Don Ernesto was already 70. After suffering a mild stroke that weakened his arms and legs, his daughter Carmen decided to hire a nanny to look after him.

The woman chosen was María, a 25-year-old from a distant village — quiet, humble, and deeply respectful.

For half a year, María cared for Don Ernesto with devotion.

Each morning, she helped him rise, prepared his oatmeal, and gave him his medicine.

In the afternoons, she accompanied him to the garden, guiding his slow steps.

At night, she massaged his legs while telling him stories from her village in a voice as soft as the breeze.

Little by little, Don Ernesto regained strength, smiled more often, and neighbors praised Carmen’s decision:
“You truly hired the perfect person.”

But one hot morning in June, as Carmen returned from the market, she set down a bag of vegetables in the kitchen and saw María standing in the doorway — pale, trembling, and holding a pregnancy test.

When their eyes met, the young woman broke down in tears. Carmen grabbed the test from her hands: two faint red lines. Her knees buckled as rage filled her:

“Maria! You’re only 25, you’ve been here half a year, and now you’re pregnant? Who? Who’s the father?”

María could only cry, unable to speak.

A dreadful thought flashed through Carmen’s mind: could it be her own father?

She recalled how Don Ernesto had been mentioning María often. Horrified, she muttered shakily:

“Don’t tell me… my father? No, that’s impossible! He’s already 70 years old…”

María shook her head through tears:

“No, madam, it isn’t him! Please don’t think that…”

“Then who? If you don’t speak, I’ll send you back to your village immediately!”

María fell to her knees, covering her face:

“I… I didn’t want to say it… I was afraid… But if you force me… I’ll tell the truth.”

Carmen held her breath. María wiped her tears and whispered in a trembling voice:

“The father… is your husband.”

The words struck like lightning. Carmen collapsed into a chair. María went on, sobbing:

“When you left for that three-day trip, he returned home. He had been drinking… he called me to clean his room. I… couldn’t resist him.”

Carmen’s world shattered. Her husband, Ricardo, had struggled with his business for two years, becoming harsh and dependent on alcohol.

But she never imagined he would commit such a vile act.

Fury mixed with shame.

She looked at María — anger burning inside her, yet compassion rising as well.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I feared he’d throw me out… I didn’t want to sadden Don Ernesto. I planned to leave at the end of the month and raise the baby alone.”

Just then, Don Ernesto emerged from his room, leaning on his cane, alarmed by the shouting.

“What’s happening, Carmen?”

She burst into tears. María dropped to her knees, weeping:

“Forgive me, sir… forgive me…”

Don Ernesto listened, eyes welling with tears. He laid a trembling hand on the young woman’s shoulder and said softly:

“That child… even if he has no father, stay here. I will raise him as if he were my own.”

María cried uncontrollably. Carmen wept as well, knowing her marriage was finished but unable to cast the girl out. The baby was innocent — he needed a home. And her aging father was ready to give him love.

Soon after, Carmen took Ricardo to court and filed for divorce. María stayed with Don Ernesto, awaiting the baby’s birth.

And he told his daughter:

“It doesn’t matter who is guilty. The child is not to blame. Let him grow up surrounded by love.”

Weeks passed. Each night, María continued massaging Don Ernesto’s legs, her belly now round with life. Sometimes he would rest his hand gently on it and whisper:

“Little one, don’t be afraid. I’ll always be here to care for you and your mother.”

The cicadas’ song faded as summer ended. A calm autumn arrived, where the kindness of a 70-year-old man sheltered a young woman… and saved an unborn child.