I thought my adopted daughter was taking me to a nursing home, but when I saw where we were really going, I was shocked.

-Exactly.

That afternoon we finished the first painting.

It was simple.

An illuminated garden.
A white house.
Two figures sitting on the terrace.

In the bottom corner I wrote the title:

Be reborn.

That night, before going to sleep, I walked slowly through the house.

I touched the walls.
I opened the windows.
I took a deep breath.

I had spent the whole journey believing that they were abandoning me.

But they were surprising me.

Fear had spoken louder than confidence.

And yet, love had triumphed.

I lay down on the new bed listening to the murmur of the fountain in the garden.

Before turning off the light, I heard Livia’s voice from across the hall:

—Good night, Mom.

I smiled.

—Good night, daughter.

I closed my eyes with a light heart.

Because in that house there was no goodbye.

There was continuity.

There was no abandonment.

There was gratitude.

And above all, the quiet certainty that all love sown will one day bloom.

And ours… was just beginning to bloom again.