He thought his employee was going to a warm house, but he found her sleeping on a bench in the rain. When he saw the three pale faces she was hiding under her coat, his life of luxury crumbled in an instant.

One of the babies was crying, a weak, hoarse sound that barely competed with the noise of the rain. Another instinctively sought warmth, burying his little face in Livia’s neck. The third was eerily still.

On the floor, next to her feet shod in worn-out sneakers, was a torn plastic bag. Inside were two empty baby bottles, some crumpled diapers, and a piece of stale bread that seemed to have been saved for an emergency that had now arrived.

Don Geraldo squeezed his son’s arm with surprising strength.

—Caio… —the old man’s voice broke—. Did you know this?

Caio couldn’t answer. He felt a growing nausea, a mixture of shame and horror. How could he not know? She worked in his house. He saw her face every day. And yet, he knew nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Livia looked up. Her eyes were red and swollen, surrounded by deep dark circles that told stories of sleepless nights. When she recognized Caio, terror flashed across her face. Not the relief of being found, but pure panic. She tried to straighten her uniform, tried to hide her misery, as if her poverty were an affront to her boss.