A lonely millionaire is diagnosed with a terminal illness, but in the midst of a storm, he finds four orphaned and starving twin girls shivering in the streets. Taking them home, he discovers the family he never had and a love that defies his death sentence. And when everyone thought it was the end, they make a promise that changes everything.

We can save you, Dad. The rain was pouring down on the streets of Polanco, the exclusive neighborhood in Mexico City. From the window of his mansion, Don Alejandro Fuentes watched the raindrops strike the glass with the same intensity as the thoughts pounded in his mind. The envelope he held in his hands trembled slightly, not from the cold that seeped through the centuries-old walls of that old house, but from the weight of its contents. Terminal pulmonary fibrosis.

Prognosis: 4 to 6 weeks. Dr. Martinez’s words echoed endlessly in his head. Alejandro had built a real estate empire worth millions, but now he understood that all his money was useless in the face of the diagnosis he was facing. At his age, loneliness was his only companion. He had never married, never had children.

His life had been work, business, investments. And now what was left? He sighed deeply, feeling that sharp pain that had become his constant companion in recent months. He had ignored the symptoms, attributing them to tiredness, stress, age. Now he was paying the price for his negligence.

The doorbell rang, pulling him from his thoughts. Alejandro frowned. He hadn’t expected visitors, especially not on a night like this. His housekeeper, Doña Carmen, had asked for permission to be away for the weekend. He was completely alone in that immense house. The doorbell rang again, more insistently this time.

This time Alejandro left the envelope on the mahogany table and headed for the front door. As he opened it, the wind and rain lashed his face, but that wasn’t what took his breath away. Before him, four small, identical figures, soaked to the bone, gazed at him with a mixture of hope and fear. Four girls, exactly alike, with large brown eyes and black hair dripping wet.

The one who seemed to be the leader stepped forward. “Please, sir,” she said firmly, even though her body trembled from the cold. “We just need shelter for tonight.” The orphanage, Our Lady of Guadalupe, is three blocks away, but the storm caught us by surprise. Alejandro looked at them, puzzled.

They were quadruplets, undoubtedly identical in appearance, but there was something in their eyes that set them apart. The one who had spoken had determination in her gaze. Beside her, another held a small, sodden notebook, protecting it as if it were a treasure. The third smiled despite the circumstances, and the fourth, the fourth hid behind her sisters, her gaze lost in some distant point.

“Are you alone?” Alejandro asked, looking for an adult on the deserted street. “We’re always alone, sir,” the leader replied. “We’re Valentina, Lucía, Isabel, and Sofía. We’re all 11 years old.” Something in those words stirred a memory in Alejandro.

He, too, had known the loneliness of the orphanage long before becoming the powerful man he was now. He had sworn never to look back, to bury that past. But these girls, drenched and shivering, stirred something he thought he had forgotten. “Come in,” he said finally, opening the door wider. “I can’t leave you out in this storm.” The four of them entered in single file, leaving small puddles of water on the imported marble floor.

The leader, Valentina, murmured a thank you as she took in the mansion’s opulence. Lucía, the one with the notebook, gazed in wonder at the paintings adorning the walls. Isabel smiled broadly, as if they had arrived at an enchanted palace, while Sofía remained silent, clinging to her artist sister’s hand.

“I’ll get towels,” Alejandro murmured, feeling strangely uneasy. He wasn’t used to children. His mansion, with its antiques and works of art, wasn’t a place for infants. When he returned with the towels, he found them exactly where he had left them, as if they were afraid to move and break something.

He handed them towels and told them to follow him to the kitchen, where he turned on the stove to heat milk. “Does the orphanage know where you are?” he asked as he poured the hot milk into four cups. “Sister Guadalupe must be worried,” Valentina admitted, drying her hair. We went out to buy pencils for Lucía. She draws.

Lucía, the one with the notebook, nodded shyly, opening it to show it to Alejandro. Despite being damp, Alejandro could appreciate some extraordinary drawings for a girl that age. Landscapes, faces, buildings, all captured with astonishing precision. “Do you have talent?” he commented, surprising himself with the compliment. Lucía smiled, but said nothing. Isabel, the optimist, intervened.

Lucía will be a great artist someday. I’ll be a doctor, Valentina a lawyer, because she always defends us. And Sofía—her voice trailed off a little. Sofía hasn’t decided yet, but she has time. Alejandro noticed that Sofía, the fourth sister, hadn’t said a single word. Her eyes, identical to her sisters’, seemed distant, as if she were somewhere else.

Sofia doesn’t speak, Valentina explained softly. Not since our mother left us a year ago. The doctors say it’s trauma. Alejandro nodded, unsure what to say. While the girls drank their milk, he called the orphanage. Sister Guadalupe assured him she would send someone to pick them up as soon as the storm subsided a bit, and thanked him for his kindness.

Kindness. It had been years since anyone had associated that word with him. In the business world, Alejandro Fuentes was known for his coldness, his cunning, his relentless determination. Never for kindness. While they waited, the girls began to move around the kitchen with more confidence.

Isabel discovered an old radio and turned it on, finding a station that played traditional Mexican songs. To Alejandro’s surprise, she began to dance, inviting her sisters to join in. Soon, three of them were twirling around the kitchen, laughing. Only Sofía remained seated, silently watching, though her feet were gently tapping to the music.

That’s when the first coughing fit shook Alejandro. A sharp pain shot through his chest as he struggled to breathe. The girls stopped, looking at him with concern. “Are you alright, sir?” Valentina asked, approaching him. Alejandro nodded, unable to speak for a moment.

When he finally caught his breath, he saw Sofia staring at him, as if she could see right through him, as if she knew exactly what he was hiding. “It’s just a cold,” he lied, wiping the sweat from his brow. The storm raged outside, thunder rumbling as if the sky itself were protesting some cosmic injustice. Sister Guadalupe called again.

It was impossible to send anyone that night. “You can stay in the guest rooms,” Alejandro offered, surprising himself. “I’ll take you to the orphanage myself tomorrow.” As he escorted them upstairs to the rooms that had never housed children, Alejandro felt a strange pang in his chest.

It wasn’t the pain of illness, but something different, something he had forgotten: the warmth of not being alone. That night, in his bed, he heard muffled laughter coming from the hallway. The girls, despite having separate rooms, had all ended up in the same one. For some reason, that sound, instead of disturbing him, lulled him into a deep sleep.

The first in many weeks without nightmares, without waking up choked by a cough. What Alejandro couldn’t imagine was that that stormy night would mark the beginning of an unexpected journey, a journey where four small souls, identical in appearance but unique in spirit, would defy not only his loneliness, but the very destiny the doctors had pronounced for him.

The next morning dawned clear, as if the previous night’s storm had been a dream. Alejandro woke later than usual, surprised by the absence of the morning cough that had become his routine. For a moment, he forgot the diagnosis, the number of weeks he had to live, the four little visitors, until the scent of chocolate and the sound of children’s laughter reached his room. He sat up, puzzled.

As she descended the stairs, she found an unusual sight in her kitchen. The four girls, still dressed in yesterday’s clothes, but now dry, were preparing what appeared to be breakfast. Valentina was authoritatively directing the operation, assigning tasks to her sisters. Lucía was decorating tortillas with fruit, creating smiling faces.

Isabel was whisking something in a bowl, splashing it onto the immaculate kitchen floor, while Sofía was setting the table with meticulous precision, perfectly aligning each utensil. “Good morning, Mr. Fuentes,” Valentina greeted him upon seeing him. “I hope you don’t mind. We wanted to thank you for letting us stay.” Alejandro blinked, taking in the scene.

Her kitchen, always spotless and barely used, since she usually ate out or Doña Carmen prepared simple meals for her, was now an organized chaos of children’s activity. “How do you know my last name?” was all she managed to ask. “I saw your letters on the desk,” Valentina replied without flinching. “Excuse me if that was indiscreet.” Lucía looked up from her artwork. “We also saw your photographs,” she added.

“Are you a builder? There are many buildings with your name on them.” Alejandro nodded, sitting down in one of the chairs Sofia had prepared. The quiet girl glanced at him briefly before continuing with her task. “I’m a real estate developer,” he explained. “I build buildings, shopping malls, housing developments that look like modern castles,” Isabel exclaimed, setting down the bowl to pour the hot chocolate into the cups. “It must be wonderful to create places where people live and are happy.”

The observation took him by surprise. He had never thought of his projects that way. For him, they were investments, numbers, profit margins, not spaces of happiness. Breakfast was surprisingly pleasant. The tortillas decorated by Lucía were delicious, and the hot chocolate prepared by Isabel, although a bit too sweet, was comforting.

The girls spoke to each other with that peculiar connection that sisters seemed to share, especially twins, or in this case, quadruplets. They finished each other’s sentences, communicated with glances, and included Sofia in the conversation, even though she didn’t speak. Alejandro found himself watching them. Fascinated. In his sixty years, he had never paid much attention to children.

She had no young nephews. Her only close relative was Ernesto, her late brother’s son, a 30-year-old man who only showed up when he needed money. “We should call the orphanage,” she said finally, breaking the spell of the moment. “They’ll be worried.” Valentina’s face darkened slightly, but she nodded. Yes, sir.

Sister Guadalupe must be anxious. While Alejandro was on the phone, the girls cleaned the kitchen with surprising efficiency. When he hung up, he found them perfectly lined up by the door, like little soldiers awaiting orders. “Sister Guadalupe is relieved to know they’re okay,” he reported. “She gave me the exact address. I’ll take them right away.”

During the ride in their luxury car, the girls gazed in wonder at the streets of Polanco. It was clear they didn’t frequent that exclusive area of ​​Mexico City. Isabel excitedly commented on every building, every shop, every detail, while Lucía seemed to visually absorb everything, later recording it in her notebook.

Valentina remained alert as always, while Sofía simply stared out the window with that unreadable expression. The contrast was stark when, 20 minutes later, they entered one of the poorest neighborhoods in the city. The orphanage, Our Lady of Guadalupe, was an old building with peeling but clean walls, and a small garden where some children played under the supervision of two nuns.

Sister Guadalupe greeted them at the entrance. She was an older woman with a kind face and hands worn from work. “Don Alejandro, you don’t know how grateful we are for your kindness,” she said, taking his hands in hers. “These little ones are very special to us.” The girls hugged the nun with genuine affection.

Even Sofia approached her, allowing her to stroke her hair in a maternal gesture. “It was nothing,” Alejandro replied, suddenly uncomfortable. He felt out of place in that atmosphere of simplicity and sincere affection. “Anyone would have done the same. Not just anyone, Don Alejandro,” the nun smiled, “especially someone in your position.”

Something in Sister Guadalupe’s tone made Alejandro think she knew exactly who he was. His reputation in business wasn’t exactly that of a charitable man. “May I speak with you privately?” the nun asked. Then she turned to the girls. “Go to Sister Maria.”

“She saved them breakfast, although it seemed they had already eaten something. When the little girls wandered off, Sister Guadalupe led Alejandro to a small office. The walls were decorated with children’s drawings. He immediately recognized Lucia’s style in several of them. “The girls arrived a year ago,” the nun began, sitting down behind a worn desk.

Their mother, Magdalena Sánchez, was an extraordinary woman who raised them alone from birth. She worked as a nurse in three different hospitals to support them. Alejandro listened silently, wondering why the nun was telling him this. One day, Magdalena didn’t come home. She had suffered a stroke while attending to a patient. The girls were left alone.

They have no other family. They’ve been with us ever since. It’s a sad story, Alejandro commented, feeling a lump in his throat that he attributed to his illness. But they seem like strong girls. They are. Valentina took on the role of mother to her sisters. Lucía found refuge in art.

Isabel keeps hope alive with her unwavering optimism. “And Sofia?” Alejandro asked, remembering the quiet little girl. Sister Guadalupe sighed deeply. “Sofia was the one who found her mother. She hasn’t spoken since that day. The doctors say it’s a deep trauma.”

We’ve tried therapy, but with our limited resources—she trailed off, but the message was clear. “I understand,” Alejandro said. “Is there anything I can do? Perhaps a donation to the orphanage?” Sister Guadalupe smiled sweetly. “Donations are always welcome, Don Alejandro, but I was wondering if you could perhaps visit the girls once in a while. They’ve grown fond of you, especially Sofia.”

It’s the first time I’ve seen her interested in anyone since she lost her mother. The request completely threw him off. To visit the girls. What could he possibly offer them? A lonely man with only weeks to live? I don’t think it’s a good idea, he replied, standing up. I’m a busy and sick man, Sister Guadalupe added, surprising him.

Forgive my boldness, but I recognize the symptoms. I worked for many years as a nurse before taking my vows. Alejandro was speechless. The nun continued. I don’t know what illness you have, but I see in your eyes that it’s not something doctors can easily cure. Sometimes, Father Alejandro, when we need help the most, God puts those we can help in our path.

“I’m not a religious man, sister,” he replied curtly. “I’m not talking about religion, but about humanity,” she smiled. “Think about it, the doors of Our Lady of Guadalupe will always be open for you.” Alejandro said goodbye politely, but firmly. As he left, the four girls were waiting for him in the garden as if they knew he would leave without saying goodbye.

“Thank you for everything, Mr. Fuentes,” said Valentina, extending her small hand in a formal gesture uncharacteristic of her age. “It was a pleasure meeting you,” added Isabel with her ever-present smile. Lucía handed him a folded piece of paper. “It’s for you,” she murmured shyly. “And Sofía.” Sofía simply gazed at him with those deep eyes that seemed to know more than her silence revealed.

Alejandro got into his car with a strange feeling in his chest. Only when he was several blocks from the orphanage did he stop the car to open the paper Lucía had given him. It was a drawing done with astonishing precision: the kitchen of his mansion with five figures having breakfast, the four girls and himself smiling.

He didn’t remember smiling during breakfast, but in the drawing, her face reflected a happiness he hadn’t felt in decades. When he arrived at his empty mansion, the envelope with the diagnosis was still on the table where he had left it the night before. He picked it up, reread the fateful words, and then looked at Lucia’s drawing.

Four to six weeks. What could possibly change in such a short time? Three days later, Alejandro found himself in the boardroom of Fuentes Construcciones, presiding over what might be one of his last executive meetings. As his CFO presented projections for the next quarter, Alejandro couldn’t help but think of the irony.

They were planning projects that would be completed in two years, when he would no longer be around. “Don Alejandro, do you agree with the investment in the reform sector?” the director asked, interrupting his thoughts. Alejandro nodded mechanically. None of that mattered anymore. He had scheduled a meeting with his lawyer for the following afternoon. He needed to put his affairs in order.

As he left the office, his driver was waiting for him. But Alejandro decided to walk. He needed some fresh air. Without realizing it, his steps led him in an unexpected direction. When he looked up, he was standing in front of the Our Lady of Guadalupe orphanage. He stood motionless, observing the old building, listening to the children’s laughter coming from the inner garden.

What was he doing there? What was he looking for? He was about to leave when the door opened. Lucía rushed out, her sketchbook tucked under her arm, so engrossed in her drawing that she almost bumped into him. “Mr. Fuentes!” the little girl exclaimed, surprised and excited. “You’ve come to visit us!” Before he could reply, Lucía took his hand and pulled him inside.

In the garden, a dozen children played in the shade of a centuries-old aheguüete tree. In one corner, Valentina read a book to a group of toddlers. Isabel helped a nun hand out refreshments, and then there was Sofía. Sofía sat alone with a book in her lap, her gaze lost somewhere in the distance.

When Valentina saw him, she closed her book and approached with a formality so uncharacteristic of her age. “Mr. Fuentes, what a surprise. We weren’t expecting your visit. It wasn’t planned,” Alejandro admitted, feeling strangely exposed under the girl’s analytical gaze. “I was just passing by and you came,” Isabel interrupted, joining them with her usual enthusiasm. “I knew you’d come.” “I told Valentina you’d come, didn’t you, Valentina?” Valentina smiled slightly.

Isabel has unwavering faith in the goodness of people. “It’s not goodness,” Alejandro corrected. “Just curiosity.” At that moment, he noticed Sofia silently approaching. The little girl was looking at him with those unfathomable eyes that seemed to see through his facade to the very core of his fear, his loneliness, his illness.

Sister Guadalupe then appeared as if she had sensed the presence of a visitor with some special sense. “Don Alejandro, what a joy to see you,” the nun smiled. “Would you like to join us for a snack? On Wednesdays we make churros with chocolate.” Before he could decline the invitation, he found himself sitting in the orphanage’s dining room, a simple but bright space, surrounded by children who watched him with curiosity. He wasn’t used to being the center of attention like that.

In the business world, glances were of respect, fear, or envy. These children’s glances were pure, innocent curiosity. “Are you a millionaire?” a little boy asked, provoking laughter. “Rodrigo, don’t be indiscreet,” Sister Guadalupe gently chided him, pouring hot chocolate into colorful cups.

“Okay,” Alejandro replied. “Yes, I have money. I build buildings like castles,” the boy insisted. Isabel chimed in. “That’s exactly what I told him. He builds modern castles where people live and are happy.” The simplicity of that definition still moved him in an inexplicable way.

During snack time, Alejandro found himself answering children’s questions about skyscrapers, bridges, and buildings. He explained in simple terms how a building was designed, how materials were chosen, and how the strength of structures was calculated. The children listened, fascinated, especially when he described the tallest project he had built, a 60-story skyscraper on Paseo de la Reforma. “Could we visit it sometime?” Lucía asked, her eyes sparkling. Alejandro hesitated.

That “someday” would probably never come for him. “Maybe,” he replied vaguely. After snack time. While the other children returned to their activities, the quadruplets invited him to see their room. It was a small but personalized space. Four beds, each reflecting the personality of its occupant; Valentina’s was tidy and filled with neatly stacked books.

Lucía’s room was surrounded by drawings, Isabel’s was decorated with bright colors and positive messages, and Sofía’s was austere, but with a small, improvised altar: a photograph of a woman who must have been Magdalena, her mother, a dried flower, and a medal. “Our mother was a nurse,” Valentina explained, noticing Alejandro’s gaze. “She worked in three different hospitals to support us.”

“Sister Guadalupe told me about it,” Alejandro agreed. “She must have been an extraordinary woman.” “She was,” Isabel confirmed. “She always said that a hug heals more than any medicine.” Lucía nodded silently and then took out her notebook to show Alejandro more drawings. There was one that particularly caught his attention. The four girls were in a large, bright house, very different from the orphanage, but not exactly their mansion either.

Just as he was about to ask where it was, a coughing fit interrupted him. It was worse than the previous ones. The pain in his chest was like a dagger twisting between his ribs. He fell to his knees, unable to breathe, seeing black spots dance before his eyes. He vaguely perceived the commotion around him. He heard Valentina calling for Sister Guadalupe.

He felt small hands holding him. When he regained consciousness, he was lying on a narrow bed. Sister Guadalupe was applying a damp cloth to his forehead. “Breathe slowly, Don Alejandro,” the nun said calmly. “We’ve already called your driver; he’s coming to pick you up.” “How?” he tried to ask. “Sofia,” the nun replied.

He found his phone and showed us the contact. Alejandro turned his head. The four girls were in the room watching him with different expressions. Concern in Valentina, sadness in Lucía, determination in Isabel and Sofía. It was understanding he saw in their eyes. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, ashamed of his weakness. Isabel approached and, without asking, took his hand.

“You’re sick, aren’t you? That’s why your eyes are sad, even though you’re smiling.” The girl’s frankness disarmed him. He nodded slowly. “Yes, I’m sick.” “What is it?” Valentina asked, direct as always. Alejandro looked at Sister Guadalupe, who nodded slightly. Pulmonary fibrosis, she answered hoarsely. It’s when the lungs become stiff and you can’t breathe properly.

“The doctors can cure him,” Valentina insisted. Alejandro shook his head. “It’s not terminal.” The silence that followed was deafening. Then Isabel squeezed his hand tighter. “My mother used to say that while there’s life, there’s hope,” she declared with conviction. “Oh, you’re alive, Mr. Fuentes.”

By the time his driver arrived, Alejandro had recovered enough to walk on his own. Sister Guadalupe insisted on accompanying him to the car, though. The girls followed like a small, silent procession. “You should rest, Don Alejandro,” the nun advised, “and perhaps consider not being alone at this time.” Alejandro nodded absently. As he got into the car, the four girls watched him from the orphanage entrance.

Sofia took a step forward, separating herself from her sisters for the first time, and extended something toward him—the medal she had seen on his makeshift altar. “Sofia, darling, that was your mother’s,” Sister Guadalupe interjected, surprised, but the girl insisted, offering him the medal with determination.

Alejandro took it, touched. “Thank you, Sofia. I’ll return it to you soon.” For an almost imperceptible moment, the girl’s lips curved into something like a smile. During the journey to his mansion, Alejandro examined the medal. It was an image of Saint Jude Thaddeus, the patron saint of impossible causes and desperate cases.

A fitting choice, he thought with bitter irony. That night, alone in his room, Alejandro suffered another attack, worse than the last. When he finally managed to control his breathing, he made a decision, called his lawyer, and moved the appointment up to first thing the next morning. He had already decided what to do with his fortune, his companies, his legacy, but now he also knew what he wanted to do with the little time he had left.

“Are you absolutely sure about this, Don Alejandro?” asked Attorney Ramírez, adjusting his glasses as he reread the document. “It’s an unusual decision.” “I’m sure, Ricardo,” Alejandro replied firmly. “Are there any legal impediments?” The lawyer, who had been handling Alejandro’s legal affairs for over 30 years, shook his head slowly. “Legally it’s possible, but complicated.”

A multiple adoption at your age and in your health condition. Social services will investigate thoroughly, and your nephew Ernesto could challenge the decision, arguing that you are unfit to raise four girls. “My medical condition is confidential,” Alejandro replied, “and I can provide them with the best care and the best education.” The lawyer warned that money is not enough for the adoption system.

They seek emotional stability, a future, a healthy family environment. With all due respect, Mr. Alejandro, you’ve lived alone your entire life. You have no experience with children, and your diagnosis—my diagnosis is my business.—he interrupted sharply. Prepare the documents. I want to begin the process as soon as possible.

Ricardo Ramírez sighed, well aware of his client’s stubbornness. “As you wish, I’ll begin the preliminary procedures today. In the meantime, I suggest you speak with the director of the orphanage and, of course, with the girls.” Alejandro nodded. He had already scheduled a visit to the orphanage for that very afternoon.

Since her collapse three days ago she had not returned, but she had sent boxes with supplies, food, clothing, school materials and, specifically for the quadruplets, personalized gifts, children’s rights books for Valentina, a professional drawing set for Lucía, a microscope for Isabel and a music player with headphones for Sofía.

After recalling how his feet had tapped to the music in his kitchen, when his car pulled up in front of the orphanage, Alejandro felt something strange, a mixture of anxiety and anticipation. What if the girls didn’t want to go with him? What if they preferred to stay at the orphanage where they had found some stability after losing their mother? Sister Guadalupe greeted him with her usual warmth, but there was a spark of curiosity in her eyes.

Father Alejandro, the girls have been asking about you. Your gifts left them speechless, especially Sofia. Did she like the music? he asked, surprising himself with her genuine interest. She hasn’t taken her headphones off since they arrived, the nun smiled.

It seemed she had guessed his taste; classical music was his mother’s favorite. Alejandro nodded with satisfaction. It hadn’t been a conscious choice; she had simply included several genres, among them classical. “Sister Guadalupe, I need to speak with you about an important matter,” he said, adopting his business tone. “Could we go to your office?” The nun led him to the same office where they had spoken the first time.

Upon entering, Alejandro noticed changes. There were fresh flowers in a vase. And Lucía’s drawings were now framed in simple wooden frames. “Your donations have allowed us small luxuries,” the nun explained, noticing his gaze. “The flowers are from the garden, but the frames are new.” Lucía was so excited. She says her drawings now look real.

Alejandro smiled briefly, then his expression turned serious. “Sister, I’ve made a decision that will directly affect your institution and, above all, the Sánchez quadruplets.” The nun looked at him expectantly, her hands clasped in her lap. “I want to adopt all four girls.”

If Sister Guadalupe was surprised, she didn’t show it. She remained silent for a few moments, as if deeply considering her words. “Don Alejandro, the adoption process is rigorous. Social services thoroughly investigate the adoptive parent. Their motivations, their capacity to raise children. I have the resources to give them the best possible life,” Alejandro interrupted.

Private education, travel, opportunities. Material things are the only thing that matters, the nun replied gently. Those girls have suffered a traumatic loss. They need emotional stability. Constant presence, unconditional love. And you, I’m dying, Alejandro finished bluntly.

I know, but whatever time I have left, I want to spend with them. I can’t explain it, Sister. Since I met them, something has changed in me. Sister Guadalupe watched him intently, as if assessing the sincerity of his words. “I met your mother, Don Alejandro,” she finally said, surprising him. “Elena Fuentes was a benefactor of our orphanage before you were born. She had your same determined spirit.”

Alejandro blinked, confused. He’d never heard that his mother had any connection to that place. “When she died, you were only 12 years old,” the nun continued. “Your father sent you to a boarding school abroad, and we lost touch. But I always wondered what became of that sad-eyed boy who used to accompany Doña Elena on her visits.”

“I don’t remember coming here,” Alejandro murmured, struggling to recover memories buried for decades. “I was very little,” the nun smiled, “but I always helped hand out the sweets my mother brought. The children adored me.” A fleeting flash crossed his mind: children’s laughter, the aroma of hot chocolate, his mother smiling as he gave candy to barefoot but smiling children.

“I didn’t know,” he admitted, feeling a lump in his throat. “Perhaps it wasn’t a coincidence that he found the girls that stormy night,” Sister Guadalupe reflected. Perhaps his mother guided his steps from heaven. Alejandro wasn’t a religious or superstitious man, but the nun’s words resonated within him with unexpected force.

“So, will you support my adoption application?” he asked, returning to the main topic. “If that’s what the girls want, yes,” she replied, “but you must speak with them first, especially Valentina. She’s the natural leader and the most protective.” Alejandro nodded. “Are they here in the garden now? I’ll call them.” While he waited, Alejandro looked again at the framed drawings.

In one of them, he recognized the four girls in front of a large house, the same one he had seen in Lucía’s notebook. Now, looking at it more closely, he noticed that it wasn’t his current mansion, but his childhood home, where he had lived with his parents before his mother’s death. How could Lucía have drawn a place he had never seen? His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of the quadruplets.

They entered in single file, as always, with Valentina in front and Sofía bringing up the rear. They all smiled when they saw him, even Sofía, who had her headphones around her neck. “Girls, Father Alejandro wants to speak with you,” Sister Guadalupe announced. “It’s an important matter, so listen carefully.” The nun left, leaving them alone. Alejandro cleared his throat, suddenly nervous.

“First, I want to know if you liked the gifts,” she began, trying to break the ice. “They’re wonderful!” exclaimed Isabel. “My microscope is incredible. I’ve already seen onion cells and my own blood. My drawing set is professional,” added Lucía, her eyes sparkling. “I’ve never had colors that blended so well.”

“Law books are fascinating,” Valentina commented more reservedly, although some terms are complicated. Sofia simply nodded, touching her headphones with a gesture of appreciation. “I’m glad you liked them,” Alejandro smiled. Then he adopted a more serious tone. “I have something important to propose. It’s a decision that would change your lives and mine.”

The four of them looked at him expectantly, especially Valentina, who seemed to sense the magnitude of what was coming. “I would like to adopt you,” he finally said, “all four of you, to come live in my house not as temporary guests, but as my family.”

The silence that followed was so profound that Alejandro could hear his own heart racing. Isabel was the first to react, with a shout of joy and a leap that carried her straight into the arms of the surprised millionaire. “Yes, yes, yes! I knew he’d come for us. I knew it!” Lucía smiled, but she was looking at Valentina, waiting for her reaction.

Sofia remained motionless with an unreadable expression. “Mr. Fuentes,” Valentina finally spoke with impressive maturity for her 11 years. “We appreciate your offer, but there is something you must consider. You are ill, seriously ill. What will happen to us when Noah says the sentence, but it wasn’t necessary.”

“My illness is terminal,” Alejandro confirmed, determined to be completely honest. “The doctors have given me weeks, maybe months, but in that time I can make sure you have a permanent home, a guaranteed education, a secure future. I will establish a trust, a guardianship council. You will be protected.” “And the love?” Valentina asked, direct as always. “With all due respect, Mr. Fuentes, you don’t know us.”

We don’t know you. Why adopt us? It was the million-dollar question, the one he’d asked himself over and over during the last few sleepless nights. I can’t explain it, he admitted. Ever since I found you that stormy night, something changed in me. Maybe it’s selfishness on my part.

Perhaps I just want company in my final days, but I promise you this. As long as I live, I will do everything I can to make you happy. Isabel, still clinging to him, looked at him with tearful eyes. We will make you happy too, she declared with conviction. And perhaps, perhaps we can help you get better. Isabel, don’t say that, Valentina interjected. We can’t promise miracles.

“They’re not miracles,” Isabel insisted. “It’s science. I read about cases where people overcome terminal illnesses. It’s called spontaneous remission.” Alejandro smiled sadly. The girl’s optimism was touching, but he knew the truth. Her case was incurable.

“So, what do you say?” he asked, addressing himself mainly to Valentina, acknowledging her role as leader. “Do you accept being my daughters?” Valentina looked at her sisters. Lucía nodded enthusiastically. Isabel practically shouted yes with her whole body. And then Sofía stepped forward, approached Alejandro, and to everyone’s surprise, took his hand and placed it over her heart in a gesture of acceptance so eloquent that words were unnecessary.

“It seems it’s decided,” Valentina smiled, her eyes glistening. “We’ll be a family.” When Sister Guadalupe returned, she found a scene she never could have imagined. Alejandro Fuentes, the ruthless real estate tycoon, sat on the floor, surrounded by four little girls, all talking at once about how they would decorate their rooms in their new house.

“I see you’ve reached an agreement,” the nun remarked with a smile. Alejandro nodded, unable to speak because of the emotion that choked him. For the first time in decades, he felt his life had a purpose beyond accumulating wealth, power, and property. He had a family. “This is absolutely unacceptable!” Ernesto Fuentes roared, slamming his fist on Mahogany’s desk.

My uncle has lost his mind. Adopting four orphans. It’s a scandal, madness. Attorney Ramírez maintained his composure, accustomed as he was to the outbursts of Alejandro’s nephew. Don Ernesto, your uncle, is in full possession of his mental faculties. The adoption papers are already being processed, and his will has been amended to include the girls as his rightful heirs. Heirs. Ernesto’s voice reached a dangerously high pitch.

These adopted daughters will inherit the Fuentes empire. The fortune my uncle built using my family’s name. The girls will bear the Fuentes surname once the adoption is finalized,” the lawyer explained patiently. And yes, they will inherit 80% of Don Alejandro’s assets, managed by a trust until they reach the age of majority.

Fifteen percent is earmarked for charitable causes, primarily orphanages. “You will receive the remaining five percent.” Ernesto paled. For years he had counted on inheriting the entire fortune of his uncle, his only living relative. He had endured his uncle’s slights, his constant criticism of his lifestyle.

He had even feigned interest in the real estate business he detested. All in the hope of that golden future. “I will challenge it,” he declared, regaining his composure. “I will prove that my uncle is not in a condition to make such important decisions. He is ill, everyone knows it.” Ricardo Ramírez narrowed his eyes.

What exactly do you know about Don Alejandro’s health? Ernesto looked away. “Rumors are running, sir. He’s been absent from important meetings, delegating responsibilities. Clearly, something’s wrong.” The lawyer nodded slowly. He knew Ernesto’s calculating nature, his network of informants within the source companies, his desperation to get money to pay off gambling debts and maintain an ostentatious lifestyle without actually working.

“I suggest you speak directly with your uncle before taking legal action,” he advised. A court battle would be long, costly, and potentially destructive for both parties. What the lawyer didn’t mention was that, according to his calculations, Don Alejandro probably wouldn’t live to see the end of a protracted lawsuit, but the girls would, and the documents he had prepared were impervious to any challenge, as long as the adoption was completed before the inevitable outcome. Meanwhile, life at the Fuentes mansion continued.

A revolution. Doña Carmen, the housekeeper, directed an army of workers who were transforming four adjoining rooms according to Alejandro’s precise instructions. Valentina’s room included a small library with classic and modern works, a large desk facing the window, and walls in serene tones.

Lucia’s room had been equipped with an art area: easels, special lighting for drawing, and an entire wall covered in chalkboard so she could draw freely. For Isabel, they had created a space that combined science and optimism: a corner for experiments, a telescope by the window, and bright yellow walls.

And Sofia’s room was a sanctuary of tranquility, with a high-fidelity sound system, soundproofing, a rocking chair by the window, and soft blue colors. Alejandro personally oversaw every detail, ignoring his tiredness and Sofia’s occasional coughing fits.

He had set out to create a real home for the girls, not just a luxurious place. Don Alejandro should rest. Doña Carmen, who had served the Fuentes family for over 40 years and was the only one who dared to scold him, insisted. “You look pale.” “I’m fine, Carmen,” he invariably replied. “I want everything to be perfect for when the girls arrive.”

According to the plan, the quadruplets would move in three days once social services completed their initial home inspection. Alejandro had also hired a child psychologist, a private tutor, and a nanny, all recommended by Sister Guadalupe. He was in Sofia’s room deciding on the exact placement of a small water feature he had bought to create a relaxing atmosphere.

When she felt the familiar pain in her chest, it was different this time, sharper, deeper. She tried to reach the doorbell to call Doña Carmen, but her legs gave out. The last thing she saw before losing consciousness was the framed photograph of the four girls she had placed on the nightstand. When she awoke, she was in the hospital.

Dr. Martinez watched him with a grave expression as a nurse adjusted the IV drip. “Don Alejandro suffered a cardiac arrest,” the doctor explained bluntly. “We managed to stabilize him, but I have to be frank. The fibrosis is progressing faster than expected. His lungs are failing.” Alejandro tried to sit up, but the pain forced him to lie down again.

“How long?” he asked hoarsely. The doctor hesitated. “It’s hard to say. It could be a week, maybe days.” The news hit Alejandro like a hammer. He had calculated he had at least another month, enough time to finalize the adoption, to see the girls settled in their home, to make sure everything was in order.

“I need to get out of here,” he declared, trying again to sit up. “Impossible,” the doctor replied firmly. “You need constant medical attention. Any exertion could trigger another cardiac arrest. So bring what’s necessary to my house,” Alejandro insisted. “I’ll pay for anything—equipment, nurses, specialists—but I won’t die in a hospital.”

Dr. Martínez was well aware of his patient’s obstinacy. “I’ll see what I can do,” he finally agreed. “But you’ll need 24-hour care and must strictly follow my instructions.” Alejandro nodded, though they both knew he would do whatever he deemed necessary, regardless of medical advice. Two days later, against all professional advice, Alejandro Fuentes returned to his mansion, which had been converted into a luxury hospital.

A room had been equipped with heart monitors, oxygen tanks, and everything necessary for his care. Two nurses would take turns attending to him day and night, and Dr. Martinez had promised daily visits. Attorney Ramirez arrived as soon as he learned of his client’s return. “Don Alejandro, the social workers are coming tomorrow,” he informed him, visibly concerned about his friend and client’s condition. “Under these circumstances, they might deny the adoption.”

“Then we’ll change our strategy,” Alejandro replied with a determination that belied his frail appearance. “He’s requesting an emergency adoption. He claims I’m gravely ill and that my last wish is to give those girls a home. That might work for a supervised visit, but not for a final adoption,” the lawyer warned.

And there’s another problem. His nephew Ernesto is preparing a lawsuit. It suggests that you’re not mentally fit to make such important decisions. Alejandro closed his eyes for a moment, controlling his breathing using techniques he’d been taught to maximize the efficiency of his failing lungs. “Bring me the phone,” he finally asked.

“I’m going to call the girls.” When Sister Guadalupe received the call, her concern was evident, even over the phone. Don Alejandro is certain he wants to speak with them. He doesn’t want them to worry. “I need to tell them the truth, Sister,” he insisted. “They deserve to know.”

The nun reluctantly agreed. Moments later, Valentina’s voice came through the line. “Mr. Fuentes, Sister Guadalupe says she’s in the hospital.” “I’m at home, Valentina,” he corrected gently. “But yes, I was hospitalized. My illness has worsened.” There was a silence followed by an obvious change of hands on the phone.

“How bad is it?” Isabel asked, her seriousness uncharacteristic of her usual optimism. Alejandro hesitated. How could he explain to an 11-year-old girl who was dying that she might not live long enough to see them installed in their carefully designed rooms? “It’s quite serious, Isabel,” he finally admitted. “The doctors are worried.”

Another silence, another change of hands. We can still come live with you, Lucia’s soft voice was heavy with worry. I hope so, little one. My lawyer is doing everything he can, but I want you to know that whatever happens, you’ll be safe. I’ve made all the arrangements so you’ll have a home, an education, everything you need.

There were murmurs on the other end, as if the girls were conferring amongst themselves. Finally, Valentina spoke again. “Mr. Fuentes, could we visit you? Even just for one day before the official adoption.” The request took him by surprise. He had imagined the girls would be frightened, that they would want to distance themselves from a dying man. Instead, they were asking to see him.

“Of course,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll talk to Sister Guadalupe about it.” “We’ll be ready,” Valentina assured him. Then, after a pause, she added, “And Mr. Fuentes, don’t give up. Isabel says miracles happen, and Lucía dreamed that you were getting better, and Lucía’s dreams sometimes come true.” Alejandro smiled weakly.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Valentina.” As he hung up, he found attorney Ramírez watching him with a mixture of admiration and sadness. “They are extraordinary girls,” the lawyer remarked. “They are,” Alejandro confirmed. “And I need them to come as soon as possible, not for a visit, but to stay. Use your connections, Ricardo. Bribe whoever you have to.”

“Do what you have to do.” Attorney Ramirez nodded gravely. In his 30-year career, he had never seen Alejandro Fuentes beg for anything. Now he was begging, not for his life, but for the chance to give four orphans a home. “I’ll take care of it personally,” he promised, picking up his briefcase.

Rest well, Don Alejandro, tomorrow will be an important day. When the lawyer left, Alejandro was alone with the nurse on duty, who discreetly pretended to read a magazine while monitoring his vital signs. “Carmen,” he called softly. The housekeeper appeared immediately, as if she had been waiting just on the other side of the door.

“Yes, Don Alejandro, call the chef. I want him to prepare something special for tomorrow. The girls are coming for dinner.” Doña Carmen smiled, her eyes sparkling with excitement. She had already told him that we might have special guests. She was planning a menu that any child would love. Alejandro nodded, grateful for his faithful housekeeper’s initiative.

Then he lay down, feeling exhaustion wash over him. He closed his eyes, picturing the mansion filled with children’s laughter, imagining the four little girls running through the hallways that had always been too quiet. As he drifted into a restless sleep, the St. Jude Thaddeus medal that Sofia had given him rested on his chest, rising and falling with his labored breathing. The Fuentes mansion shone brighter than ever before.

Doña Carmen had organized a thorough cleaning, placed fresh flowers in every room, and personally oversaw the preparations for the banquet. The chef had created a menu that combined sophistication and simplicity, from elegant appetizers that would impress the social services officials to gourmet hamburgers, artisanal pizza, and a spectacular chocolate castle that would delight the girls.

Against all medical advice, Alejandro had gotten out of bed. Dressed in dark trousers and a linen shirt, he was making superhuman efforts to conceal his weakness. Dr. Martínez had protested vehemently, but had finally relented, increasing the dose of painkillers and leaving strict instructions for the nurse who remained discreetly nearby.

“The rooms are perfect,” Doña Carmen reported after a final check. The social workers will arrive in half an hour, and Sister Guadalupe will bring the girls an hour later. Alejandro nodded, conserving his energy. Every movement, every word, every breath was a conscious effort. “Has Ricardo arrived?” he asked, referring to Mr. Ramírez.

“He’s in the study preparing the final documents,” the housekeeper replied. Then, in a softer voice, she added, “Don Alejandro, you should use the wheelchair. You don’t have to appear strong in front of the girls. They’ll understand.” He shook his head firmly. “I don’t want to frighten them, Carmen. It’s hard enough that their new father is ill.”

At least I want to greet you standing up. Doña Carmen didn’t insist. She knew her employer well enough to know when a decision was final. The social workers arrived promptly. They were two middle-aged women with professional, but not hostile, expressions. Mr. Ramírez greeted them along with Alejandro, who managed to remain upright during the introductions.

“Mr. Fuentes, we understand that your adoption application has been expedited due to special circumstances,” the senior official began, choosing her words carefully. “My health condition speaks for itself,” Alejandro replied with a tired smile. “It’s no secret to anyone in this house.”

The inspection of the mansion proceeded with professional efficiency. The social workers meticulously examined each room, especially those prepared for the girls. They took notes and asked technical questions about security, routines, and educational plans. “The facilities are immaculate, Mr. Fuentes,” the second worker remarked as they returned to the main hall. “But we are concerned about the emotional aspect.”

Adopting four girls simultaneously is a challenge for any parent, even in excellent health. Alejandro sat down slowly, controlling his breathing before answering. “I’ve hired specialized staff: a child psychologist who will visit them three times a week, a private tutor, and a nanny experienced with children who have suffered trauma.”

Doña Carmen, my housekeeper, has raised five children and is 12 herself. And my nephew Ernesto paused, surprising himself with what he was about to say. He will be involved in their lives as a supportive male figure. Attorney Ramírez raised his eyebrows but didn’t comment. He knew Alejandro hadn’t spoken to Ernesto about this supposed role, but he also understood the strategy: to present a complete family environment.

Regarding his nephew, the senior social worker consulted her notes. “We understand he has expressed objections to the adoption. Ernesto is worried about my health,” Alejandro replied diplomatically. “He fears I won’t be able to handle the responsibility, but I trust that once he meets the girls, he’ll change his mind.” The conversation continued for almost an hour. Questions about discipline, education, values, and routines.

Alejandro answered honestly, admitting when he didn’t have definitive answers, but always emphasizing his commitment to providing not only material well-being, but also love and emotional stability. Finally, when the social workers seemed satisfied, the doorbell rang. Doña Carmen announced the arrival of Sister Guadalupe and the girls.

“We ask that you remain present during this first meeting in your new home,” the senior social worker said. “It’s part of the protocol.” Alejandro nodded, trying to control his racing heartbeat. He stood up, ignoring the sharp pain in his chest, and walked toward the foyer. The four girls entered in single file as usual, but this time there was no shyness on their faces.

As soon as they saw Alejandro, Isabel broke formation and ran toward him, immediately followed by Lucía. Valentina moved more slowly, holding Sofía’s hand. “Your house is even bigger than I remembered,” Isabel exclaimed, hugging him carefully, as if sensing his fragility. “Our rooms are upstairs,” Alejandro smiled.

Doña Carmen will show you later, but first I want to introduce you to some important people. The introductions were formal but warm. The social workers attentively observed the interaction between Alejandro and the girls, discreetly taking notes. Sister Guadalupe remained in the background with a serene smile, like someone contemplating the culmination of a divine plan.

During dinner, the girls displayed their distinct yet complementary personalities. Valentina, always formal, asked sensible questions about schedules and house rules. Isabel talked incessantly about all the experiments she planned to conduct with her new microscope. Lucía whispered about the perfect lighting in certain rooms for drawing.

And Sofia, though quiet as always, seemed more relaxed, observing everything attentively and even smiling occasionally. The social workers left after dessert, seemingly satisfied. “We will continue with the administrative process,” the older woman informed them. “In the meantime, we have authorized supervised stays for the girls.”

Sister Guadalupe will act as the official supervisor until the adoption is finalized. It was more than Alejandro had expected. Attorney Ramirez seemed equally surprised by the favorable decision. “You did an excellent job, Ricardo,” Alejandro remarked as the officials left. “It wasn’t me,” the attorney replied.

“It was the girls and you, of course. Your honesty about your condition, instead of hiding it, worked in your favor.” Sister Guadalupe would stay that night in one of the guest rooms to ease the girls’ transition. Doña Carmen showed them their rooms, accompanied by the nun, while Alejandro rested briefly in the living room.

Attorney Ramirez said goodbye, promising to return the next day with more documents. As soon as he was alone, Alejandro let the weariness show on his face. It had been a monumental effort to stay active for so many hours. “You should be in bed.” Alejandro jumped. He hadn’t heard Sofia come in. The girl was watching him from the doorway with that penetrating gaze that seemed to see beyond appearances.

“I’m resting a bit,” he replied, surprised to hear her voice for the first time. It was soft, but clear, without a trace of the trauma that had silenced her for a year. Sofia came forward and sat beside him on the sofa. Up close, Alejandro could appreciate how identical she was to her sisters and, at the same time, how different.

There was a depth in her eyes that suggested a wisdom beyond her years. “I saw my mother die,” the girl said. Without preamble. “I couldn’t do anything to save her.” Alejandro gasped, moved by the direct confession. “It wasn’t your responsibility to save her, Sofia,” he replied gently. “She was just a child.”

“I’m still a child,” she replied seriously. “But now I have my sisters, and we have you.” Before Alejandro could answer, the other three girls came running into the living room, bursting with excitement over their rooms. “It’s exactly as I dreamed it!” exclaimed Lucía, easel by the window and all. “My telescope is pointed straight at the stars,” added Isabel.

And the microscope has its own desk. My library has all the books I mentioned, Valentina remarked, more reserved, but equally impressed. Even the book on Roman law that I saw in the bookstore on the square stopped when they saw Sofia sitting next to Alejandro.

“Sofia,” Valentina asked, her eyes wide. “You were talking?” the little girl finished. “Yes.” The three sisters exchanged astonished glances. Isabel was the first to react, throwing her arms around her sister. “I knew you’d talk again. I knew it.” Alejandro watched the scene, his emotions threatening to overwhelm him.

Her chest felt tight, but it wasn’t just from the illness. It was a mixture of joy, hope, and a strange sense of peace she hadn’t experienced in decades. “Girls,” she intervened gently. “It’s time for you to rest. Tomorrow will be an important day. Officially your first day as a family.” The four of them nodded.

One by one, to Alejandro’s surprise, they approached and kissed him on the cheek before leaving. Sofia was the last, and before departing, she leaned in to whisper in his ear, “Don’t worry, we can save you, Daddy.” The word “Daddy,” spoken by that voice that had remained silent for so long, resonated in Alejandro’s heart like a bell.

When the girls left, he let the tears he’d held back all day flow freely. Doña Carmen found him like that minutes later. “Don Alejandro, the nurse is waiting for you with your nighttime medication.” “Sofía spoke to Carmen,” he said, his voice breaking. “She called me Dad.” The housekeeper smiled, tears welling in her own eyes. “I know.”

I heard her in the hallway. It’s a miracle, Don Alejandro. The first of many, I hope. As the nurse helped him get ready for bed, Alejandro thought about Sofia’s words. We can save you, Dad. There was so much conviction in her voice, such childlike certainty.

For the first time since the diagnosis, Alejandro allowed himself to imagine a future—not a long one, perhaps, but one in which he could see these girls grow a little more, become the extraordinary women they already showed promise of being. That night he slept without supplemental oxygen for the first time in weeks and didn’t dream of the darkness that awaited him, but of four small lights illuminating his path. The Fuentes mansion was transformed in a matter of days.

Children’s laughter echoed through once-silent hallways. Rooms that had remained closed for years now hosted art sessions, impromptu science experiments, read-alouds, and small classical music concerts. Alejandro observed this renaissance from his armchair on the terrace, where he spent most of his day.

Against all medical odds, his condition had stabilized. He wasn’t improving, but neither was he deteriorating at the alarming rate the doctors had anticipated. “It’s extraordinary,” Dr. Martinez commented during his weekly visit. “His lungs are still severely compromised, but there’s an unusual resilience in his body. It’s as if something is keeping him clinging to life.”

Alejandro smiled, gazing out the window at the garden, where the four girls had set up what they called their laboratory of hope. Isabel ran the operation with the enthusiasm of a little mad scientist, mixing herbs, preparing infusions, and consulting books on natural medicine that she had specifically requested from the library.

“Something is keeping me clinging to life, doctor,” he replied simply. The girls had established a strict routine they called Operation Rescue. Every morning, Valentina supervised Alejandro taking his medication, meticulously recording each dose in a notebook. Lucía had decorated the room with colorful drawings depicting luminous landscapes, majestic mountains, and hopeful sunrises.

Isabel prepared herbal infusions to complement the official medical treatment after consulting with a respected herbalist whom Sister Guadalupe knew. And Sofía, who now spoke regularly, though still the most reserved, read aloud to Alejandro for an hour each day—poetry, adventure novels, even scientific articles about cases of inexplicable remissions of terminal illnesses. “It’s science and faith combined,” Isabel explained with conviction.

The doctors do their part, we do ours, and God does the rest. The final adoption hearing was scheduled for the next day. Attorney Ramirez had worked tirelessly to expedite the process, facing and overcoming the legal objections raised by Ernesto.

To everyone’s surprise, Alejandro’s nephew had gradually lessened his opposition. His last visit to the mansion had coincided with one of the girls’ treatment sessions, and something in the little ones’ determination had visibly affected him. “I’ve never seen you like this, uncle,” Ernesto had remarked, watching Alejandro interact with the quadruplets. “You seem happy.”

“I am.” That had been his simple reply. The night before the hearing, Doña Carmen organized a small pre-celebration. The chef prepared each member of the new family’s favorite dishes: chiles en nogada for Alejandro, pasta for Valentina, fish tacos for Lucía, enchiladas for Isabel, and rice pudding for Sofía, who had developed an unexpected passion for traditional Mexican desserts.

Sister Guadalupe, who had visited the mansion daily during that transition period, observed the scene with satisfaction. The girls had flourished in their new surroundings. Even Sofia, so traumatized before, now chatted animatedly, though she still preferred observing to speaking. “It’s a double miracle,” the nun remarked to Doña Carmen as dessert was served.

The girls have found a father, and Don Alejandro has found a reason to fight. The evening passed with music, stories, and plans for the future. The girls talked about trips they would take, schools they would attend, and professions they would choose.

Alejandro listened, adding occasional suggestions, marveling at the natural way they had formed a family. “Tomorrow it will be official,” Valentina commented with her usual seriousness. “We’ll be sources, the sister sources. We’re already sources in what matters,” Isabel corrected, impulsively hugging Alejandro. “The papers will only confirm it.”

When the girls finally went to bed, Alejandro stayed in the living room contemplating how his life had changed in such a short time. Just a month ago he had received a terminal diagnosis, resigned to dying alone. Now, each day was an unexpected gift, full of purpose and affection. His meditation was interrupted by a sharp pain in his chest, unlike any he had felt before.

More intense, more definitive. He tried to call the nurse, but his voice failed him. The oxygen seemed to be fleeing his lungs. Not now, he thought desperately. Not the night before the adoption. He lost consciousness, collapsing into the armchair. He awoke confused in a sterile, white room. It wasn’t his bedroom in the mansion.

The rhythmic hum of machines surrounded him. He was in the hospital. He’s back with us. Dr. Martinez’s voice sounded surprised. It’s astonishing. Don Alejandro suffered a severe cardiac arrest. His heart stopped for almost four minutes. Alejandro tried to speak, but a tube in his throat prevented him.

His eyes frantically scanned the room, searching for a clock, any indication of the time or day. “It’s Friday morning,” the doctor informed him, interpreting his anxiety. “The girls are here in the waiting room with their housekeeper. The adoption hearing was scheduled for 10:00, but given the circumstances, Alejandro made a superhuman effort to move his hand, searching for something to write with. The doctor handed him a notepad and a pen.”

“Video call,” he typed in shaky handwriting. “Judge.” Dr. Martinez frowned. Don Alejandro is in critical condition; he cannot participate in a court hearing now. Alejandro typed again with fierce determination, “Attorney Ramirez, now.” The doctor sighed, acknowledging the futility of arguing.

“I’ll call him,” he agreed, “but I can’t let him get upset. His heart is extremely weak.” While he waited, Alejandro struggled to stay conscious. Every breath was a battle despite the support of the machines, but he had to hold on. He had to complete the adoption; he couldn’t leave the girls in legal limbo.

Attorney Ramirez arrived in record time, pale with worry. “Don Alejandro, for God’s sake!” he exclaimed upon seeing his client and friend’s condition. “He shouldn’t be thinking about legal proceedings right now.” Alejandro pointed insistently at the notepad. “Video call with the judge.” The lawyer then exchanged a glance with the doctor, who nodded resignedly.

“I’ll try to arrange it,” the lawyer conceded. “Judge Hernandez is presiding over the hearing. He might agree to a remote connection.” While the lawyer made calls from the hallway, Alejandro wrote another note. “Girls, do you want to see them?” Dr. Martinez asked. Alejandro nodded weakly. “Just a moment,” the doctor cautioned. “You can’t upset him.”

When the four little girls entered the room, their faces reflected a mixture of fear and determination. Valentina, as always, took the lead. “Daddy,” she said firmly, “we’ve brought everything. Isabel prepared the special infusion. Lucía has new drawings.” Sofía looked at her younger sister, who took a step forward. Sofía approached the bed and, to everyone’s surprise, began to sing softly.

It was a lullaby, the same one their mother sang to them before bed. Her clear, pure voice filled the sterile room with unexpected warmth. Attorney Ramírez returned at that moment, visibly moved by the scene. “Judge Hernández has agreed,” he announced. “The hearing will be via video call in 15 minutes.” The girls nodded as if they had been expecting this news. “We’ll be ready,” Valentina declared.

Fifteen minutes later, a tablet displayed Judge Hernández’s stern face. The hospital room had been transformed into a makeshift courtroom. The four girls, impeccably dressed thanks to Doña Carmen, lined up beside Alejandro’s bed. Attorney Ramírez held the necessary documents.

The social workers, connecting from another location, completed the picture. Given the extraordinary circumstances, the judge began, this adoption hearing will proceed in an unconventional manner. Mr. Alejandro Fuentes, I understand you are unable to speak due to the breathing tube, but I need to confirm that it remains your wish to adopt the minor children Valentina, Lucía, Isabel, and Sofía Sánchez as your legitimate daughters.

Alejandro nodded firmly, squeezing Sofia’s hand, who stood closest to him. “The girls have previously expressed their desire to be adopted,” the judge continued. “They maintain that position. Yes, Your Honor,” the four replied in unison. “I must point out,” one of the social workers interjected, “that Mr. Alejandro’s medical condition presents a significant obstacle.”

The purpose of adoption is to provide long-term stability. With all due respect, Valentina surprisingly interrupted with impressive maturity. My sister Sofia didn’t speak for a year after losing our mother. She started talking again the day she met Don Alejandro. That night she told us privately, “He is our father.”

“Sofia has always had a special intuition.” The judge seemed impressed by the girl’s eloquence. “Furthermore,” Valentina continued, “Don Alejandro has established a trust and a guardianship council that will guarantee our well-being, even if he is not physically present. Your Honor,” added Attorney Ramirez, “all legal arrangements have been established with extreme caution.”

The girls will have financial, educational, and emotional security under any circumstances. Judge Hernández looked at Alejandro for a long time on the screen, then at each of the girls, and finally at the professionals present. In my 30 years of judicial career, he concluded, “I have learned to recognize when a family, regardless of how it is formed, is genuine.” He paused.

Judge Alejandro Fuentes, by the authority vested in me by the State, hereby approves the adoption of Valentina, Lucía, Isabel, and Sofía Sánchez, who from this moment forward will be legally recognized as Valentina, Lucía, Isabel, and Sofía Fuentes. The girls stifled a cry of joy, aware of the hospital setting. The official documents will be sent to Mr. Ramírez, the judge concluded.

This hearing is now closed. As soon as the connection ended, the four sisters surrounded Alejandro’s bed, hugging him carefully so as not to disconnect any cables. “We did it, Dad!” exclaimed Isabel. “Now we’re officially your daughters and you’re officially our father,” added Lucía, tears of joy streaming down her face.

Alejandro felt such intense emotion that he feared his frail heart wouldn’t be able to contain it. He laboriously wrote on his blog, “I love you, my daughters.” “We love you too, Dad,” Valentina replied, speaking for them all. Dr. Martinez then approached. “He needs to rest now,” he said gently. “It’s been a very intense morning.”

The girls nodded in understanding. One by one, they kissed Alejandro’s forehead before leaving. Sofia was the last, as always. She leaned down and whispered in his ear, “Don’t give up. We need you, Dad.” That night, while Alejandro slept with the help of sedatives, the four sisters gathered in the hospital chapel. They hadn’t been particularly religious since their mother’s death, but now they felt the need for a higher power. “Our mother taught us that true love can work miracles,” Valentina recalled. “And

We love Dad. Science also speaks of inexplicable cases of recovery, Isabel added. They’re called spontaneous remissions. My drawings show the five of us together in the future, Lucía declared. And my drawings always come true.

Sofia, whose voice had fully recovered, concluded with serene conviction, “We promised. We said we could save him, and we will.” The next morning, Dr. Martinez was making his usual rounds when he noticed something unusual on Alejandro’s heart monitor. The patterns had changed. He ordered additional tests immediately.

Hours later, he gathered the girls and Mr. Ramírez in a small conference room at the hospital. “I have no scientific explanation for this,” he began, visibly puzzled. “The new tests show a slight, but undeniable improvement in Mr. Alejandro’s lung function. The fibrosis seems to have stabilized.” “What does that mean?” asked Valentina, ever pragmatic.

It means that although her condition remains serious, it no longer seems to be progressing at the expected rate. It’s as if something has stopped the disease’s advance. Isabel smiled triumphantly. She knew it. The herbal infusions are working. “We can’t attribute it to home remedies,” the doctor cautioned. “But I can’t explain it with conventional medicine either.”

In theory, this disease only progresses; it never stops. Will she live longer? Sofia’s direct question surprised everyone. Dr. Martinez looked at her seriously. It’s impossible to make definitive predictions, but if this stabilization continues, she could indeed have significantly more time than we originally estimated.

Ten years later, the auditorium at the Magdalena Sánchez community center was packed. Representatives from the nine homes for orphaned children that the Fuentes Foundation had established throughout Mexico had gathered to celebrate the inauguration of the tenth center, the largest and most ambitious to date.

In the front row, Alejandro Fuentes watched with pride as his four daughters, now beautiful 21-year-olds, took to the stage. Although time had taken its toll on him, transforming him into a frail-looking man who occasionally required supplemental oxygen, his eyes reflected a vitality that belied his physical condition. The medical community had never been able to explain how he had survived for 10 years with a diagnosis that gave him only weeks to live.

The doctors had documented the case as an unexplained partial remission, a phenomenon so rare that some considered it virtually impossible. Valentina, now a law student at UNAM, was the first to speak. With the same formality that had characterized her since childhood, but now refined by education and experience, she explained the purpose of the source centers.

Not mere orphanages, but true homes where children received personalized attention, quality education, and above all, the love and stability every child deserved. Lucía, who had developed her artistic talent into a promising painter, presented the art therapy program that would be implemented in all the centers, designed especially for children who had suffered trauma.

Isabel, a third-year medical student, detailed the comprehensive health services that would be offered, combining the best of conventional medicine with carefully selected and scientifically supported complementary therapies. Finally, Sofía approached the microphone. Of the four, she had changed the most. The quiet, traumatized girl had become a serene and eloquent young woman, a psychology student specializing in childhood trauma.

Ten years ago, he began with a clear voice that filled the auditorium. Four orphaned girls made a seemingly impossible promise. They told a dying man, “We can save you, Dad.” No one believed it was possible. Not the doctors, not the authorities, not even he himself. He paused, looking directly at Alejandro, who returned his smile with emotion.

But there’s one truth we’ve learned on our extraordinary journey. A family isn’t defined by shared blood, but by who calls you back when you’re about to give up. Our father saved us by giving us a home when we needed it most, and we saved him, not with magic remedies or inexplicable miracles, but with the most powerful force there is: unconditional love.

The auditorium erupted in applause. In the back rows, Ernesto Fuentes, who after years of resistance had finally found his purpose as the foundation’s administrative director, applauded with genuine pride for his adopted cousins. Beside him, Sister Guadalupe, now retired but always present for important moments, discreetly wiped away a tear.

When the four sisters stepped off the stage to embrace their father, photographers captured the moment for posterity. Five people who had defied all odds to form a family, proving that some miracles do happen when true love refuses to accept the impossible. As Alejandro hugged his daughters, he remembered that stormy night that had changed his life.

He had opened the door intending to offer temporary shelter to four soaked girls, never imagining that they would offer him the most valuable refuge of all. A reason to live, to fight, to heal. “We saved you, Daddy,” Sofia whispered as if she could read his thoughts, just as we promised.

And Alejandro, looking at his four personal miracles, knew it was true. Medicine couldn’t explain it, logic couldn’t comprehend it, but his heart knew it with certainty. They had saved him not only from physical death, but from the loneliness that had been his true affliction for so many years. He didn’t gently correct himself. We saved each other.