Don Ernesto had reached the age of 70. After suffering a mild stroke that left him with limited strength in his arms and legs, his daughter, Carmen, made the decision to hire a caregiver for him.
The woman she chose was María, a quiet, humble, and respectful 25-year-old from a remote village.
For six months, María devoted herself to caring for Don Ernesto.
Each morning, she helped him rise from bed, prepared his breakfast, and gave him his medication.
In the afternoons, she gently walked him through the garden, supporting his every step.
At night, she would massage his legs while softly telling him stories from her hometown.
Over time, Don Ernesto began to regain his strength, and his smile returned. The neighbors commended Carmen for making the right choice.
But one summer morning, Carmen returned from the market. She placed her groceries in the kitchen and found María standing at the door, her face pale, hands trembling as she held a pregnancy test.
Upon seeing her, María burst into tears. Carmen grabbed the test from her, and when she saw the two red lines, her legs felt like they might give out. Anger took over her:
“Maria! You’re only 25! You’ve been here for six months, and you’re already pregnant? Who is the father?”
Maria cried silently, unable to answer.
A disturbing thought crossed Carmen’s mind: Could it be… her own father?
She recalled how Don Ernesto had mentioned María often lately. In horror, she whispered:
“Don’t tell me… it’s my father? No, that’s impossible! He’s 70 years old…”
Maria shook her head desperately, sobbing:
“No, madam, it’s not him! Please, don’t think that…”
“Then who? If you don’t tell me, I’ll send you back to your village right now!”
Maria collapsed to her knees, her face in her hands.
“I… I didn’t want to say it… I was afraid… But if you insist… I’ll tell the truth.”
Carmen held her breath. María wiped away her tears and, with a shaking voice, confessed:
“The father… is your husband.”
The words struck Carmen like a bolt of lightning. She collapsed into a chair. María continued between sobs:
“When you went away for that three-day trip, your husband came back. He’d been drinking… he asked me to clean his room. I… couldn’t resist.”
Carmen felt the ground beneath her shake. Her husband, Ricardo, had been struggling with his business for the past two years. He had become distant, moody, and a heavy drinker.
But she never imagined he could do something so vile.
Anger and humiliation mixed within her.
She looked at María, and although she was furious, a wave of pity also washed over her.
“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
“I was scared he’d fire me, and I didn’t want to hurt Don Ernesto… I planned to leave at the end of the month and raise the child on my own.”
At that moment, Don Ernesto emerged from his room, leaning on his cane, alarmed by the commotion.
“What’s going on, Carmen?”
Carmen broke down in tears. María fell to her knees, sobbing uncontrollably:
“Forgive me, sir… forgive me…”
Don Ernesto listened to her, his eyes brimming with tears. He placed a hand on María’s shoulder and spoke in a tender voice:
“That child… even if it doesn’t have a father, stay here. I’ll raise him as if he were my own.”
Maria wept harder. Carmen cried too, knowing her marriage was over but unwilling to cast out the girl. The baby wasn’t to blame—it needed a home, and its grandfather, despite his age, was willing to offer it his love.
Shortly after, Carmen filed for divorce from Ricardo. María stayed behind to care for Don Ernesto, eagerly awaiting the birth of the child.
He told his daughter:
“It doesn’t matter whose fault it is. The child is innocent. Let him grow up in love.”
The weeks went by. Every night, María continued massaging Don Ernesto’s legs, her own belly now growing round with life. Sometimes, he would place his hand on her stomach and whisper:
“Don’t worry, little one. I’ll be here to take care of you and your mother.”
As summer faded and autumn arrived, the song of the cicadas disappeared, but the kindness of a 70-year-old man remained, saving both a young woman and her unborn child.
