Because whoever touches a child, touches the soul of a father.
Weeks later, Sofia smiled again.
Not like before, not yet… but she was smiling.
Valentina gained weight, and began to laugh with that sound that resembles small bells.
One day, Sofia sat next to me in the courtyard and said:
—Dad… I thought you’d be embarrassed to see me like this.
I looked at her, and with my hand I arranged her hair like when she was a child.
—It would be shameful not to have picked you up.
It would be shameful to have left you alone.
You didn’t let me down, Sofia.
The world failed you.
She rested her head on my shoulder.
And at that moment I knew something with absolute certainty:
It doesn’t matter how old a father is,
nor how many problems I carry,
nor how weary his heart may be…
When he sees his daughter fall,
He doesn’t ask why.
Just extend your arms
and picks it up again.
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