"Now tell me what happened," the old man asked little Juan.
Juan hesitated for a moment, then decided to speak truthfully. He confessed how he had tried to steal some food because his sister hadn't eaten in three days—how the store owner almost beat him. As he spoke, Grandpa Miguel's face grew darker with every word. He reached for a stick, meaning to scold the boy, but his hand trembled from weakness.
"Why didn't you tell me you had no food?" he said, his voice cracking. "Even if I don't have much, I could've asked the neighbors. Worst case, I go hungry for a couple of days. I'm not that weak."
Juan's gaze flickered, shame and confusion mixing in his eyes. He didn't know how to answer, but the old man understood and fell silent. The air in the room grew heavy with regret—for those who weren't here anymore.
Francisco, seeing the sad scene, placed a hand on Juan's shoulder. "Stay by the door," he told him gently. "Listen, in case we need anything."
Grandpa Miguel sighed, his expression hollow. "I've hurt these children too much."
Francisco shook his head. "I heard their story. I don't think it's your fault. Their mother made her own choice—she went to the mountains for them as much as for you."
The old man's eyes dimmed. "It's not just that," he said quietly. "She told me she would go. I tried to stop her, but the girl was stubborn. In the end, I taught her what I knew so she wouldn't go unprepared. I thought it would help her survive." His voice broke. "If I'd been harsher—if I'd refused—maybe she would've doubted herself. Maybe she'd still be alive, and these children would still have their mother."
Francisco frowned but said nothing. He understood the guilt, though he didn't agree. Even without the old man's help, she would have gone—at least with that knowledge, she'd stood a better chance.
"The worst part," the old man continued, "is that these children don't trust me anymore. I had to hear from strangers that little María was dying." He gave a bitter laugh, then looked at Francisco with sharp eyes. "Tell me something—why are you helping this family? You and your servants look like people of means. You don't have any reason to be here."
Francisco met his gaze calmly. "Don't worry, old man. I have no ill intentions. It's hard to explain, but… I want to build a school—for orphaned children."
The old man's expression hardened, his gaze cutting through Francisco. "A school? I've heard tales of noble families partnering with the Church—only to sell the poor children into slavery."
Francisco was taken aback. So, even the common folk whispered of the Church's sins. "Honestly," he said, "my family makes enough money already. Selling children would be disgusting—and not even profitable. What I want is to nurture potential."
"Potential?" the old man repeated. "What do you mean?"
Francisco leaned back, lost in thought. "My industries depend on knowledge—real knowledge. But most people here only learn half-baked ideas, useless to me. The few who are truly educated are either rich or clergy, and I can't fully trust either. But if I teach orphans myself—raise them with proper education, guide them as they grow, and give them work when they're ready…" He didn't finish, but his meaning was clear.
The old man understood, though he frowned. "So you want to shape them into workers. Hmph. I don't like it—but at least you're honest." After a pause, he added, "Still, why save little María? She's sick, might die any moment. Even if you save her, her brothers may not thank you. Why go through all that trouble?"
Francisco's gaze softened. He looked toward the door, where Catalina was still inside with the child. "Because there's someone I love who can't stand seeing others suffer. And I love her too much not to help."
The old man raised his eyebrows, then sighed. "Then I suppose I should be grateful to her."
Francisco didn't reply. A few minutes later, the doctor stepped out with Catalina."This girl's concoctions helped a lot," the doctor said. "The child's resting now. The rest depends on her strength. She'll need constant care—someone to keep her clean and give these herbs every morning and night."
Grandpa Miguel nodded. "Maybe Miss Gabriela can help with that."
Francisco thanked the doctor and handed him a small leather pouch. "This is for today's visit, and a little extra. If anything changes, or if you need more supplies, send word to my estate—we'll cover the cost."
The doctor asked with a knowing look, "Gómez… the family that runs the cement works, right?"
Francisco arched an eyebrow, half amused. It made sense—the doctors in Antioquia always knew who had wealth.
Then the doctor turned to Catalina. "Miss, remember my offer. If you ever wish to be my apprentice, I'd be glad to take you."
Catalina smiled faintly and glanced at Francisco. "I appreciate it, doctor. But I already swore to help someone with all my strength."
The doctor chuckled, looking between them. "Boy, you're lucky. She's kind and intelligent. Don't let her talent go to waste."
Francisco nodded. "I won't. I know her worth better than anyone."
"I hope so," the doctor muttered before taking his leave.
Behind them, Isabella appeared, quiet and thoughtful. The light from the doorway caught her face—she looked older somehow, more grounded after what she had witnessed.
When the doctor left, Francisco turned to the family. Juan, little Pablo, and Grandpa Miguel were still standing in silence.
"I'm going to build a school here in Medellín," Francisco said. "A place to learn all kinds of knowledge. If you want to repay me, then study hard. We'll also teach girls—so your sister can attend once she's well."
The children looked at Grandfather Miguel, who gave a small nod. They nodded back in silence.
"Good," Francisco said. "If you need anything, ask the doctor to send word. He knows where to find us."
They said their goodbyes and began walking back toward Medellín. The evening air was cool, carrying the smell of wet stone and roasted maize from the streets.
Catalina walked beside him, her voice curious. "Are you really going to open a school?"
Francisco glanced over his shoulder at the house behind them. "Yes. Remind me to send a letter to the sage Mutis—ask if he can send some of his apprentices to teach. Offer them good pay. And find a few literates here in Medellín for basic lessons. We'll need every teacher we can get."
Catalina smiled and nodded. Then she noticed Isabella, still lost in thought. "What are you thinking about, little one?"
Francisco looked at her too, curious.
Isabella finally said, "I think… I want to be a doctor, like Sister Catalina."
Catalina smiled warmly. "Then you'll have to study seriously. Being a doctor requires a lot of knowledge."
Isabella nodded.
Francisco smiled too, watching the two of them beneath the fading orange light of sunset. Ahead, the plaza shimmered with lamplight and laughter—the town alive once more.He still had to meet the mayor… and later, enjoy the celebration hosted by their new aguardiente factory.