ room, where Pedro and Paulo were still crying. This time she went in and approached the cribs.

 The babies were clearly exhausted, but they couldn’t stop crying. “You feel it, don’t you?” she whispered, looking at them. “You know that someone very important should be here, but isn’t.” As if understanding her words, the babies cried even louder. Helena noticed something that none of the previous nannies had noticed.

 They weren’t crying, looking in any direction. They were always looking at the wall that separated their room from the master bedroom. “Carmen,” she called. “Come here a minute.” The housekeeper reluctantly entered the room. “What is it? Notice where they are looking when they cry.” Carmen observed for a few seconds. Pedro’s little face was turned towards the right wall.

 Paulo was doing the same thing. It was as if they were calling someone who was on the other side. “My God!” Carmen murmured. “They’re looking at their mother’s room. Exactly. And I bet they’ve been doing that since they were born, but that’s impossible. Babies don’t know where people are. They don’t know where they are.” Helena corrected, “but they know where they should be.” At that moment, the bedroom door opened abruptly.

Marcos stormed in like a hurricane, his hair disheveled and a furious expression on his face. “What are you doing here? Why aren’t you taking care of what you were hired to do, Mr. Marcos?” Helena said calmly. “I’m trying to understand why your children are crying so much. I already told you yesterday that there’s no explanation.”

 They’re simply crying. There’s an explanation, yes. And do you know what it is, Marcos? He stopped shouting. What? Your children are calling for their mother, and they know that the Lord blames them for her death. The silence that followed was deafening. Even the babies stopped crying for a few seconds, as if they sensed attention in the air. Marcos turned pale, his hands trembling with anger.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, his voice dangerously low. “Yes, I do. The Lord removed all mementos of his wife, moved him to a different room to get as far away from his children as possible, and avoids touching them because they remind him of his loss. Shut up, Marcos exploded. You have no right to talk about my family.”

 “Aren’t your children your family?” Helena asked without flinching. The question hit Marcos like a bullet. He looked at the babies who had started crying again, then at Helena, who stared at him fearlessly. “They killed my wife,” he said, his voice breaking. “Isabela was perfectly fine until she decided to have children. If she hadn’t gotten pregnant, she would still be alive.” Carmen put her hand to her mouth, shocked.

 In eight months, she had never heard Marcos speak so openly about the guilt he carried. “Mr. Marcos,” Helena said softly, “may I tell you something about myself?” “I don’t want to hear it. When my brother was born, my mother had complications during childbirth. She died three days later.” Marcos stopped walking and looked at her.

 I was 18 years old and spent those three days hating that baby. I thought he had killed my mother. When she actually passed away, I blamed my brother for everything. So what? Well, I spent two months mistreating an innocent child until my father died in the accident. Then I realized my brother hadn’t killed anyone.

 He was simply the result of my parents’ love. Marcos sat in the armchair in the room as if he could no longer stand. But Isabela died because of them. Isabela died to give them life. Helena corrected. And I bet if she could choose again she would make the same choice. You didn’t know her. No, but I know mothers, and mothers don’t blame their children for their own deaths.

 They ask their parents to love their children for their sake. The babies continued to cry, but now it seemed like a different kind of cry. It wasn’t pure despair, it was a plea, a call for someone they desperately needed. “The father, Mr. Marcos,” Helena said, “when was the last time you held your children in your arms?” “I… I don’t remember.”

 “Don’t you remember, or have you never caught them?” Marcos closed his eyes. “I never could. Every time I look at them, I see Isabela dying on the operating table. And they feel it, that’s why they cry so much. They know they should be loved, but they only find rejection.” Carmen, who had remained silent until then, finally spoke: “Mr. Marcos, Mrs. Isabela always said she wanted her children to grow up surrounded by love.”

 “She said that?” Marcos asked, his voice breaking. “She did. In the last months of her pregnancy, she only talked about what it would be like to raise the boys with so much love.” Helena approached Marcos slowly. “Want to try for just a few minutes?” “Try what?” “Hold one of your children in your arms.”

 Marcos looked at the cribs as if they were bombs about to explode. “I can’t.” “Yes, you can. And they need this.” Helena went to Pedro’s crib and carefully picked him up. The baby continued crying, but calmed down a little at the human touch. She walked over to Marcos and handed the child to him. She only insisted for a minute.

 With trembling hands, Marcos took his son in his arms. Pedro was smaller than he had imagined, more fragile, more real. And the moment he felt his father’s warmth, he completely stopped crying. The silence in the room was magical. For the first time in 8 months, one of the twins stopped crying in his father’s arms. Paulo, seeing his brother calm, also lessened his crying.

 “My God!”, Marcos whispered, looking at his son. He stopped, because this is what he had always wanted. Helena said. His father’s love. Marcos looked at Pedro, who was now watching him with curious little eyes, as if he were meeting his father for the first time. “And maybe he was. I’m a terrible father,” he murmured.

 “No, it’s just a father afraid to love and lose again. What if I can’t? What if I only bring them more pain?” Helena smiled for the first time since she had arrived. “Then I’ll teach you. After all, that’s what I’m here for.” Outside, it began to rain, as if the sky were washing away years of accumulated pain.

 And for the first time in eight months, the Silveira household experienced a few minutes of peace. But Helena knew that this was only the beginning. The most painful truths were yet to come. The magical moment lasted only five minutes. Pedro had stopped crying in his father’s arms. Paulo watched curiously from the crib, and for the first time in eight months, the house knew silence.

 But when Marcos tried to return the baby to Helena, his hands began to tremble violently. “I can’t,” he said, quickly extending Pedro. “I can’t look at him without seeing Isabela dying.” Helena took the baby, who immediately began to cry again, as if he knew he had lost his chance to connect with his father.

 Mr. Marcos, what exactly happened on the day they were born? I already told you. Isabela died in childbirth. No, I want to know what really happened. The details. Marcos stood up abruptly from the armchair. Why do you want to know that? It won’t change anything.

 Yes, it will, because as long as you don’t face the truth, your children will continue to cry. They feel your pain, Mr. Marcos. They feel your guilt. Carmen, who had been silently observing the scene, stepped forward. Sir, perhaps it’s time to talk about that day. Carmen, no. You’ve been carrying this weight alone for months. It’s not working.

 Marcos walked to the window, turning his back to everyone. Outside, the rain had stopped, but the sky remained gray. “Don’t you understand? I killed my wife.” “How?” Helena asked softly. “I convinced her to have children. Isabela had always been afraid of pregnancy. She said she had bad premonitions, but I insisted. I told her she was being silly, that women had children every day without any problem.”

 The babies cried more softly now, as if they were listening to their father’s confession. “Keep going,” Helena encouraged. “During the pregnancy, she had several complications. High blood pressure, bleeding. The doctor suggested complete bed rest, but I was focused on business. I thought she was exaggerating.” Carmen lowered her eyes. “She remembered everything perfectly.”

 On the day of the birth, Isabela was terrified, holding my hand and saying she was sure something was going to go wrong. I laughed. I told her she was being dramatic. Marcos turned to look at his children, his eyes filled with tears. The last words she heard from me were: “Stop being so dramatic, Isabela, everything will be alright.”

 The silence in the room was heavy. Helena continued rocking Pedro, who had calmed down a little. And then, then she went into surgery. I stayed in the waiting room, nervous, but still thinking they were silly worries of hers. When the doctors came out with the babies, I thought it was over, but they came running back. Marcos’s voice began to falter. Hemorrhage.

 They couldn’t stop the bleeding. An hour passed, two hours, doctors going in and out of the operating room. And I was there, praying to God for more time. What happened next? Then a doctor came to tell me that they had managed to stop the bleeding, but Isabela had gone into a coma. He said that the next few hours would be crucial. Helena approached him.

 And the babies? The babies were in the neonatal ICU, perfect, healthy, crying loudly, and I hated them. Marcos swallowed hard. I looked at them and thought, “Because of you, my wife could die. Mr. Marcos, let me finish.” He exploded. Isabela was in a coma for three days.

 I spent three days in the hospital without eating, without sleeping, just praying. And you know what I did? I bargained with God. How so? I said: God, if you save my wife, I’ll do anything. I’ll give all my possessions to charity. I’ll dedicate my life to the poor. Anything, just don’t take her away from me. Carmen was crying silently.

 She had never heard this version of the story. On the third day, Isabela woke up. For a few hours, I thought God had answered my prayers. She was weak, but conscious. She spoke to me, asked about the babies: “And what did you say?” I said they were fine. I promised that we would raise them together, that she would make a full recovery.

Lies. Lies I wished were true. Helena realized she was reaching the most painful part of the story. That night, Isabela worsened again. A generalized infection. Her body no longer had the strength to fight. When the doctors called me for the last time, I knew. Marcos sat down in the armchair again, as if he could no longer stand.

 She asked me to promise her one thing before she left. What? That I would love our children for both of us, that I wouldn’t blame them for her death. Helena felt a lump in her throat. And what did you answer? I promised. I held her hand and promised I would be the best father in the world. And then she smiled, closed her eyes, and Marcos couldn’t finish the sentence.

 She broke down crying for the first time in months. Deep sobs that came from the depths of her soul. Helena placed Pedro in the crib and approached Marcos. “Sir, it wasn’t your fault.” “Yes, it was. If I hadn’t insisted on having children, she would be alive. Or not, nobody knows the future.”

 Isabela chose to have children too, Mr. Marcos. It was her decision. But I convinced her. Convincing doesn’t mean forcing. She could have said no. Carmen approached as well. Mr. Marcos, can I tell you something I’ve never told you before? He looked at her through his tears. Mrs. Isabela came to talk to me two weeks before the boys were born. She said she was afraid of dying in childbirth, but that she didn’t regret being pregnant.

 She said that? Yes, she said that if anything happened to her, I should remind the Lord that the choice had been hers too, that she really wanted to be a mother. Marcos remained silent, processing the information. There’s more. Carmen continued. She asked me to hide some things for the boys, letters, photos, mementos.

 She said that when they grew up, I should give them everything. What letters? Letters she wrote to Pedro and Paulo. One for each year of their lives, until they were 18. 36 letters in total. Helena felt the hairs on her arm stand on end. Where are those letters? Hidden in her room.

 Mrs. Isabela gave me an extra key and made me promise that I would only open the room when you were ready. Marcos looked at Carmen in disbelief. You had access to the room all this time? I did, but I respected your grief. I knew it wasn’t the right time. And now it is, Helena spoke up. Now your children need to meet their mother and you need to say a real goodbye.

 Marcos looked at the babies, who had calmed down a little during the conversation. It was as if they knew something important was happening. “I don’t know if I can go into that room,” he admitted. “You don’t have to go in alone,” Helena said. “We’ll go with you. And if it’s too painful, it will be. But the pain you’re feeling now, running from the memories, is worse.”

 Carmen took a bunch of keys from the drawer. “Sir, this room has been closed for eight months. Maybe it’s time to let the air in.” Marcos stood up slowly, like a man walking to his own judgment. “Okay, but if I can’t stay in there, we’ll leave.” “Agreed,” Helena said. They left the babies’ room, leaving the door open so they could hear if they started crying again.

They walked down the hallway to the door of the master bedroom, which had been closed for so many months. Carmen put the key in the lock, but before turning it, she looked at Marcos. “Sir, are you sure?” He took a deep breath. “Yes.” The door opened with a creak. The room was dark, the curtains drawn, and there was a musty smell.

 Carmen turned on the light and everyone stopped in the doorway. The room was exactly as Isabela had left it. The bed was made, the perfumes on the dresser, clothes in the half-open closet. It was as if she had gone to the hospital and would be back at any moment. Marcos took a step forward and stopped. “I can smell her perfume. Dona Isabela always wore that rose perfume.”

 Carmen said softly. Helena observed the room attentively. There were photos everywhere. Marcos and Isabela traveling, celebrating birthdays, their wedding day. And on the bedside table, a photo of her pregnant, smiling and holding her belly. She seemed happy pregnant. Helena observed. It was Marcos, she admitted, even though she was scared, she was radiant.

 She said she could feel the babies moving and talked to them every night. Carmen went to the wardrobe and opened a drawer at the back. “The letters are here.” She took out a decorated wooden box, full of numbered envelopes. The first envelope was addressed to Pedro and Paulo. “First year of life.” Marcos picked up the envelope with trembling hands. “Can I open it?” “Yes.”

 She left instructions for them to be opened when needed. He carefully opened it and took out a handwritten letter in Isabela’s delicate handwriting. “Read it aloud,” Helena asked. Marcos began to read, his voice choked with emotion. “My loves, Pedro and Paulo, if you are listening to this letter, it means that I couldn’t stay to take care of you personally, but know that every second of the pregnancy was the happiest time of my life.”

 He stopped, tears making it difficult to continue. “Go on,” Helena encouraged. “Your father may be sad and angry right now. He might even blame you for my leaving, but don’t blame him. He loved me so much that he must be lost without me. Be patient with your father.” Marcos broke down crying again. “I want you to know that I chose you.”

 Even knowing the risks, I chose to give you life and I would make the same choice millions of times. You are the greatest gift I could give to the world. Helena felt tears streaming down her face. Take care of each other. Be friends forever and take care of your dad too. He will need your love very much.

 One day, when you grow up, tell him that I don’t blame anyone for my death. It was the price I paid for your lives, and it was a fair price. Marcos couldn’t speak anymore. Carmen finished reading. Live happily, my loves. Be kind. Be brave, be loved. And know that wherever I am, I will always be watching over you. With all my love. Mommy Isabela.

 The silence in the room was total. Three adults wept, processing words written by a woman who knew she was going to die, but who chose to leave behind love instead of bitterness. “She doesn’t blame me,” Marcos whispered. “She never did,” Carmen confirmed. “She told me that the only thing that saddened her was the thought that the Lord might blame himself forever.”

 Helena approached Marcos. Her children didn’t kill his wife, Mr. Marcos. They are the last gift she gave him. Marcos looked around the room, seeing for the first time not a mausoleum of pain, but a place full of love and happy memories. “I want to try,” he finally said. “Try what?” “To be the father Isabela hoped I would be?” Helena smiled through her tears. “Then let’s begin now.”

They left the room, leaving the door open for the first time in eight months. When they arrived at the babies’ room, they found Pedro and Paulo sleeping peacefully. For the first time in eight months, they weren’t crying. At 3 a.m., for the first time in eight months, Marcos wasn’t woken by the twins’ cries. The silence in the house was so profound that he woke up alone, confused, thinking something terrible had happened. He got up quickly and ran to the babies’ room, his heart racing.

 Pedro and Paulo slept peacefully in their cribs, breathing softly, with serene expressions he had never seen on his children’s faces. For the first time, they truly seemed like normal babies, not children tormented by something they couldn’t express.

 Helena was sitting in an armchair beside the cribs, also asleep. She had spent the entire night there watching to make sure the babies were truly at peace. Marcos stood in the doorway, observing the scene he never imagined possible. “Mr. Marcos,” Helena whispered, waking from the sound of him at the door. “Are they alright?” he asked softly, afraid of breaking the spell.

 They slept through the whole night without a single whimper. Marcos approached the cribs slowly, as if he were seeing his children for the first time. Pedro had a peaceful expression on his face, a small fist clenched near his mouth. Paulo slept on his stomach with his rosy face pressed against the pillow.

 “They seem different,” he murmured. “Aren’t they the ones who are different, Mr. Marcos? It’s you. How so?” Helena stood up from the armchair, careful not to make a sound. Yesterday, when you read Isabela’s letter, something changed inside you. And they felt it. Don’t babies feel these things? Yes, they do, especially when it comes to their own parents.

 They lived for eight months feeling their guilt, their anger, their rejection. Yesterday they felt love for the first time. Marcos remained silent, watching his children. It was true that something had changed in him after reading Isabela’s letter. The overwhelming guilt he had carried for eight months had lessened, replaced by a painful but necessary understanding. Helena, he said softly.

 Can I ask you something? Sure. Why do you care so much? You don’t even know me, you didn’t even know my family. Why are you doing this? Helena smiled sadly. Because I know what it’s like to grow up without a father’s love. Didn’t your father love you? My father loved me, but he was lost in his own pain.

 After my mother died, he spent two years blaming me for what happened. Two years in which I felt I didn’t deserve to exist. Marcos felt a tightness in his chest. And what happened? He died in the accident before he could forgive me, before he could truly love me again. I’m so sorry. I don’t want his children to go through what I went through. I don’t want them to grow up thinking they are to blame for their mother’s death.

Pedro stirred in his crib, making a soft noise, but continued sleeping. Marcos had a strange urge to reach out and touch his son’s face, but still hesitated. “You can touch him,” Helena encouraged. “He won’t wake up.” With extreme care, Marcos reached out and touched Pedro’s cheek. The skin was soft and warm, completely real.

 For eight months he had looked at his children as if they were ghosts of his dead wife, but now he saw that they were just babies who needed their father. “He’s so small,” he murmured, helpless. “He needs you so much. I don’t know how to be a father, Helena. I never learned. Nobody is born knowing. You learn by doing.” Marcos slowly withdrew his hand and moved away from the crib.

 What if I do everything wrong? What if I hurt them unintentionally? Then we’ll fix it. But doing wrong while trying is better than doing nothing. At that moment, Paulo woke up not crying, just opening his eyes and looking around. When he saw Marcos, he didn’t start yelling, as he always did. He just observed. Curious. “He’s looking at me,” Marcos said, surprised. “He is.”

He wants to meet his father. Now what? What do I do? Talk to him. Babies like to hear their parents’ voices. Marcos approached Paulo’s crib, nervously. “Hi, son.” The word “son” came out strangely from his mouth, as if it were a language he didn’t understand. But Paulo smiled, a small but unmistakable smile. He smiled. Marcos exclaimed softly.

 She smiled because she recognized her father’s voice. Pedro also woke up to the sound of the voices, but like his brother, he didn’t cry. He just watched the scene with childlike interest. “They are really beautiful,” Marcos admitted, looking at his two awake and peaceful sons. They look just like Isabela when she smiles. Helena said: “That’s true.”

 “He has her eyes, the shape of her face, and probably her personality.” Marcos chuckled softly. “I hope not. I’m very stubborn. Stubbornness can be good; it means you don’t give up easily.” Paulo began making soft noises, not crying, but as if he were trying to talk. Marcos looked at Helena, unsure what to do. “He wants attention,” she explained.

 “Do you want your father to talk to him?” “Talk about what? He doesn’t understand anything. It doesn’t matter. Babies like the sound of your voice, the affection. Tell him something about his mother.” Marcos hesitated, but then moved closer to the crib. “Paulo, did you know that your mother was the most beautiful woman in the world?” Paulo stopped making noises and listened attentively as if he understood every word.

She was so happy when she found out you were coming. She bought clothes, chose names, and prepared this room with so much love. Pedro also seemed to be listening to the two babies, focused on their father. She used to sing to you when you were still in her belly. Always the same song, a lullaby that her grandmother used to sing.

 “Do you remember the song?” Helena asked. “I remember.” Marcos began to hum softly, a gentle melody he had heard Isabela sing hundreds of times during her pregnancy. The effect was magical. Both babies relaxed completely, as if the song awakened some deep memory of the time they were safe in their mother’s womb.

 “Do they know this song?” Helena said, her voice filled with emotion. Isabela sang it every day. She said she wanted them to be born already knowing they were loved. And they do know, which is why they stopped crying when the Lord finally began to show his love. Marcos continued singing for a few minutes until the babies fell asleep again.

 Then he stood there, watching them, feeling something new growing in his chest. It wasn’t pain or guilt anymore, it was protection, care, responsibility. “Helena,” he said, “can I tell you a secret?” “Of course, I always wanted to be a father. Since I was little I dreamed of having children, teaching them things, watching them grow up. But when Isabela died, it was as if that dream had turned into a nightmare. And now?” “Now I’m scared.”

Fear of trying and failing to be the father they deserve. Helena approached him. “Mr. Marcos, can I tell you something I learned taking care of my brother?” “Sure.” There is no perfect father. There are fathers who try, who care, who are present. Isabela didn’t expect the Lord to be perfect.

 She expected the Lord to try. What if I try and fail? Then try again and again until you get it right. Peter stirred in his crib and opened his eyes again. This time, when he saw Mark, he stretched his little arms upwards, as if asking to be held. “He wants me to hold him?” Mark asked incredulously. “He does? He’s asking for his father’s affection.”

 With his heart pounding, Marcos took Pedro in his arms. The baby snuggled against his chest, sighing contentedly. It was the first time in eight months that one of his children had felt truly safe in his father’s arms. “It’s an incredible feeling,” Marcos murmured. It’s what Isabela wanted the Lord to feel from day one. Paulo, seeing his brother in his father’s lap, also began to stretch out his little arms.

 Marcos looked at Helena, conflicted. “Can I hold them both?” “Of course, they’re your children.” Carefully, Helena helped Marcos settle Paulo in his other arm. There he was, for the first time in his life, holding both his sons at the same time. Pedro and Paulo calmed completely, as if they were finally where they were always meant to be.

 “They are so small,” Marcos said emotionally, “and they depend completely on me. They depend on me, but the Lord is able to take care of them. How can you be so sure? Because you saw the love in their eyes when you read Isabela’s letter. That love was always there, Mr. Marcos. It was just hidden beneath the pain.” Marcos remained silent, gently cradling his children.

 It was incredible how complete he felt with them in his arms, as if a part of him that had been broken for eight months was finally healing. “Helena,” he said after a few minutes. “You saved my family.” “I didn’t save them, I just showed them what already existed. Even so, I owe you more than I can repay.” “You owe me nothing, sir. Seeing these babies happy is payment enough.” Marcos looked at her curiously.

Why are you so different from the other people who worked here? Different how? All the nannies came here just for the money. They did the job mechanically, without really caring about Pedro and Paulo. You truly care. Helena smiled. Because I’ve been in their place.

 I know what it’s like to be a child and feel unloved. And your brother, how is he now? He grew up well, despite everything. He’s married, has children, he’s a good man, but he carries childhood scars that will never fully heal. What kind of scars? Insecurity, fear of not being good enough, difficulty trusting in people’s love—things that could have been avoided if my father had overcome the pain more quickly.

 Marcos looked at his sons in his arms. “I don’t want Pedro and Paulo to have these scars.” “Then they won’t, because the Lord will be there, will show love, will be the Father they need with His help, whenever they need it. But the Lord will discover that being a father is more instinctive than it seems.” At that moment, Pedro began to cry softly.

It wasn’t the desperate crying of the last eight months, but a normal baby’s whimper. “What does he want?” Marcos asked, slightly panicked. Helena laughed. “He’s probably hungry. What time did they have their last bottle? I don’t know. Carmen, who takes care of that? Then let’s learn. Being a parent includes knowing when your children are hungry.” They went down to the kitchen.

 Marcos was still carrying the two babies. It was 4 a.m. and the house was silent, but for the first time in months it was a peaceful silence, not tense. Helena prepared the bottles while Marcos stayed in the living room, watching the children. Pedro continued to whimper softly, but Paulo remained calm, as if he were enjoying being held by his father.

 “Here you go,” Helena said, returning with the warm bottles. “Can I feed them?” Marcos asked. “Of course, I’ll teach you.” Helena showed him how to position the babies, how to hold the bottles, how to tell if they were satisfied. Marcos followed the instructions carefully, concentrating as if he were learning the most complex operation in the world.

 Pedro sucked on the bottle eagerly, clearly hungry. Paulo drank more slowly, pausing occasionally to look at his father, as if he still couldn’t believe he was really there. “Have they been on a bottle since they were born?” Marcos asked. “Yes. Since Isabela couldn’t breastfeed, Carmen and the nannies always gave her a bottle. Isabela wanted to breastfeed, she really wanted to.”

 She talked about it throughout the pregnancy. She said it was the most intimate way to show love for her children. Marcos felt a pang of sadness, but this time it wasn’t the paralyzing pain of before. It was a gentle longing, mixed with gratitude for the good memories. She would have been an incredible mother, he said.

 It will be through letters, memories, and stories that the Lord will tell about her. When the babies finished their bottles, Marcos put them on his shoulder to burp them, following Helena’s instructions. It was incredible how movements that seemed so natural to other people were completely new to him.

 “Am I doing it right?” he asked uncertainly. “Perfectly. See how natural it is.” Pedro burped loudly, making Marcos laugh. “Just like his father.” He joked. “And Paulo is more delicate like his mother,” Helena observed. After burping, the babies became sleepy again. Marcos gently rocked them, humming the song Isabela used to sing.

 Within minutes, both were fast asleep. “I’ll put them in their cribs,” he said. “Do you want me to help?” “No, I want to try myself.” He carefully climbed the stairs, carrying both sons. In the room, he placed Pedro first, then Paulo, covering them with light blankets. They continued sleeping with serene expressions. Helena stood at the door watching.

 It was the first time she had seen Marcos act like a real father, and the transformation was impressive. “Mr. Marcos,” she said softly. “May I make a suggestion?” “Of course. How about sleeping in the next room tonight to be close to them?” Marcos looked at the guest room that was between the babies’ room and the master bedroom.

 “Do you think that’s a good idea?” I think so, if they wake up, you can take care of them personally. And if I don’t know what to do, call me or Carmen, but I bet you’ll know instinctively. Marcos nodded. Okay, I’ll try. As Helena was leaving the room, he called her. Helena? Yes. Thank you for everything. You’re welcome, Mr. Marcos. Sleep well.

 Helena went down to the room Carmen had prepared for her on the ground floor. For the first time since arriving at the house, she felt she had fulfilled her mission. The babies were at peace. Marcos was learning to be a father, and the family was beginning to heal. But she knew there was still a long road ahead.

 The transformation had begun, but it would take a lot of work to make it permanent. No sound came from upstairs. For the first time in eight months, Silveira’s house slept in complete silence. A week had passed since the night everything changed.

 Marcos woke up every day at 6 a.m., no longer to the desperate crying of his children, but of his own accord. He had discovered that he enjoyed watching Pedro and Paulo sleep, seeing the serene expressions he had never noticed before. That Friday morning, he found Helena in the kitchen preparing the bottles, as she had done every morning since he arrived. “Good morning, Helena,” he said, picking Pedro up.

 The baby had woken up first and was watching him curiously. “Good morning, Mr. Marcos. Did you sleep well?” “Better than the last 8 months?” he answered honestly. “And you too? It’s amazing how different the house feels when there’s peace.” Carmen entered the kitchen at that moment with a look of astonishment on her face. “Mr. Marcos, do you know what time it is?” 6:15 in the morning. Exactly.

 And you’re awake of your own accord, smiling with your son in your lap. Marcos laughed. It’s strange, isn’t it? Last week I hated waking up. Now I wake up eager to see Pedro and Paulo. Mrs. Isabela would be very happy, Carmen said emotionally. She always said that you would be a wonderful father when you overcame your fear. She talked about that.

She was talking. During the pregnancy. She said that you had so much love stored up that when you let it out, it would be overwhelming. Helena watched the conversation while finishing preparing the second bottle. It was incredible to see how much Marcos had changed in just one week.

 The bitter and guilty man had been replaced by someone who truly wanted to learn how to be a father. “Helena,” Marcos said, “can I ask you a favor?” “Of course. I want to take Pedro and Paulo to see the company office today. Can you come with me?” Helena was surprised. “Are you sure? It’s a very different environment for small babies.” “I’m sure. I want my employees to meet my children. For eight months.”

 I acted as if they didn’t exist. Now I want to show everyone that I’m a father. Carmen smiled proudly. Mrs. Isabela always wanted you to take the boys to work from time to time. She talked about it. She said she wanted her children to grow up seeing how their father worked so they could be proud of him. Marcos felt that familiar pang of longing, but now it was different.

 It was no longer paralyzing pain, but a sweet longing, mixed with a desire to honor Isabela’s memory. “Then let’s go,” he said to Helena. “What time are babies usually calmest?” “In the morning, right after their bottle.” “But, Mr. Marcos, are you sure it’s not too early? They’re still very small.” “Helena, for eight months I treated them as if they were a problem.”

 Now I want to treat them like what they are, my children. Two hours later they were in the car on their way to the company. Marcos drove nervously, constantly looking in the rearview mirror to check if the babies were okay in the car seats he had bought especially for the occasion. “Are they alright?” he asked for the fifth time in 10 minutes.

 “Are they doing great?” Helena replied patiently. “Pedro is sleeping and Paulo is watching the scenery. Could they get carsick? They could. But it’s unlikely. They’ve been used to it since they were little. How do you know that?” Helena hesitated before answering. “Because Carmen has taken them to the pediatrician several times.”

 They always traveled well. Marcos stopped at the red light and turned to look at the children. I should have gone along to those medical appointments. I should have, but don’t blame yourself. The important thing is that you’re here now. Helena, can I ask you something personal? Sure.

 Why have you never had children of your own? You’re amazing with babies. Helena was silent for a few seconds. It was a question that touched on still-open wounds in her life. “I had an engagement that ended badly a few years ago.” She finally said, “My ex-fiancé didn’t want me to take care of my brother. He said I had to choose between him and my family.”

 “And you chose your family?” I did. My brother needed me more than any boyfriend. Didn’t he understand? I didn’t say I’d never be a good wife because I already had too many responsibilities. Marcos felt anger towards a man he’d never met. He was wrong. Any man should feel lucky to have a woman like you.

Helena smiled sadly. Thank you. But after that I decided that maybe having my own family wasn’t for me. And do you regret it sometimes? But then I see cases like yours, families I need to help, and I think that maybe that’s my purpose. What purpose? To care for broken families, to help parents and children reconnect.

 They arrived at the company building and Marcos parked in his reserved spot. It was an elegant 20-story building with the name Silveira Importações in gold letters on the facade. Impressive, Helena said. Isabela always said she wanted to bring the boys here to see where their father worked.

 Marcos commented, picking Pedro up while Helena held Paulo. They entered the building’s lobby, causing an immediate commotion. Employees who had known Marcos for years were speechless to see him carrying a baby accompanied by a young woman with another baby. “Good morning, Mr. Silveira,” said the doorman, clearly curious but trying to maintain his composure. “Good morning, Roberto. These are my sons, Pedro and Paulo.”

Roberto’s eyes widened. For eight months, he had seen Marcos arrive at work looking grumpy, irritated, and tired. Now he was smiling, proud, introducing his children. “They’re beautiful, sir. They look a lot like you. Thank you, Helena. Let’s go up in the elevator.” Marcos was visibly nervous.

 And if the employees find it strange that I brought the babies, they’ll think it’s lovely. Everyone likes babies. And what if Pedro and Paulo start crying? If they do, we’ll go down, but they’re calm. The elevator stopped on the 15th floor, where the management offices were located. When the doors opened, Sandra, Marcos’ secretary of 10 years, almost fell out of her chair.

 “Mr. Marcos, what a surprise! And these are my sons?” He said with obvious pride in his voice. “Pedro and Paulo.” Sandra approached, her eyes shining. “May I see them up close?” “Of course.” Sandra observed the babies attentively. “My God, they are identical, and what beautiful eyes.” “They are their mother’s eyes,” Marcos said softly. “They are indeed.”

 I remember Mrs. Isabela. What a special woman. Other employees began to approach, drawn by the commotion. In a few minutes, there was a small crowd around Marcos and Helena, all wanting to meet the babies. “Mr. Marcos,” said Carla from Accounting.

 “Excuse my curiosity, but is this the new nanny?” “This is Helena?” Marcos replied. “She’s been a great help to us these past few weeks.” Helena noticed that he hadn’t explained exactly what her role was and was grateful for that. It would have been embarrassing to say she was a housekeeper in front of all those executives.

 Pedro began to get restless with so many people around, making quiet noises that Marcos had already learned to recognize. “He’s getting uncomfortable,” she said to Helena. “Let’s go to his room.” Fewer people, a calmer atmosphere, they entered Marcos’s room. An elegant room with a view of the city. Helena placed Paulo on the leather sofa while Marcos rocked Pedro.

“What an incredible view,” she commented. Isabela loved this view. Whenever she came here, she would spend hours looking at the city. Did she come often? Yes, especially in recent years. She said she wanted to see my work so she could talk to me about business. Marcos approached the window, still rocking Pedro.

 She used to sit there on the sofa, where Paulo is now, and watch me work. She said it was relaxing to see how I concentrated. You two were very close. We were. Maybe that’s why it was so hard to accept the loss. Helena approached him. Mr. Marcos, can I tell you something I learned about grief? You can.

 The pain of loss never completely goes away, but with time it transforms. It ceases to be a paralyzing pain and becomes a driving force in longing. How so? The Lord can use the love He felt for Isabela to love Pedro and Paulo. He can raise them the way she would have wanted, teaching them the values ​​she held.

 Marcos looked at his son in his arms. “Do you think I can do it?” “I’m sure of it. I’ve seen how the Lord has changed in a week. If you can do this, you can do anything.” Pedro had calmed down completely and was now watching his father attentively. Paulo, on the sofa, was also calm, as if he felt he was in an important place for the family.

 “Helena,” Marcos said, “I want to show you something.” He went to the table and opened a drawer, taking out a picture frame that was upside down. It was a photo of Isabela pregnant, smiling and holding her belly. “This photo was always on my desk. The day the boys were born, I turned it upside down and I never managed to look at it again. And now?” Marcos placed the photo upright on the table, in its usual position.

 Now I want her to see how our children are growing up. Helena felt her eyes fill with tears. Isabela would be very proud of the father you are becoming. Do you think so? I’m sure of it. At that moment, Sandra knocked on the door. Mr. Marcos, excuse me for interrupting, but there’s a situation that needs your attention.

 What kind of situation? The Chinese supplier is having problems with the paperwork. It could delay delivery by two weeks. Marcos looked at Pedro in his arms, then at Paulo on the sofa. Months ago, this situation would have left him desperate, would have made him work late to resolve it. Now, his priorities were completely different. Sandra, schedule a video conference for Monday.

 “Today I want to be with my children.” Sandra was surprised. The Marcos of 8 months ago would never postpone an urgent problem to spend time on anything other than work. “Are you sure, sir? It’s a contract worth R$2 million.” “I’m sure. Money can be recovered. Time lost with the children? Never.” After Sandra left, Helena looked at Marcos with admiration.

You’ve really changed. Isabela always said I worked too much, that I was going to miss important moments in life because of business. And now you understand what she meant? I understand. These two boys are going to grow up so fast. I can’t miss a single day with them. Paulo started to cry and slump on the sofa.

Marcos immediately picked him up, leaving Helena holding Pedro. “What does he want?” he asked, now more confident than a week ago. “He probably wants a diaper change and then it will be time for his bottle. There’s a bathroom here with a changing table.” Helena looked around the executive office. “It doesn’t seem like it. Then let’s improvise.”

 Marcos cleaned the meeting table and spread out a towel from the cupboard. “Will this do?” “It will. Perfectly.” Helena watched Marcos carefully change Paulo’s diaper, still clumsy, but determined to learn. It was incredible to see how a man who a week ago wouldn’t even touch his children now insisted on personally taking care of their every need.

“There,” he said proudly when he finished. “It’s clean and smells nice.” “Very good. Now, Pedro.” Marcos changed Pedro too, gaining confidence with each movement. When he finished, both babies were calm and alert. They seem to like being here, Helena observed. It’s as if they know this place is important to their father.

 At that moment, the door opened and a 50-year-old man entered without knocking. It was Rodrigo Mendes, a minority partner in the company and one of Marcos’ closest associates. “Marcos, I need to talk to you about my God.” Rodrigo stopped mid-sentence when he saw Marcos with the two babies in his arms.

 Rodrigo, these are my sons, Pedro and Paulo. Rodrigo’s mouth dropped open. He’d known Marcos for 15 years and had never seen him show any interest in his children. Marcos, what’s going on? You disappeared from the company for a week, didn’t answer the phone, and now you show up here with the babies. It turns out I’ve finally learned how to be a father.

 “What do you mean?” Marcos looked at Helena, who felt her encouraging gaze. “Rodrigo, do you remember how I felt after Isabela died?” “I remember. You were devastated. I blamed Pedro and Paulo for her death. For eight months, I avoided any contact with them.” Rodrigo sat heavily in a chair. “Marcos, I didn’t know. Nobody knew.”

 I hid it from everyone, but Helena helped me understand that I was wrong. Rodrigo looked at Helena with interest. And you are Helena Silva. I work for the family. She saved my children, Rodrigo, and she saved me too. How? Marcos took a deep breath and briefly recounted everything that had happened in the last week.

 The babies’ constant crying, the discovery that they sensed his rejection, Isabela’s letters, the gradual transformation. Incredible! Rodrigo murmured when Marcos finished. And now? Now I’m going to be the father Isabela wanted me to be. I’m going to reduce my workload, spend more time at home, raise my children with love and take care of the company.

 The company will continue to grow, but it won’t be my only priority anymore. Rodrigo smiled for the first time since he’d walked in. Would Isabela be proud of you? I hope so. Pedro started making hungry noises, and Paulo soon joined him. Helena looked at the clock. Time for the bottle, she said.

 “Is there anywhere here to heat milk?” Marcos asked. “There’s a small kitchen on the executive floor.” Rodrigo replied, “But, Marcos, are you going to give them bottles right here?” “Yes. Why? Well, it’s an executive office.” Marcos looked at his partner with an expression Rodrigo had never seen before. It wasn’t irritation or impatience, it was serene determination. “Rodrigo, these are my children.”

 They are welcome wherever I am. Of course, of course. Sorry, it was a surprise. Helena returned with the warmed bottles and Marcos settled comfortably into the leather armchair to feed the babies. It was an unusual scene. A millionaire CEO bottle-feeding twins in the middle of an executive room.

 “Can I help you?” Rodrigo offered, watching Marcos try to balance the two babies. “You can hold Pedro while I feed Paulo.” Rodrigo carefully took Pedro in his arms. “It’s been so long since I held a baby,” he murmured. “They’re special, aren’t they?” Marcos said, watching Paulo suck on his bottle. “They are. And they seem very calm. They weren’t always like that. Helena taught me that babies reflect the emotions of the adults around them.”

 “When I was at peace, they were at peace. Is that true?” Rodrigo asked Helena. “Yes, babies are much more sensitive than we imagine. They feel tension, anger, sadness, but they also feel love, security, tranquility. And how did you learn that?” “My own experience. I raised my younger brother alone.” “Ah, I understand.” When the babies finished nursing, Marcos stood up.

 I think it’s time for us to go home. They need their afternoon nap. Marcos Rodrigo said, “Can I say something?” “Of course. In 15 years of partnership, I’ve never seen you so fulfilled. You seem truly happy.” Marcos looked at his children, who were sleepy in his and Helena’s arms.

 You know, Rodrigo, I thought I’d lost everything when Isabela died, but in truth she left me the greatest gift she could give. Her children. Exactly. And I almost threw that gift away because of my selfish grief. But I didn’t. There was still time to recover it. There was. Thanks to Helena. Helena blushed at the compliment. Mr. Marcos, the credit is all yours. I only showed you the way.

 A path I would never have found on my own. They left the company under the curious and admiring gazes of the employees. In the car, Marcos drove more relaxed than on the way there, softly humming the lullaby that Isabela used to sing. “Mr. Marcos,” Helena said as they were arriving home.

 Can I ask you something? You can always ask. What do you plan to do in the future regarding the babies, your work, your life? Marcos thought for a few seconds before answering: I want to raise Pedro and Paulo the way Isabela dreamed. I want them to grow up knowing that they are loved, that their mother wanted them very much, that their father is present.

 And work? Work will adapt. I’ll hire more people, delegate more responsibilities. I want to be present for their first steps, their first words, their first times doing everything. Isabela, how will you cope with missing her? I will honor her memory by being the husband and father she wanted me to be.

 I’ll tell Pedro and Paulo stories about her, show them photos, read the letters she left behind. Helena smiled. She would be very proud. I hope so. When they arrived home, Carmen was waiting for them at the door with an anxious expression. How did it go? Did the boys behave well? They behaved perfectly. Marcos replied proudly: “They were the most admired babies in São Paulo today.”

 And you? How did you feel taking them home? I felt complete, Carmen. For the first time in eight months, I felt like a real father.” Carmen smiled with tears in her eyes. Mrs. Isabela is watching everything from up there. I’m sure of it. I think so too. They entered the house, which no longer seemed like the dark and silent place it had been a week ago.

 There was life there, there was a future, there was hope. Helena went upstairs with Marcos to put the babies to sleep. In the room, he carefully placed them in their cribs, covering them with light blankets. “Sleep well, my loves,” he whispered. “Daddy will always be here for you.”

 Pedro and Paulo closed their eyes almost immediately, as if they knew they were finally safe, loved, protected. “Mr. Marcos,” Helena said as they left the room. “Can I say I’m proud of you?” “You can.” “And Helena?” “Yes. Thank you for giving me back my children and for giving me back myself. It was a pleasure to see this family reconnect; it was the greatest gift I could receive.” They went down to the kitchen together, where Carmen was preparing dinner.

The house was at peace, full of life and possibilities. The transformation was complete. Marcos had become the father he always had the potential to be. Pedro and Paulo finally had the paternal love they needed, and Helena had fulfilled her mission of healing a broken family, but one last surprise remained, a discovery that would change everything forever.

 Six months after that first peaceful night, the Silveira house had completely transformed. The laughter of Pedro and Paulo, now one year and two months old, echoed through the hallways that had previously known only silence and tension. Marcos had become the present father Isabela had always dreamed of, and Helena continued to be the guardian angel who kept the family together.

 It was a Saturday morning when everything changed forever. Helena was in the kitchen preparing breakfast when she heard Marcos talking to the babies in the bedroom. In recent months, he had developed the habit of telling stories about Isabela every morning, showing photos of her mother and reading excerpts from the letters she had left behind.

 “Pedro, Paulo, look how beautiful you are in this photo with Mommy,” she heard him say. She held you in her belly and said you were going to be the most loved babies in the world. Helena smiled as she prepared the morning bottle. In six months, she had never tired of hearing Marcos speak fondly of Isabela. The pain had transformed into sweet longing, and the guilt had given way to gratitude.

 Helena, Marcos’ voice shouted from upstairs with an urgency that startled her. She ran up, fearing something had happened to the babies. She found Marcos in the room, holding Pedro in his arms, his eyes filled with tears of joy. “What happened?” she asked worriedly. “Helena, you won’t believe it,” he said, his voice choked with emotion.

 “What?” Marcos put Pedro down and the baby stood on his own for a few seconds before taking his first wobbly steps toward Helena. He walked. Marcos shouted. Pedro took his first steps. Helena knelt down and opened her arms to receive Pedro, who reached her, smiling proudly at his achievement. My God, how beautiful. Congratulations, Pedro.

 Paulo, seeing the commotion, also wanted to try. Marcos helped him to his feet and, to everyone’s surprise, Paulo also took a few unsteady steps before falling seated on the rug, laughing loudly. “Both on the same day,” Helena exclaimed. “What an incredible coincidence! Helena!” Marcos said, picking up both sons. “It’s not a coincidence, it’s today.”

 “How is it today? Today marks exactly one year since Isabela died, one year since our children were born.” Helena felt a shiver. It really was February 15th, the date that had marked both pain and life in the Silveira family. And they had chosen today to take their first steps.

 She murmured, “It’s as if Isabela is saying that everything is alright, that life goes on, that our children are growing up happy.” Carmen appeared in the doorway of the room, drawn by the shouts of joy. “What’s going on here?” Carmen, Pedro, and Paulo walked over. Marcos announced proudly. “The two of them on the same day. On the same day. And it’s not just any day, Carmen.”

 It’s the anniversary of Isabela’s death. Carmen put her hand to her chest, overcome with emotion. “Dona Isabela is watching everything. I’m absolutely certain.” Marcos put the babies back on the ground and they continued trying to walk, each step celebrated as a great victory. Helena watched the scene with a heart heavy with emotion. [Senr.]

 “Marcos,” she said, “can I tell you something?” “You can always. Today is also a special day for me. Why?” Helena took a deep breath before answering: “Because today marks exactly six months since I arrived here, and in those six months I’ve seen the most incredible transformation I’ve ever witnessed in my life. What a transformation! Yours, Mr. Marcos.”

 Six months ago, you were a broken man, consumed by guilt, incapable of loving your own children. Today you are the most devoted father I know.” Marcos felt his eyes fill with tears. Helena, without you, I would never have gotten this far. Yes, I would have. Maybe it would have taken longer, maybe it would have been harder, but love always finds a way.

 Pedro approached Helena unsteadily and raised his little arms, asking to be held. She picked him up, and he rested his head on her shoulder, a gesture he had made every day for months. “Helena,” Marcos said softly. “I need to tell you something.” “What?” “You’re no longer our maid. You stopped being one a long time ago.”

 “What do you mean? You’re family, Helena. Pedro and Paulo love you like you’re part of the family. Carmen treats you like a daughter. And me, I see you as the sister Isabela would have chosen to take care of our children.” Helena felt tears streaming down her face. “Mr. Marcos, stop calling me ‘sir.’ We’re family.”

 Carmen approached and hugged Helena. “Girl, from the first day you arrived here, I knew it wasn’t a coincidence, it was divine providence.” “How can you be so sure?” Marcos smiled. “Because you arrived at the exact moment we needed you? Because you knew exactly what to do. Because you never gave up on us, even when everything seemed impossible.”

 Paulo also approached Helena, wanting to be held. She took both babies, one in each arm, feeling complete in a way she had never experienced before. Helena, Marcos, said: “I want to make you a proposal. What kind of proposal? I want you to officially be Pedro and Paulo’s godmother, not just on paper, but in life.”

 I want you to help raise them, to be present in all phases of their lives. Marcos, I don’t know if I deserve this honor. You deserve it more than anyone in the world. You gave us back our lives, Helena. You taught us how to be a family again. Carmen nodded vigorously. Mrs. Isabela would be very happy, knowing that she has someone like you taking care of the boys.

 Helena looked at Pedro and Paulo in her arms. Over the past six months, she had grown attached to the babies in a way she never imagined possible. They had truly become the children of her heart that she had never had. “I accept,” she said finally. “It would be an honor to be their godmother.”

Marcos hugged her, still holding the babies. “Thank you, Helena, for everything.” At that moment, Pedro looked at Marcos and clearly said, “Daddy!” Everyone fell into absolute silence. It was the first clear word any of the babies had spoken. He said, “Daddy!” Carmen shouted. He really did. Marcos confirmed, picking Pedro up. Say it again, son. Daddy.

 “Daddy!” Pedro repeated, smiling proudly. Paulo, not wanting to be left behind, also tried. “Pa, Daddy!” They both said on the same day they learned to walk. Helena exclaimed, “What a special day!” Marcos looked up, as if he were talking to Isabela. “Honey, our children are growing up and they are happy. I hope you are proud.”

 Carmen wiped the tears from her eyes. “She is, Mr. Marcos. She sees everything and smiles.” Helena observed the family she had helped rebuild. Six months ago it was a house full of pain, silence, and guilt. Now it was a home full of love, laughter, and hope. “Marcos,” she said, “may I suggest something?” “Of course.”

 How about we visit Isabela’s grave today to tell her about the boys’ first steps and first words? Marcos smiled through his tears. It’s a perfect idea. She’ll want to know everything, and we can bring flowers, white roses that were her favorites. Carmen suggested, “Let’s all go together.” Marcos decided as a family.

 An hour later they were at the cemetery. Marcos carried Pedro, Helena carried Paulo, and Carmen carried a bouquet of white roses. It was the first time Marcos had visited Isabela’s grave since the burial. “Hi, love,” he said, kneeling before the tombstone. “I brought our children for you to meet.” He put Pedro down, who immediately began walking towards the grave.

Paulo did the same thing, as if he instinctively knew where he was. “They learned to walk today, Isabela, and they said, ‘Daddy, for the first time, they’re growing up beautiful and healthy.’ Helena approached. ‘And they are very loved; every day I tell them how special Mommy is, Isabela.’ Marcos continued. ‘I want you to meet Helena.’”

 She saved us, she taught us how to be a family again. She’s going to be godmother to Pedro and Paulo. The wind swayed the trees around them, as if Isabela were giving her approval. Thank you, love, Marcos whispered, for giving me these two treasures, for teaching me that love is stronger than pain, for forgiving me. They stood there in silence for a few minutes.

 A family rebuilt by love and the determination to never give up. When they returned home, Pedro and Paulo ran, or rather, stumbled, to their toys, happy and beloved babies. Helena prepared lunch while Marcos worked on his laptop, but this time with the children playing beside him. Helena, he said, you saved more than our family. You saved Pedro and Paulo’s future. She smiled.

 And you saved mine. You gave me the family I always dreamed of having. Outside, the sun shone brightly, illuminating a house that had known the deepest darkness and found the brightest light. The maid that nobody wanted had become the most important part of the family. And the babies, who used to cry every night, now filled the house with laughter every day.

 The miracle was complete.