POV ADRIÁN
For six days I’ve arrived at the hotel garden at exactly ten o’clock, my heart beating irregularly, my hands slightly sweaty despite the cool October air in Milan. For six days I’ve spent two hours with three children who share my DNA—children who at first looked at me like a curious stranger, then like an interesting acquaintance, and now… now they look at me as something more.
Today, when I arrive five minutes early because I can no longer stand waiting those last few minutes in my room, Lorenzo runs toward me the moment he sees me.
“Papa Adrián!” he shouts, the title he used timidly on the first day now coming out with natural ease. “Look what I found!”
He shows me a stone he probably picked up from the gravel path, holding it as if it were an invaluable treasure. I kneel
