Semua Bab A New Babysitter and the Billionaire Widower: Bab 91 - Bab 100

The day was almost over when I closed my computer in the living room and sat on the floor to enjoy the rest of the afternoon with Giulia. Our days have been divided between working directly from home and hoping the company doesn't catch fire — I can count on my fingers the times I've actually gone there, taking all the necessary precautions, of course.The sound of Giulia's laughter filled the apartment like music. We were on the living room floor, surrounded by colored pencils, scattered papers, and two stuffed unicorns that had been promoted to masters of modern art. Giulia laughed as she drew an exaggerated version of me — with a mustache, a belly, and a king's crown on my head."That's how I see you, Daddy!" she said, proudly. "The king of our house!"I smiled, enchanted by the lightness of it all. There was a time when I didn't know if I would ever hear my daughter's laugh again. A time when the house seemed suspended in time, submerged in silen

The house was silent, a peace I was still getting used to after so much tension. I was sitting on the living room sofa, looking at the room's soft decor. Time seemed to pass more slowly as I prepared for this night. The first night Miguel and I would go out alone since Giulia left the hospital. It was a simple dinner out, but for me, it was so much more than that. It was a small symbol of normalcy, something that had felt so distant when everything began, but which now, little by little, was coming true.Giulia was upstairs, playing with Maria. They had become an inseparable duo, and the confidence I felt knowing Giulia was in good hands gave me the freedom to finally go out a bit and breathe. The idea of going out without her felt strange, but at the same time, it was as if the world was opening up for us again. And Miguel was by my side, the man I knew I loved, who now also seemed ready to take the next step.I stood up, adjusting my dress. It was simple, elegant, ye

The sky was clear that morning. One of those days when the sun is gentle, the wind blows slowly, and even the silence feels respectful. I knew it would be a different day. A necessary one.Miguel held my hand firmly as we walked slowly along the narrow paths of the cemetery. On the other side, Giulia hopped from stone to stone, never letting go of her father's fingers. She wore a little white dress she had chosen herself — "because white is the color of clouds and peace, Mommy Isa," she said.I smiled. She calls me that now. Every now and then, still a little carefully, but she calls me that. And every time she does, it's as if a new foundation forms inside me. A bond that isn't forced, only built. Day after day.We reached the grave. It was simple, beautiful, and serene. Helena's name engraved in golden letters on the white stone. A small frame with a photo beside it. She was beautiful. And serene. I had seen photos before, but there, before her, I felt something different. A deep re

When I decided to propose to Isa, I knew that gesture was more than love — it was recognition, it was acceptance, it was the embrace of everything she represented in our lives. What I didn't expect was how much it would stir within me, day after day, since she said yes.It wasn't like the first time. When I married Helena, we were two young, passionate people, full of dreams and plans under construction. The celebration was beautiful, grand, but carried the typical urgency of youth. With Isa… everything seemed different. Slower. More conscious. Deeper. And at the same time, infinitely lighter.We were sitting together in the garden, with papers scattered across the small wooden table — photos of places, budgets, simple sketches Isa had drawn on a napkin. The sun filtered through the leaves of the trees, and Giulia, her hair tied in a messy ponytail, ran across the lawn with Maria behind her, both laughing as they blew soap bubbles. It was hard to bel

7 years later...I've always heard that time flies. But the truth is, you only really notice it when you look back and realize everything you've already lived. Today I'm sitting on the floor of my room, an open suitcase in front of me, my head full of memories, and my heart tight in a way that's hard to explain.In a few hours, I'll board my exchange program — a dream that was born a little shyly back then, between English classes and movies with subtitles, and has now become reality. London awaits me. But before I leave, I needed to put some things in place inside myself.It's been twelve years since the transplant. Twelve years since my life started over.I don't remember everything clearly, but I know there was pain. Fear. Days when my body hurt and my soul did too. I know my parents cried in secret. That Isa didn't sleep well. That my father tried to be strong for everyone, even when he himself seemed to be falling apart inside.But I als