Before anyone could react, they threw themselves into the arms of a frail, gray-haired woman sitting on the sidewalk. Her clothes were torn, a worn blanket wrapped tightly around her shoulders.
Yet as she embraced them, something about her movements felt… familiar.
As if she had been waiting.
A Name That Shouldn’t Exist
“Step away from her!” Matteo ordered, his voice cutting through the noise of the plaza.
People turned to stare.
But the girls didn’t move.
“Papá,” Lucia said gently, her face lifted toward him with eerie precision, “why didn’t you ever tell us about Grandma Lucinda?”
Matteo froze.
That name… meant nothing to him.
“I don’t know this woman,” he said, though his voice betrayed him. “Girls, come here. Now.”
Beatriz reached up, her small fingers tracing the woman’s face.
“She has Mommy’s eyes,” she whispered. “And she smells like the perfume you hide in the closet.”
Matteo’s breath caught.
The perfume.
No one knew about that—not even the staff.
“My sweet girls…” the woman murmured, tears streaming down her weathered cheeks. “Your hair… just like my Isadora’s. And those same beautiful eyes.”
The world tilted.
“Who are you?” Matteo demanded, his voice shaking.
But before she could answer, Ines suddenly pointed toward the sky.
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