Elena considered this.
“I think I want a sister.”
Sofia laughed from the doorway.
“You don’t get to choose, sweetheart.”
“Why not?”
“Because that’s not how it works.”
Elena sighed dramatically.
“Being a big sister is hard.”
“You haven’t even started yet,” I said, ruffling her hair.
She swatted my hand away, grinning.
When the baby came, it was a boy.
We named him Marco, after my father.
Elena held him for the first time in the hospital, her face solemn and careful.
“He’s so small,” she whispered.
“You were that small once,” Sofia said.
Elena looked up at me.
“Will you love him as much as you love me?”
“Yes,” I said without hesitation. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll love you any less.”
She thought about it for a moment.
Then she nodded.
“Okay. I’ll share you.”
I kissed the top of her head.
“Thank you.”
Life settled into a rhythm after that.
Elena started school. Marco grew. Sofia transformed the estate into a real home, filled with laughter and warmth and light.
I still ran the family business, but I was more careful now. More selective. I had people to come home to, and that changed everything.
One evening, when Elena was twelve and Marco was five, I found Sofia standing in the library, staring at the old pendant she still kept in a velvet box on the shelf.
“You okay?” I asked.
She nodded slowly.
“I was just thinking. Fifteen years ago, I thought my life was over. I thought I’d lost everything.”
She turned to look at me.
“And now I have more than I ever dreamed possible.”
I crossed the room and pulled her into my arms.
“We both do.”
She smiled and rested her head against my chest.
“I love you, Lorenzo.”
“I love you too.”
We stood there for a long time, holding each other in the quiet.
Outside, Elena and Marco were playing in the garden, their laughter drifting through the open windows.
The Doberman — now old and gray — lay in the sun, watching them with patient eyes.
And in that moment, everything felt exactly as it should be.
Years later, when Elena was preparing to leave for university, she came to me one last time.
“Papa,” she said quietly.
We were sitting on the terrace, watching the sun set over the hills.
“Yes?”
“I know I’m not your blood daughter.”
I turned to look at her, my chest tightening.
“Elena—”
“Let me finish,” she said gently.
I nodded.
