A 10-year-old boy is abandoned by his parents during a move, locked inside their empty old house, without food or water. Days later, a mysterious new owner arrives home and finds the boy in a shocking state. Something incredible happens. “No, please, don’t leave without me. Hey, come back. Dad, Mom, Clara, I’m here. You left me behind. Please come back. Don’t leave me alone,” cried little Nico, barely 10 years old, as he banged hard on the thick glass of the living room window.
His thin, trembling arms insisted on banging on the glass, even though he knew no one would hear him from there. His eyes, filled with tears, couldn’t take their eyes off the car as it moved further and further away. It was his family’s car, loaded with boxes and suitcases strapped to the roof—the moving company. They were leaving, leaving without him. Nico stood there, motionless as a statue, caught between hope and shock. He was sure that at some point the car would stop, that his parents would notice, that they would run back to get him, that they would laugh at the misunderstanding and hug him tightly.
After all, who would leave a child like that behind? No one. It didn’t make sense. But the car didn’t stop. In fact, it just kept going faster and faster, slowly disappearing down the dirt road. The boy stared until the vehicle became a distant dot and then ceased to exist. That silence after watching the car disappear was deafening. When he realized no one was coming back, panic began to rise inside him.
He took a step back. Then another, and suddenly he spun around and started running through the house, eyes wide open and heart pounding. That house, which had once been so alive, was now empty, completely empty. Nico ran to the living room door and turned the handle hard. With sweaty hands, he tried again, harder this time, but it was no use. Then he turned toward the kitchen, also locked. Desperation drove him to every corner of the house, looking for a way out, trying to escape, but every door was locked.
All the windows were firmly closed. It was as if he’d been locked in. On purpose. This can’t be happening. They—they couldn’t have forgotten about me, Nico gasped, standing in the middle of the empty living room. Not even the old couch where he used to sleep was still there. Just bare walls, a dust-covered floor, and the echo of his own voice. Not knowing what to do, he ran back to the living room window, the same one through which he’d watched his family leave.
The street outside was now empty. Not a car, not a sound, no sign that anyone was near. Only the wind rustling the dry leaves in the garden. Little Nico pressed his face against the glass, trying to see something on the horizon. He remained there for several minutes, motionless, convinced that at any moment the car would reappear, that it was all just a mistake. No, they have to come back. They will come back. They wouldn’t leave me here alone, he whispered, almost like a prayer.
But time passed. A whole hour dragged by slowly. Nothing, not the sound of an engine, no footsteps at the entrance, no creaking of the gate, nothing from his mother, nothing from his father, no sign of his sister. Clara, the silence was unbearable. Exhausted, the boy sank to the ground, leaning his back against the wall. His eyes still looked out at the street, but now with a different gleam, a gleam of doubt. A painful confusion was beginning to take hold of him.
I was trying to make sense of it, to explain it. “Maybe, maybe they think I’m asleep in the back seat. They didn’t notice I wasn’t getting in the car,” he whispered, trying to convince himself. Surely Clara was on her cell phone, playing one of her usual silly games, and hadn’t noticed I was gone. But as the minutes ticked by, that hope was also beginning to fade. The theory of innocent carelessness was starting to seem absurd. If it had really been a mistake, they would have returned by now.
Could it be that everything didn’t fit in the car and they went to drop off their things first? Maybe they told me they were coming back and I didn’t listen, she murmured, trying to find some logical thread to cling to. Mom always says I have to pay more attention. But the hours kept passing. The sky, which had once been blue and clear, was now turning orange and gold. The sunset tinged the empty walls of the house with a warm light. And soon, darkness began to settle in.
The boy woke up startled when he heard a noise. Mom called out with hope, but then she felt it. It was only the growling of his stomach. He hadn’t eaten anything since he woke up. He ran to the kitchen, but what he found there was even more desperate. The kitchen, like the rest of the house, was completely empty. There was no refrigerator, no stove, not even a bottle of water or a forgotten pack of crackers. There was only an old cupboard with its door fallen open.
Covered in dust and smelling of damp. Nico opened all the closet doors, checked every nook and cranny, but found nothing. The only thing left was the sound of his tummy rumbling and the growing thirst in his throat. He ran to the sink, turned on the water, and nothing, not a drop, not even a trickle. The water was gone too. His dry mouth began to bother him. His head was spinning.
Fear began to rise in his chest like a wave. He tried again to open doors, to force open windows. He even tried to slam his shoulder against the back door, but it couldn’t open. He was trapped, completely trapped. Panic threatened to explode, but Nico held back his tears for a few seconds until he couldn’t hold them back. His eyes filled with tears, and he slowly slid down the wall until he was sitting on the icy living room floor. Crying silently, he hugged his own knees.
The house was dark, cold, and silent. The place where he had grown up, where he used to watch his sister comb her dolls’ hair, where he listened to his mother humming in the kitchen and his father complaining about soccer, was now nothing more than an empty box. Why? he whispered through tears. Why did they leave me here? What did I do? What did I do to be abandoned? Hopeless, little Nico squeezed his eyes shut, trying to escape the cruel reality of that empty house, the hunger, the thirst, the abandonment.
And in that instant, something happened. His mind transported him to another time, to another moment. When he opened his eyes again, he was no longer in the darkness; he was back in that house, but in a completely different way. The house was full of life. Furniture everywhere, sounds and noises bounced off the walls. The aroma of cooking floated in the air. The sound of the television drifted from the living room. Voices, goal! shouted Nico’s father, Pedro, euphoric as he watched a soccer game.
The shout was accompanied by applause, laughter, and curses at the opposing team. He was sitting there on the couch, as always, celebrating his favorite team’s goals. Across the house, Clara, his 13-year-old sister, was listening to loud music and dancing in her room. Her footsteps tapped the floor with rhythm. She twirled in front of the mirror, tossed her hair, and hummed the tune with a smile. In the kitchen, Soraya, his mother, was stirring the pots while humming some random song, off-key but lively.
It was rare to hear her sing, but at that moment she seemed unconcerned, absorbed in preparing the meal. Nico began walking through the house, observing every detail. Every piece of furniture was in its usual place. The curtain moved gently. Dust accumulated in the corners. The paintings were still crooked as always. Taking slow steps, he reached Clara’s bedroom door. It was ajar. He pushed it gently, and when he opened it a little further, he saw his sister spinning in the middle of the room to the rhythm of the music coming from her cell phone.
She was distracted, happy, laughing to herself. Her eyes then wandered toward the desk. On top of it lay a case of colored pencils neatly arranged next to some sheets of drawing paper. Nico smiled for a moment. That moment reminded him how much he loved to draw. Perhaps for a minute he could relive that. In a low voice, almost a whisper, Clara asked, “Can I grab a pencil and a piece of paper? I want to do a quick drawing.” The girl didn’t respond. She continued dancing, moving her shoulders, her eyes closed.
Nico tried again. “Just a pencil. I swear I won’t ruin it.” But nothing. He asked a third time, a little louder, and again there was no response. He didn’t know if his sister wasn’t hearing him or was just pretending not to. Given the silence, he thought it would be fine to just take a pencil and a piece of paper. Carefully, he reached out and touched the pencil case. But as soon as his fingers touched the pencil, Clara stopped the music abruptly.
She stopped dancing abruptly, turning her body in her brother’s direction with an expression filled with fury. “What do you think you’re doing, you useless brat?” she yelled, her eyes blazing. The boy froze. He stammered. He tried to justify himself. “I just wanted to draw a little. I was about to give it back. How many times have I told you you can’t come in here?” Clara bellowed. “Get out. Get out of here. Don’t touch my things, you pain in the ass. I’ve told you a thousand times.” She brutally snatched the pencil and paper out of his hands, almost knocking him backward.
Nico’s eyes filled with tears, but he still tried to back away and leave without causing any more trouble. Before he could take a step, quick footsteps echoed down the hallway. The door burst open, and Soraya appeared, her face irritated. “What’s going on here?” she asked sharply. Clara was quick to respond. “What’s happening is that this useless guy is bothering me and ruining my things,” she said angrily. Nico turned around, distressed. “I just wanted to draw, Mom.”
Just a little. He wasn’t going to damage anything. But Sorayan didn’t let him finish. “Shut up, Nicolás!” he shouted, approaching quickly. “This is what happens when you’re let loose in this house. The moment one of us turns around, you’re already up to no good.” He grabbed him tightly by the arms and dragged him down the hall and into the kitchen. Nico didn’t resist; he was used to it. His feet dragged on the floor as his mother pushed him to the sink. “Now wash all these dishes,” he ordered, pointing to the pile of dirty crockery and pots.
And when you’re done, I want this floor sparkling clean. Understand? The boy’s eyes widened at the state of the kitchen. It was a total mess. The stove was greasy, the floor was covered in food scraps, and the sink was overflowing with dirty dishes. Without saying a word, he grabbed the sponge and started scrubbing. It was part of his routine. While he was washing, Soraya kept giving orders. “Then clean the fridge, it’s a mess. Did you hear me right? And later mow the lawn, which already looks like a jungle.”
Nico just nodded, without the strength to answer, but after a few minutes, he couldn’t contain the question echoing in his head any longer. Mom, why doesn’t Clara ever help? Why does everything always fall to me? Soraya paused for a moment. Her face hardened. She looked at the boy coldly. Because Clara can’t waste time on this. She needs to study, to rest. She’s going to be a doctor one day, she’ll have a brilliant career, and you have to help, contribute in some way.
The boy lowered his gaze. The answer hurt, but he still didn’t remain silent. But I want to be a doctor too. I can be one. His mother burst into a mocking laugh. You, doctor, don’t even study, you can’t even write your name. But you never took me to school, the boy murmured. If you took me, I’d show you I’m a good student. I’d really succeed. She just shook her head. I tried when you were very little, but you didn’t pay attention at all.
You had a deficit. School wasn’t for you then, and I’m sure it isn’t for you now. Nico gulped. “I don’t remember that,” the boy said almost in a whisper. Soraya came closer, crossing her arms. “Of course you don’t remember. You were very little, and that only proves what I’m telling you. You’ll never fit in at school. You’ll never learn anything,” she stated as if passing final judgment. She bent down a little to look her son in the eyes.
“Life is like that, Nicolás. Some people are born to hold important positions, to be doctors, lawyers, and others are born to work hard. You were born for that, and there’s nothing wrong with that. Understood? You should be grateful for at least having a family, and more than that, for contributing in some way to the future of your sister, who will be a doctor.” Soraya then stood up. She wiped her hands on the dishcloth she had slung over her shoulder and pointed to the full sink. “Now finish washing these dishes.”
I want to serve lunch with this kitchen clean. The little boy nodded. “Yes, ma’am,” he replied automatically, without emotion. Inside, a silent sadness grew, but at the same time, a part of him believed it. He believed his mother was right. I’m really stupid, he thought silently. She’s only telling the truth. With his eyes lowered and his fingers wrinkled from washing, the boy went back to work, cleaning plate by plate, pot by pot. The soap slid down the sink, like the pride of a child who didn’t know how much he was worth.
Suddenly, a shout echoed from the living room, making his heart leap in his chest. Nicholas, it was Peter, his voice dry, raspy, and he knew it. His father didn’t like to wait. He immediately dropped the sponge and dishcloth and ran into the living room. “Sir,” he said, approaching the sofa. Peter didn’t even turn to look at him. His eyes fixed on the soccer game on television, he simply reached for an empty beer bottle.
Nicolás grabbed the bottle without saying anything and ran to the kitchen. When he opened the fridge, his eyes lit up when he saw a chocolate cake right next to his father’s beer. “Did you make this cake, Mom?” he asked, his eyes shining as saliva pooled from the desire to try a piece. Soraya looked at him seriously. “Yes, I did, but don’t you dare touch it. That cake is for Clara and her friends later.”
If I see you coming, you’ll have to deal with me. The boy backed away immediately. “I’m not going to touch it, I promise,” he replied, carefully grabbing the bottle and hurrying out, but something tripped him up in the hallway. A pair of pink sneakers lying on the floor were light-colored. Nicolás tried to keep his balance, but he couldn’t. He stumbled, and then the glass bottle fell to the floor, shattering into a thousand pieces. The beer splattered all over the floor. In seconds, Pedro was up off the couch like a wild beast.
“It’s no use,” he shouted, advancing quickly toward the boy. Nicholas still tried to explain himself. “Sorry, I tripped on Clara’s slippers. But her father wouldn’t listen. Now you’re going to blame your sister. That’s what you’re doing,” Pedro shouted before the boy could finish his sentence. With fury in his eyes, he raised his hand and slapped him across the face. The blow made Nicholas fall sideways, his hand going to his cheek, feeling the burning of the reddened skin.
His eyes instantly filled with tears, but he still tried to stammer something out. Pedro continued furiously. “Do you know how much a beer like that costs? Do you know how many hours I have to work to buy a case?” Before the boy could say a word, Soraya appeared, alerted by the noise. “Get up and clean all this up now,” she ordered as if nothing had happened. “And while you’re at it, pick up your sister’s sneakers too, because if you had done it sooner, as is your duty, none of this would have happened.”
It was your responsibility, understood? I’ve told you a thousand times. I don’t like seeing things lying around the house. See? You’re an idiot, you don’t learn a thing. I have to repeat everything to you. Nico just nodded. He didn’t argue, he didn’t cry, even though his eyes threatened to fill with tears. He simply stood up, his eyes burning, his cheek still marked by the slap. He picked up the broken glass, cleaned the spilled beer from the floor, and carried Clara’s pair of slippers up to her room.
Pedro, back on the couch, still looked at him coldly and said, “And try not to cry, brat. Men don’t cry.” Those words echoed in Nico’s mind like an impossible-to-revoke sentence. Don’t cry, don’t feel, just obey. A few minutes later, Soraya called him down to lunch. The table was already set. Large, overflowing plates of rice, beans, roast beef, sautéed vegetables, soda, and, of course, the chocolate cake still untouched in the center. Nico approached, hoping to find a place reserved for him, but there wasn’t one.
Soraya reached out and handed her a flat plate. On it was just a spoonful of rice, a little watery bean broth, and a chicken leg. “You’re going to eat in the corner of the living room,” she said. “And when you’re done, you’re going to clean the whole house, every nook and cranny, and then straight to punishment. You’re going to stay there until the end of the day. You were very naughty today, and you have to learn to know your place. If you improve tomorrow, you’ll eat more.”
Nico looked at his plate. It was small, almost nothing, especially compared to what the others were eating. His stomach hurt, but his soul hurt more. He tried to say something. “Mom,” but I’m the only one who interrupted him. “Listen to your mother and shut up. This is all for your own good, brat. We’re teaching you what life is all about.” The boy lowered his head, took the plate, and walked slowly to the corner of the room. He sat hunched on the floor and began to eat in silence.
Meanwhile, laughter came from the table. Pedro laughed loudly. Clara told stories from school. Soraya talked about the cake and how she was going to get the house ready to welcome her daughter’s friends. And Nico, there in the corner, was invisible. Chewing silently, he closed his eyes once more, disappearing inside. When he opened them again, Nico realized he was no longer in the past. There was no more laughter, no loud music, no smell of food in the air, only the cold silence of that empty, abandoned house, where he had been forgotten.
He sat up slowly, rubbed his eyes, and looked around. He looked at his own arms, thin as dry branches. His rickety body was proof that this wasn’t the first time he’d gone hungry. It wasn’t just this situation. For a long time, he’d lived surrounded by food that wasn’t meant for him. In a house where food was plentiful, he always kept the pieces for himself when he tasted it. Could it be that they never loved me? He thought, a lump tightening in his throat, finally understanding the harsh reality of his life.
Discouraged, he got up from the floor and walked slowly through the halls of the house. His bare feet made small noises on the dusty floor. He stopped in front of Clara’s bedroom door, a place that had always been forbidden to him. How many times had he heard that he couldn’t enter there? How many times had he been kicked out just for touching the handle. But now, now the door was wide open, as if that forbidden space were inviting him to enter. And he entered.
Moonlight streamed through the crack in the window and illuminated part of the room. There was an almost sacred silence inside. Nico looked around and saw something shining in the light on the floor: a pencil and a sheet of paper lying there as if they were unimportant. He bent down and carefully picked them up. He sat down on the cold floor, crossed his legs, and began to draw. His strokes were simple but clear. He drew a car moving away in the back seat, boxes, and suitcases.
At the window of the house, a child was crying, his hand against the glass. That was what had happened, that was what hurt. And there, on that icy floor, his eyes heavy with sleep and his soul even more exhausted than his body, Nico fell asleep. When he woke up, the bright sunlight was shining through the window and directly into his face. He blinked several times, trying to understand where he was. The paper was still in his hands.
The drawing from the night before stared at him like a cruel reminder. His stomach rumbled, his mouth was as dry as sand. And then it all came flooding back. He was there, alone in that house. He jumped up. “Dad, Mom, Clara!” he shouted in a shaky voice, running through the rooms, but there was no answer, no sound, only the echo of his own voice. He tried once more to escape. He forced open windows, turned handles, pushed open doors, everything locked as before, as always.
He thought about breaking the window pane, but realized it was too thick. His thin, weak arms could barely make it vibrate. He began pacing, like a caged animal, trying to think of something, anything that might help him. And then he remembered the laundry room. Soraya, his mother, always said they should save water. On rainy days, she asked him to fill buckets instead of using the faucet to clean the house. It was a habit of hers, one he knew well.
He ran over, his heart nearly leaping out of his chest when he saw it. There was a bucket, and it had water in it. A smile spread across his face, perhaps the first in a long time. Without a second thought, he knelt down and buried his face in the bucket, drinking like someone finding a river in the middle of the desert. The water was lukewarm, but it was the best thing he’d tasted in hours. It was relief. At least that, at least for now, he had it. After drinking every last drop, he looked down and saw something that paralyzed him for a moment.
His reflection, his thin face, his sunken eyes, his tired expression. It was as if he were seeing another child. And when he looked at himself again, he was dragged back in time. But this time he didn’t go far. The memory took him back two days. He was in the laundry room, just grabbing that bucket, when Soraya approached him and said, “You don’t need to clean the house today, Nicolás.” He was surprised. That wasn’t normal. There was always something to do. Why? he asked.
“Why are we moving?” Soraya replied in a dry tone. “Move,” the boy repeated, confused. Pedro, his father, appeared in the hallway. “Yes, we’re going to the big city. A brand new apartment awaits us.” Soraya continued. “Today, instead of cleaning, you’re going to help pack everything, put things in boxes. Yes. Start with your sister’s clothes.” She pointed to the cardboard boxes Pedro had left on the living room floor and handed some to the boy.
Nicolás became excited, his eyes lit up. He ran off to Clara’s room. She was lying down, lazily playing with her cell phone. He didn’t care. He started folding the dresses, the shirts, the skirts. He placed everything carefully in the boxes, and she, of course, kept complaining. Don’t wrinkle my dress. Careful with that. Pay attention, idiot. But Nicolás ignored him; he just wanted to do everything right. He was overcome with excitement. He’d never left that room before.
Never. Her life was that house, that yard. The idea of living in an apartment in the big city seemed like a dream. There, I’ll be able to meet new people, make friends, and who knows, who knows if they’ll enroll me in school like Clara. He thought excitedly, but the truth was different. The truth was, none of that was going to happen. Away from the boy, Soraya spoke to Pedro in a low voice, almost in a whisper. So, what are we going to do with the brat?
Pedro was direct. We left him. There’s no way to take him to the city. It’ll be difficult to keep him locked up there. And if he escapes, and if he talks, we’re lost. Clara, who was passing by in the hallway, overheard part of the conversation. So, annoying Nico isn’t going. Soraya turned to her daughter with a gentle smile. No, my love, he’s not going. But don’t say anything like that. Stay quiet. Clara frowned. And who’s going to take care of the house? And who’s going to wash my clothes?
Pedro responded as if it were the most logical thing in the world. We managed. We paid a few coins to some needy old woman. But Nico, he’s not going. Enough of putting up with that kid. The cruelty of those words was so natural it almost went unnoticed. But there was something else. Nicolás wasn’t their son, not by blood. He wasn’t Clara’s brother, he wasn’t Soraya’s biological son, much less Pedro’s. And then, once again, time turned.
But now, through Soraya’s eyes, the house—a little older, worn, with peeling walls—seemed alive. And as if it were alive, the house breathed again. In that instant, it was no longer the empty, ruined home; it was another time, another setting. The kitchen was filled with luxurious utensils. Imported pots gleamed in the light. The living room displayed a classic sofa set, the kind that looks like something straight out of a home-styling magazine.
On the walls, valuable paintings decorated every corner. And the garden—ah, the garden looked botanical, with well-tended flowers, pruned bushes, and a lawn so green it looked painted. It was practically a mansion in the middle of the countryside, a piece of ostentation isolated from the world. But Soraya wasn’t the owner of the house. She was there, yes, but very different. Young, with features less marked by time, she wore a simple maid’s uniform: a white apron over a navy blue dress, her hair tied back in a neat bun, and her eyes alert to everything around her.
With silent steps, she walked toward the garden. She looked around, making sure no one saw her, and then took her cell phone out of her apron pocket. She typed quickly and made a call. “They’re leaving, Pedro. Our future is secured,” she said in a cold, almost triumphant tone. Minutes later, a violent noise cut through the afternoon silence. Screeching tires, muffled screams, and then a metallic crash, like thunder breaking the ground. A car had overturned in the ravine near the property.
Pedro, who was parked nearby in his own car, accelerated toward the accident scene. He slammed on the brakes and looked in the back seat, where little Clara, barely 3 years old, was asleep. He got out of the car and approached the wreckage. The overturned vehicle’s hood was smashed and its windows shattered. Inside, a man and a woman were lying dead, but they weren’t alone. Between the seats, a baby was crying. It was alive. Pedro’s cell phone rang. It was Soraya.
I heard the noise. They died, she asked from the other end of the line. Yes, Pedro replied. But the baby, the baby is alive. He’s crying. I’m leaving him here. I doubt anyone will be passing through this area anytime soon. If I leave him, he’ll die too. Soraya was silent for a few seconds and then replied, “Don’t leave him there. Bring him. That baby might be no good.” And that was the truth. That house had never belonged to them. It belonged to Nicolás’s real parents, to those who loved the boy, to those Soraya and Pedro who had mercilessly and remorselessly disposed of them to take what belonged to them.
They took the house, the belongings, the structure, the comfort. For years they enjoyed it all. But now, now that the house was in disrepair, the old furniture, the paintings sold, they were ready to go. Pedro still hesitated. There’s just one problem. What if they find the boy later? Soraya let out a cold laugh. And who do you think is going to come all the way to this lost corner, Pedro? The new owner wanted to do everything online. By the time they arrive, that stinking Nicolás will already be dead.
His voice sounded like poison dripping from his lips. And since we’ve made all his documents disappear, since no one has ever seen him outside this house, they’ll think he was just a street urchin, an intruder who came in and starved to death. And by then we’ll be far away. No one will ask us for explanations. And so those who claimed to be parents, those who pretended to care for Nicolás, prepared their exit. Calmly, they loaded everything that was still useful into a truck.
They packed the rest into the car. The next morning, Nicolás woke up full of hope. He had spent the night dreaming of the big city, of school, of a room all to himself. But when he opened his eyes, no one was there. Neither Pedro, nor Soraya, nor Clara had left. They had left him behind. Back in the present, the boy cowered in the solitude of that house that had once been the scene of so many deceptions. With only a bucket of water at his side, he was beginning to despair.
He tried every way to find a way out, but everything was blocked. His strength drained with each attempt. His body no longer responded well. And then five days passed. In another part of the state, a modest car was traveling along the dirt roads. At the wheel was Hector, a man in his early thirties, well dressed, with a serene smile on his face. He wasn’t a millionaire, but he was a stable businessman with a comfortable life. He talked animatedly on his cell phone using the hands-free function.
“I can’t believe you’re going to live in that remote corner of the world,” her sister said, laughing on the other end of the line. Hector laughed too. “I need a break. Spending a few months closer to nature, away from the chaos of the city, will do me good.” “But have you already seen that house in person?” she asked suspiciously. “I really didn’t buy it online.” “How come?” she exclaimed. “You bought a house online, Hector.” “Relax,” he said, laughing.
I saw lots of photos and videos, looked it up on Google Maps, and the price was great. The previous owners wanted to move to a more central location. “I jumped at the chance.” “I hope it’s not a scam,” she murmured. “Don’t worry. I like that more classic style. The house is structurally sound, it just needs a few fixes, and all the paperwork was in order.” But the call was quickly cut off. Hector had entered a dead zone, hung up his phone, and focused on the road.
He drove a few more hours through rural landscapes until he finally arrived. In front of him was a vast property, a house that had once been a true country mansion. Now it looked abandoned, with dusty windows, peeling walls, and a gate that creaked in the wind. Still, Hector smiled. “It’s going to need a good renovation,” he said, removing the keys from the ignition. “But I’m going to make this house a home.” He got out of the car, straightened his coat, and walked toward the main entrance, little imagining what really awaited him inside.
But before we continue with our story and find out what happened to little Nicolás, click the like button, subscribe to the channel, and activate the notification bell. That way, YouTube will notify you every time we upload a new story. And tell me, do you think children should do housework? Yes or no? Let me know in the comments, and while you’re at it, tell me if you prefer the countryside or the city. I’ll mark each comment with a cute heart. Now, let’s get back to our story.
Hector paused for a moment in front of the front door of the old house. The sound of the wind whistling through the trees created a strange, unsettling soundtrack. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the anxiety that had gripped him since he turned onto that dirt road. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the set of keys he’d received in the mail. The keys jingled between his fingers. “Let’s see how it’s inside,” he said, almost as if encouraging himself.
He carefully turned the key. The antique lock offered some resistance before giving way with a sharp click. Héctor pushed the door firmly, and it opened slowly, creaking loudly, as if protesting the possibility of letting someone new in. But what he found inside wasn’t exactly what he expected. The space was empty. There was no furniture, no paintings, no trace of recent life. Only the echo of his footsteps filled the abandoned space. However, it wasn’t the lack of objects that made him uneasy.
It was something else, something invisible, but present. A weight in the air, a strange chill running down his spine and raising the hair on every hair on his arms. He stopped for a second and took a step back, as if his own body were instinctively trying to warn him that something wasn’t right there. That house seemed wrong, as if it were hiding a secret. The businessman shook his head, trying to dispel the dark thoughts. “No nonsense, Hector,” he murmured, trying to sound logical. “It’s just a neglected house; it just needs a coat of paint.”
He put his right foot inside and forced himself to walk, taking a deep breath. He continued exploring the interior of the property: the long hallways, the empty rooms, the kitchen with its antique furniture. Everything seemed frozen in time, but curiously, there was no dirt, no debris, not even accumulated dust. It was as if the house had been unoccupied, but maintained with a certain care. “Strange, it looks clean,” he murmured. “Could it be that the previous owners came to give it a spruce up before they left?” That was when he heard it.
A low, faint, almost imperceptible sound. A light, rhythmic, and steady tapping. He frowned, trying to identify it. But what was that? He remained silent. He craned his neck, listening. The sound was coming from one of the rooms farther down the hall. As he got closer, the noise became clearer, more real, as if someone were knocking or trying to get attention. He stopped in front of a half-open door. It was moving slightly, swaying back and forth, as if a breeze were pushing it, but the window in the room was closed.
The wind thought, “Could it be?” Her heart began to beat faster. A cold sweat appeared on her forehead. She felt it instinctively. Something was about to happen, something that would change everything. With a trembling hand, she slowly pushed open the door, and the scene before her made the world stop. On the floor, lying on his side, was a boy so thin that his bones were visible beneath his skin. His lips were cracked, his eyes were sunken and dull, his body trembling slightly.
It was he who was pounding the weak palm of his hand against the door. Hector brought his hand to his mouth. “My God, my God, holy God,” he said in shock. The boy turned his face with difficulty. His watery eyes stared into his. The voice came out weak, a whisper that barely seemed like a breath of life. Help me, please, help me. Hector froze for a second. A million questions invaded his mind. Who was that boy?
Why was he there? How could anyone have left him alone in that state? But he couldn’t waste time. He turned and ran through the house. His footsteps echoed like thunder in the empty hallways. From his bedroom, Nicolás watched him walk away through the crack in the door, listening to the echo of his running. Tears streamed down his dry cheeks. He abandoned me too, he thought, his chest burning with pain. Just like the others. His body no longer responded; he could barely move his fingers.
His head was heavy, his stomach ached. He felt like his fate was sealed. He was ready to close his eyes and never wake up again. But then quick, firm footsteps were coming back toward the room. Hector had returned. He was carrying a bottle of water, some fruit, and a sleeping bag. He had brought everything he could from the car. He had prepared to spend several days in that house. That’s why the trunk was full of survival gear.
But he never imagined, not even in his worst nightmares, that he would find a child almost lifeless inside. Nicolás looked up and, seeing the man approaching, felt a shy warmth in his chest, and although weak, he smiled. A faint smile, but one that said it all. Héctor quickly bent down, spread the sleeping bag on the floor, and carefully picked up the child. His heart sank when he felt how light that body was. “You’re like a thread,” he thought, frightened by the fragility of the child in his arms.
He laid Nicolás on the sleeping bag, opened the bottle, and brought it to his mouth. Slowly, slowly, he said as he drank desperately. Everything’s going to be okay. I’m going to help you. Nicolás choked a little on the water, but soon stabilized. Héctor cut a small piece of apple and offered it to him. Eat slowly. Take it easy, champion. Nicolás took the piece with difficulty, chewing it slowly. The sweet taste of the apple filled his mouth like a miracle.
That wasn’t just food, it was life. It was impossible to remember the last time he’d tasted something like that. Since he was little, fruit and good food were never his thing. Clara ate, he watched. And now, after five days without putting anything in his mouth, that piece of apple was a blessing. Nicolás looked at Héctor, his eyes shining. His voice came out low, but full of emotion. Thank you. Héctor swallowed hard. You’ll be okay, I promise. Héctor remained by the boy’s side, still shocked by everything that had happened.
While helping him eat, he looked out the window and saw the sky changing color. The sun was about to set over the horizon, dyeing the sky orange and reddish. The businessman seriously considered taking the car and taking the boy directly to a hospital, but he knew the area well. The nearest hospital was hours away, and he was also exhausted from the long trip. Driving back in that state would be risky.
We’re going to have to stay here tonight, but don’t worry, there’s water, food, warm blankets, everything’s going to be okay, he said, trying to convey a sense of security. Nicolás, his eyes still heavy and his body weak, only responded softly, “Thank you.” It was the only word he could repeat, the only one he knew to express that mixture of relief, surprise, and hope. Gratitude flowed from his mouth unfiltered, although he still couldn’t quite believe what was happening. Héctor spent the next few minutes unloading everything from the car.
He brought more blankets, flashlights, canned goods, the small portable stove, and other items. He created a cozy corner for Nicholas in the least humid room in the house, improvising a kind of safe haven. He was determined not to let that boy spend another night hungry, cold, or afraid. With his stomach a little fuller and a little more strength, Nicholas raised his head and looked at the man curiously. “Why? Why are you helping me?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
Héctor smiled as he sat down next to him. “Why is it the right thing to do? A child like you needs care.” The boy blinked slowly. He didn’t quite know what the word “care” meant. Soraya and Pedro said they were looking after him, but what they were doing was quite the opposite. They used that term to justify yelling, punishment, violence, and deprivation. A few hours passed. The sky darkened completely. Nicolás ate little by little, slowly, until he managed to sit more firmly. His expression was tired, but there was a different spark in his eyes, a spark that hadn’t been ignited for a long time.
Hector prepared a clean corner of the house and set up a sleeping space there. He placed Nicholas there and, without moving away, lay down on the other side so the child would feel safe. That was the first night in a long time that the little boy slept without fear. The next morning, the sun softly illuminated the surrounding countryside. Nicholas woke up feeling a lightness in his body that had seemed impossible the day before. His eyes, still small, slowly opened.
He looked around, puzzled by the silence, but then he smelled it. A delicious aroma wafted from outside. He cautiously stepped out into the garden and saw the man who had saved him preparing breakfast on a blanket spread right on the grass. There was bread, fruit, a thermos of hot milk, and even a jar of jam. Nicolás stood there, just watching. His body reacted with hunger, but his mind was shutting down. He had never been invited to a table before. He had never been allowed to sit next to Pedro, Soraya, or Clara.
He always ate standing up, secretly, in the corner of the kitchen, or crouched in the living room. Hector noticed the boy’s uncertain look and smiled. “Come eat with me. I prepared it for us,” he said naturally. Nicolás couldn’t take it anymore. He ran to him, threw his arms around his neck, and began to cry. “Thank you, thank you,” he repeated with a broken voice as he lay on the man’s chest. The businessman stroked his hair and responded tenderly. “You’ve thanked him enough, now it’s time to enjoy.” They sat down together on the grass.
Nicolás ate slowly, trying to savor every bite. It was like discovering a new dimension of life. While he ate, Héctor watched him, waiting for the right moment to talk about something important. “After breakfast, we’re going into the city. I want to take you to the hospital to see if you’re okay, and I also need to find your family,” he said calmly. The effect was immediate. Nicolás shrugged, looked away, and backed away a little. Panic flashed across his face.
Hector was surprised. “Don’t you want to see your family?” he asked. “Were they the ones who left you here like this?” Nicholas didn’t say anything right away. His eyes filled with tears, and then he slowly nodded. Hector took a deep breath, knelt beside the boy, and in a low, firm voice said, “You can trust me. I’m here to protect you, and no one will hurt you again. Do you hear me? But to do that, I need to know what happened.” Nicholas looked him in the eye.
For the first time, he saw firmness, without harshness, strength, without violence, and then he began to speak. He told how he lived locked up in the house, how he had never been enrolled in school, how he always slept on the couch, hungry and cold. He recounted punishments, humiliations, separate plates, Clara’s indifference, Pedro’s screams, Soraya’s cruel orders. He spoke of everything, and each word cut Héctor like a razor. The businessman listened in silence. When the boy finished, he gently held his chin and lifted his little face.
No one else is going to hurt you. Not while I’m here. I promise. Those people won’t come near you again. The boy nodded excitedly. Then, Hector suggested, “Let’s go pick up some things inside. I left some things in the room, and then we’ll go into town. I’m sure you’ll like it.” Nicholas smiled shyly and followed the man. But as they re-entered the house, something unexpected happened. As they walked through the old room, Hector tripped over a loose floorboard.
The piece of wood was slightly raised, misaligned with the rest of the floor. “Oops!” the man exclaimed, bending down to examine it. Nicolás looked and said, “My mom always had my dad fix that, but he never did.” Héctor ran his hand along the wood and noticed it moved strangely. Curious, he gently tugged on it, and then the floor opened. A secret entrance was revealed beneath the floor, a dark space with a shaft that descended directly beneath the house.
Hector was perplexed. There’s something down there. Nicolas approached, his eyes wide open. That, that was always there. Hector looked at him. Didn’t you know about this place? The boy looked at Hector with wide eyes and shook his head. “No one knew about this,” the businessman asked, astonished. Nicolas simply repeated the gesture, indicating no. Wasting no time, Hector took a small flashlight that was part of his camping gear from his pocket. He knelt on the ground and shone the light toward the opening.
I’m going down. Are you coming? he asked, looking at the boy seriously. Nicolás hesitated. Inside, he felt a mixture of fear and curiosity. That place had been his home his entire life, and yet he had no idea there was anything hidden down there. He took a deep breath, swallowed his uncertainty, and then nodded. They carefully went down through the opening. It was dark, but Héctor’s flashlight illuminated just enough to reveal the edges of a secret room.
When they finally set foot there, they both froze. It was as if time had stopped. The underground room was filled with gleaming objects. Several paintings covered in protective plastic were leaning against the walls. Hector immediately recognized some of them. They were ancient, priceless paintings he had only seen in catalogs or museums. In addition to the paintings, silverware gleamed in the flashlight. Jewelry carefully stored in padded cases, precious stones, and gold ingots.
“My God, this is worth a fortune,” the businessman exclaimed, bringing his hand to his mouth in complete astonishment. Nicolás couldn’t take his eyes off that scene. It was like standing in front of a world he’d never imagined existed. And at the same time, all of that had been there, right under where he’d slept so many nights on the living room sofa. They walked slowly, observing every detail. In a corner of the room, Héctor found an aged wooden bookshelf, and there, among dusty objects, was a picture frame with a photograph.
It was a photo of a smiling couple standing in front of that same house, but restored, beautiful, alive. The woman was holding a baby in her arms. The three of them looked happy. Nicolás approached and stared. He felt something in his chest, a chill. That image stirred something inside him, as if it were a part of him. Right next to the photo was an old leather-bound notebook, aged by time. Héctor carefully opened it. It was a diary with a woman’s handwriting.
He began to read aloud, holding the flashlight over his shoulder. Today is one of the happiest days of my life. We discovered we’re going to have a son. We’ll name him Nicholas in honor of my father. Nicholas, motionless, opened his eyes wide. Hector continued. The diary spoke of the pregnancy, the birth of the baby, and the happy life in that house. The woman recounted the details of the arrival of the new employees: Soraya, the new maid, with her daughter Clara, and Pedro, the gardener.
The silence that followed the reading was heavy. Nicolás didn’t say anything immediately, but the truth dawned on him with piercing clarity. Those people—Pedro, Soraya, Clara—weren’t his family. They had stolen everything from him, even his origins. “They, they took everything from me,” Nicolás whispered, his voice breaking. Héctor slowly closed the diary, his expression serious. “We have to go to the police now.” Wasting no time, he helped Nicolás get in. As soon as they left the house, the businessman called his sister while driving toward the city.
With the speakerphone on, he told her everything he had discovered. On the other end of the line, the woman reacted in horror, unable to believe it. That child needs urgent help. You have to report those monsters, Hector. Meanwhile, in that same city Hector was heading to with Nicolás, in a small, cramped apartment, Soraya complained loudly from the kitchen. My God, so many dishes. I can’t keep up; I got my nails done today. How am I supposed to wash all this?
Clara shouted irritably. Clara appeared with her cell phone in her hand, stopping in the kitchen doorway. Seeing the state of the sink, she rolled her eyes. Oh, Mom, I’m not going to wash anything, I don’t even know how to do that. And it was your idea to leave that brat Nicolás behind. At least he was good for this. Pedro appeared from the living room, heading for the fridge. Don’t even look at me. I’m already irritated having to get up to get my beer.
Soraya snorted. “We need to hire a maid urgently.” Pedro grumbled. “And with what money, woman? Rent isn’t cheap here. And if we spend what’s left from the sale of that old house, we’ll be ruined. That house was falling apart. We didn’t even get a good price. But we’re going to have to find a solution. You can’t live like this,” Soraya retorted, crossing her arms. Pedro thought for a moment and muttered. “Maybe we can pull off another heist.”
There are a lot of old fools in this town. Maybe we’ll get a job with some millionaire employer. Be an employee again. Never, the woman shouted indignantly. “I don’t want to cut grass again either,” Pedro replied. “But if it’s only for a short time, we can trick someone. In the meantime, Clara’s going to have to help with the chores. There’s no other way. I’m a man. That kind of work isn’t for me.” Before the argument could get any more heated, Clara, who had slipped away to avoid doing the dishes, shouted from the living room.
Dad, Mom, come now, it’s urgent. The two rushed over. When they entered the living room, their faces turned pale as they saw the image on television. On the news, the journalist was speaking in a serious tone. A child was found in a deplorable state inside an old rural property. The boy was alone and malnourished. Most shockingly, a fortune estimated at more than $100 million was discovered hidden in a secret underground room in the house.
The fortune was hidden under a loose floorboard. Pedro opened his eyes. His jaw dropped. Millions of dollars. Where was all that? As if the journalist were answering him directly, the story continued. Police confirmed that the secret room was protected by a hidden structure camouflaged with boards. The boy, identified as Nicolás, was taken to a hospital and is in stable condition. In the meantime, the entire fortune is under official protection until the courts determine its legal fate.
Soraya hit her forehead. Idiot, I told you to fix that board. If you had, we’d be multimillionaires by now. I always knew those wretched Nicolás parents had more money than they let on. Those little pictures on the wall were just a charade to fool fools, and they fooled us. The real money was right under our feet all these years. The couple began to argue vehemently, exchanging accusations, shouting, and insults. But Clara, who had been silently watching everything, turned around, her eyes flashing with greed, and then she yelled impatiently.
Enough. If that fortune was in our house, then that fortune is ours. Soraya paused for a moment, thoughtful, then nodded firmly. That’s it. That fortune is ours, she said, her eyes wide with ambition. Pedro still seemed to hesitate. But what do we do now? he asked, as if waiting for an order. Soraya was direct, her face serious and her voice firm. We’re going to the hospital. We’re going to get our little boy back, and then we’ll cancel the sale of the house. All of that is rightfully ours.
Meanwhile, at the city hospital, Nicolás was already recovering surprisingly well. His once gaunt face was regaining color. His expression was still sad, but no longer hopeless. He had eaten, slept well, and was under medical care. Even so, deep inside, the boy carried the weight of a recent and cruel childhood. Héctor was always by his side, caring for him gently, asking him how he felt, and making a point of being there all the time. When Nicolás cried, he held his hand.
When the boy fell silent, he respected the silence. He was a constant presence that conveyed security. In one of those calm moments, Nicolás looked at Héctor with tearful eyes and asked softly, “If they aren’t my parents and my real parents are no longer here, do you want to be my new dad?” Héctor froze. The question pierced him like an arrow to the heart. His eyes filled with tears. But before he could say anything, a noise in the reception area interrupted the moment.
Doors slammed open, voices, shouts. It was Soraya, followed by Pedro and Clara, entering like a disorderly troop. “Where’s my baby?” Soraya shouted in a dramatic, false voice. “I came to find my dear little boy, my little love.” Pedro followed right behind, in the same theatrical tone. “Where’s my son, our Nicolás? We have to protect him.” Clara, like a caring sister, shook a case of colored pencils in her hands. “Little brother, look, I brought pencils.”
We can draw together, remember? In the room, Nicolás heard the voices and paled. His body trembled. He clutched the sheet tightly. “It’s them. They came for me. They’re going to hit me,” he whispered, panicking. Héctor firmly crouched down beside the boy and placed his hand on his shoulder. “No one is going to hurt you, Nicolás. I promised you, and I’m going to keep it.” He stood up determinedly and left the room. In the hallway, Pedro recognized him immediately.
He’d seen his picture on the TV news. He approached with a fake smile. “So it’s you,” Pedro said, trying to sound friendly. “Look, friend, it was all a misunderstanding. We’re going to give you your money back, cancel the sale of the house, and take our beloved little boy back. He just got lost in the woods.” Soraya backed him up. “Yes. And since you found our darling boy, we’re even thinking of giving you a reward. When we get back home, of course, to take care of our fortune.”
As they spoke, Nicolás appeared behind Héctor, shyly hiding behind his legs. He looked at the three of them in terror. Pedro and Soraya, feigning tenderness, held out their arms. “Come to Mom, my love. Son, everything’s okay now. Come with us,” Pedro added. Héctor, remaining calm, turned to the commissioner who was following the case. The commissioner asked, “So, are you Soraya and Pedro?” They both nodded confidently. Clara completed. “I’m his sister. His name is Nicolás.” Pedro was already giving them a heads-up.
Give us the key to the house. Now that everything’s back to normal, let’s take care of our treasure. But it was at that precise moment that the commissioner raised his hand and said loudly, “Officers, handcuff them both and take the girl to a shelter.” The trio froze. “What?” Soraya yelled. “This is a mistake.” Pedro squirmed. “We raised him, we took care of him. We are his parents and owners of that house, of that fortune.”
The commissioner was firm. You’re being arrested for child abuse, attempted murder, ideological falsehood, robbery, and the murder of a couple. You abandoned this child to die. The only thing you’re going to own now is an old prison uniform. Hector, looking directly into Pedro and Soraya’s eyes, spoke firmly. All your crimes were discovered. Now you’re going to rot in prison. Clara tried to resist. I’m a minor. You can’t arrest me. The commissioner corrected her. As I said, you’re going to go to a foster home, and there you’re going to learn what real life is all about.
Soraya screamed as she struggled in the officers’ arms. Pedro swore, trying to break free. Clara cried like never before, but to no avail. The three of them were taken, both adults, straight to prison. Clara, without privileges, was taken to a shelter where, for the first time, she would have to wash her own clothes and clean her own dishes. Days later, the hospital was silent. Nicolás sat up in bed, staring out the window. Héctor sat beside him and, with a serene smile, answered the question that had been left hanging.
Yes, Nicolás, I want to be your dad. The boy smiled, and that smile was like a sun rising inside Héctor’s chest. The investigation confirmed everything. Nicolás was the legitimate heir to the fortune hidden in the house. The original documents appeared. Everything was put in his name and kept in safekeeping until he came of age. Héctor didn’t touch a single cent. His own money was enough to give them both a good life. They returned to the old house, but this time with new eyes.
They completely renovated it. They painted the walls, restored the garden. That place, which had once held fear and silence, now vibrated with love, life, and warmth. Nicolás was no longer the skinny, dull boy. He began to gain weight, smile more, and sleep peacefully. For the first time, he had a true home. Over time, Héctor met a teacher who became not only his companion but also a loving mother to Nicolás. The boy, although he had never been to school, proved to be a genius.
She learned everything quickly. She charmed the teachers, and years later, with effort and dedication, she became a doctor. Clara, on the other hand, rejected every opportunity to change when she left the center. She got involved with the wrong crowd, committed crimes, and ended up in prison. She ended up behind bars, where, ironically, she was reunited with her mother, Soraya, now old, sick, destroyed inside and out, because in the end, justice can take a long time, but it always comes. And as the old saying goes, those who do wrong pay.
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