The Story of Rosa and Antonio
Three ungrateful children decided to get rid of their elderly parents once and for all. They abandoned Rosa and Antonio on a deserted road, leaving them to their fate to die under the scorching sun. “You are a burden we can no longer bear,” they said before speeding away in their black Mercedes, disappearing into the horizon.
But these cold-hearted monsters did not know they were discarding 20 million reais. Rosa woke up that morning with a tightness in her chest that she knew all too well. It was not physical pain; she could distinguish that after 70 years of life. It was that anguish that arose in the soul when you feel that you are no longer welcome in the place that should be your home.
The house was silent, but it was a heavy silence, laden with tension. Antonio was still sleeping beside her, breathing heavily due to his age and the heart problems that worried them so much. She watched him for a moment, seeing the wrinkles that time had etched on the face of the man she had loved for 50 years. A face marked by honest work, by sleepless nights when the children were sick, by smiles offered even when everything seemed difficult. “How did we get here, my love?” she murmured softly, gently touching his gray hair.
Rosa slowly got up, each movement a battle against the protesting joints. In the kitchen, she began to prepare breakfast, as she always did, even knowing she would be met with grim faces and complaints about the food expenses. “Mom, again this waste?” Sandra appeared in the kitchen door still in her robe, but with an expression that would chill anyone’s blood. “Look at how many eggs you’re frying. We don’t have extra money to afford this extravagance.”
Rosa felt her heart tighten once more. Three eggs. Just three eggs for four people. Where was the extravagance in that? “Daughter, I thought you’d want to eat something before going to work.” “I eat on the street. It’s cheaper than supporting this waste every day.”
Sandra threw a pile of medical bills on the kitchen table with a loud thud. “By the way, look what arrived yesterday. Another 500 reais in medication for Dad. 500 reais, Mom. That’s more than half of what I spend on myself in a whole month.” Rosa looked at the scattered bills on the table as if they were accusations. Each prescription, each exam, each pill had become a reason for argument, a proof that they were an unbearable burden for their children.
“Sandra, daughter, the doctor said these are essential medications for your father’s heart. Essential.” Sandra let out a bitter laugh that cut through the kitchen air. “You know what is essential? Being able to pay my own bills without having to support two people who contribute nothing to this house.” The words hit Rosa like daggers. Contribute nothing? Was that what she had become in her own daughter’s eyes? A woman who had raised three children, who had sewn their clothes, cooked their meals, spent sleepless nights when they were sick, who had worked washing clothes for others when money was tight, now contributed nothing.
Antonio appeared in the kitchen, swaying a bit from the morning dizziness that came with his blood pressure medications. His face was still marked by the pillow, but Rosa saw in his eyes that he had heard the argument. “Good morning, daughter,” he said to Sandra, trying to smile as he always did, even when everything seemed to be falling apart around them. Sandra didn’t even respond, grabbed a slice of bread, spread a thin layer of margarine on it, and left the kitchen chewing angrily, as if each bite were a protest against the existence of her parents.
Rosa served coffee to Antonio with trembling hands. They sat at the table in silence, eating slowly, each lost in thoughts that hurt too much to share. “She didn’t mean it,” Antonio murmured, but his voice lacked conviction. “Yes, she did, my love.” And she is right.
Rosa stared at her plate as if she could find some answer there. We have become a burden to them. “Rosa, don’t talk like that.” “It’s the truth, Antonio. Look at how we live here. Afraid to turn on an extra light, afraid to eat one more egg, afraid to exist.” The sound of the front door opening interrupted the conversation. Roberto was arriving from his night shift at the factory, with his uniform dirty from grease and an expression of exhaustion that seemed to have become permanent on his face. He entered the kitchen, looked at his parents sitting at the table, and sighed deeply, as if preparing to face yet another problem.
“Dad, I need to talk to you.” His voice had a formal, distant tone that Rosa did not recognize. This was not the boy she had comforted when he had nightmares. “Of course, son. What is it?” Roberto pulled out a chair and sat down heavily. “The situation can’t go on like this. Sandra is right when she says that the medical expenses are becoming unsustainable.” Rosa felt the ground crumble beneath her feet. Roberto had always been the most balanced of the three children, the one who tried to mediate the arguments.
“If even he is…” “Son, we can try to reduce the medications, talk to the doctor about cheaper options,” Antonio spoke with a choked voice. “It’s not just that, Dad. It’s everything. Food, electricity, water, space. This house can’t accommodate five adult people anymore.” “Five adult people.” Rosa chewed on those words. When had they stopped being parents and become just adult people to their own children? “We are thinking of a solution.”
Roberto continued avoiding his parents’ gaze. “A solution that would be better for everyone.” “What kind of solution?” Rosa asked, although she already knew she didn’t want to hear the answer. “There’s a place, a nursing home, it’s not too bad. It’s in a decent neighborhood. You would have medical assistance, other people your age to talk to.” “You want to institutionalize us?” Antonio’s voice came out as a whisper. “It’s not institutionalization, Dad. It’s an opportunity for you to have a more suitable life for your age.”
Rosa felt tears burning in her eyes. “Roberto, this house was built brick by brick by your father. Every corner has the story of our family.” “Mom, please don’t complicate things. You know the situation is unsustainable.”
Bruno appeared in the kitchen door at that moment, still in pajamas, even though it was almost noon. At 32 years old, he still lived with his parents, but treated the house like a hotel where he had the right to complain about the service. “Are you talking about the nursing home?” he asked, yawning. “It’s about time. Yesterday again I couldn’t sleep well because of Dad’s cough, and Mom keeps getting up at dawn to go to the bathroom.” “It’s not a nursing home,” Roberto tried to correct, but not with much conviction. “It doesn’t matter what it’s called. What’s important is to resolve this situation quickly. My girlfriend doesn’t even want to come here anymore because she feels embarrassed seeing you two around.”
Bruno’s words were like precise stabs to Rosa’s heart, embarrassed. They embarrassed people with their simple existence. Antonio slowly rose from the table, every movement seeming to require superhuman effort. “I’m going for a walk,” he murmured. She knew he was leaving to cry where the children couldn’t see. Antonio had always been like that, keeping his pain to himself, protecting others from his sadness.
“Mom!” Roberto tried a softer tone. “We’re not doing this out of malice. It’s just that life has become very difficult for everyone.” Rosa looked at her son, who had been her pride, the first to get a stable job, the one who always brought home his entire salary when he lived with them. Where was that responsible boy who promised to take care of his parents when they grew old? “I understand, son. You have your lives, your commitments.” “So, are you going to accept going to the nursing home?” Rosa remained silent for a long moment. Through the kitchen window, she could see Antonio in the small garden he tended with such care, despite the back pain. He was standing in front of the tomato plants he had planted, shoulders hunched under the weight of rejection.
“We need to talk,” she finally said. “Let us think.” “Don’t take too long.” Sandra appeared again, already dressed to go out. “I’ve already scheduled a visit for tomorrow. The sooner we resolve this, the better for everyone.” Rosa watched her three children leave the house. Roberto to sleep before his next shift. Sandra to work. Bruno to meet friends at the bar, as he did every afternoon.
The house fell silent again, but now it was a different silence. It was the silence of abandonment approaching like a storm. She went out to the garden and found Antonio sitting on the small bench he had built years ago when the grandchildren still came to visit them and played among the plants. “Did you hear?” he asked without looking at her. “I heard.” “50 years of marriage, Rosa. Three children raised with so much love.” “I know, my love. Did we fail? Were we bad parents?”
Rosa sat down next to her husband and held his work-worn hand. “We gave everything we had, Antonio. Everything we had, everything we were. And now we are a burden.” They sat there holding hands, looking at the garden, which soon would no longer be theirs. The flowers Rosa had planted with such care, the herbs she cultivated to flavor the meals that no one thanked her for anymore, the fruits Antonio harvested with pride, all would be left behind.
“Rosa!” Antonio said softly. “If we go to that place, it will be to die.” She knew he was right. They knew other people who had been placed in nursing homes by their children. Few lasted more than a year. Not because of medical care, but because of a broken heart. “At least we’ll be together,” she murmured, squeezing his hand. But deep in her chest, Rosa felt that something was about to change. She didn’t know what. She didn’t know how, but there was a strange unease in the air, as if fate was preparing something that none of them could imagine.
Inside Antonio’s old wallet, kept among old photographs of the children when they still loved them, there was a yellowed envelope that he didn’t even know existed. An envelope that had arrived years ago and that Rosa had kept unopened, thinking it was just another one of those bank advertisements. Fate has its own plans, and sometimes justice arrives when we least expect it, coming from the most unexpected places.
Three weeks passed since the conversation in the kitchen, and the atmosphere in the house had become unbearable. Rosa woke up every day with her stomach in knots, as if sensing that something terrible was approaching. Antonio could barely eat, and she knew it wasn’t just because of the heart medications. The children had completely changed their behavior. There were no more casual conversations, no more good mornings or good nights. They entered and exited the house like irritated tenants who barely tolerated the presence of the owners.
On that fateful morning, Rosa was in the laundry hanging clothes when she heard low voices coming from the living room. She immediately recognized the conspiratorial tone. It was the same one the children used when they were little and planned some mischief, but now the mischief would be against them. “Is everything arranged?” It was Sandra’s voice, whispering as if planning a crime. “Roberto has already arranged with the nursing home staff. They’re coming this afternoon.”
Rosa felt her legs tremble. “Today? They didn’t even warn us. What if they don’t want to go?” Bruno asked. And Rosa could imagine the look of disdain on her youngest son’s face. “They will go,” Roberto replied with a firmness that froze Rosa’s blood. “Because they have no choice.” “Did you explain that it’s temporary?” Sandra asked. But there was something in her voice that Rosa couldn’t decipher. A strange hesitation. “Of course it’s not temporary,” Bruno laughed softly. “Do you know of any old person who returned from a nursing home?” Rosa’s world crumbled at that moment. She leaned against the washing machine to avoid falling. They were talking about getting rid of their parents forever, as if discarding old furniture. “We will say it’s just until they adapt better.” Roberto continued. “Later, well, later they will get used to it there.”
“And the house?” Sandra asked. “Finally, we will have space to live like normal people.” “I’ve thought about that,” Bruno replied with enthusiasm that cut Rosa’s heart like a blade. “I can turn their room into my office. I’ve always wanted to work from home.” Rosa covered her mouth with her hands to stifle the sob that threatened to escape. The room, where she and Antonio had shared 50 years of dreams, fears, joys, and sorrows, would be transformed into an office for the son who had never worked properly in his life.
“When they arrive, we will all be here together,” Roberto directed like a general commanding a military operation. “It has to look like we’re doing this out of love, understand?” “Out of love,” Sandra repeated. And Rosa caught the poisonous sarcasm in her daughter’s voice. “That’s right. We will cry a little. We will say it’s hard for us too, that we will visit them every week.” “Will we visit?” Bruno asked, and Rosa noticed the genuine surprise in the question. “Obviously not,” Roberto laughed softly. “But they don’t need to know that now.”
Rosa staggered out of the laundry room, feeling as if she had taken a punch to the stomach. She found Antonio in the garden, watering the tomatoes with mechanical movements, lost in thoughts that she knew were as painful as her own. “Antonio,” she whispered, gripping his arm tightly. He turned and saw the despair etched on his wife’s face. “What’s wrong, my love?”
“They are coming for us today. They are coming to get us today.” Antonio dropped the hose to the ground. The water continued to flow, soaking the earth around the tomato plants that he would never see grow. “What do you mean?” Rosa told him everything she had overheard, every poisoned word, every cruel plan. Antonio paled until he was the color of old paper. “Without even warning us?” he murmured, his voice coming out like a wounded animal’s whimper.
“Antonio, they don’t want us anymore, really, forever.” They embraced right there in the middle of the garden, crying like two lost children, 50 years of marriage, three children raised with unconditional love, a lifetime of work and dedication. And this is how it would end.
An hour later, Rosa was in the bedroom packing some clothes in an old suitcase when Sandra appeared at the door. “Mom, I need to talk to you.” Rosa didn’t respond. She continued folding the clothes with automatic movements, as if preparing for any trip. “Mom, listen.” Sandra entered the bedroom with determined steps. “Some people from the nursing home have arrived. They came to pick you up.”
“I know.” She didn’t lift her eyes from the clothes. “How do you know?” “I heard you talking.” Rosa’s voice came out cold, cutting. “I heard everything.” Sandra had the decency to look embarrassed for a moment. She looked at her feet, fiddled with her hands, sighed deeply, but when she lifted her head again, her expression had hardened once more. “Then you know it’s for everyone’s good, for your good.”
“For our good would be to stay in the house we built with so much love.” “Mom, please don’t complicate things. The staff is waiting downstairs.” Rosa finally looked at her daughter. Sandra was dressed in expensive clothes, had done her nails. Her hair was perfectly styled. She looked like an executive explaining an inevitable layoff.
“Rosa,” she spoke slowly, each word weighing tons. “Do you remember when you were 5 years old and had pneumonia? Mom, do you remember that I spent two weeks without sleeping, taking care of you day and night? That was a long time ago. Do you remember when Roberto broke his arm and we didn’t have money for a private doctor, so I sold my wedding ring to pay for the hospital?” Sandra looked away.
“Things were different back then. Do you remember when Bruno lost his first job and was unemployed for six months, and we shared our food with him even while going hungry? Mom, stop this.” “No, daughter, I won’t stop.” Rosa stood up and for the first time in months, Sandra seemed slightly intimidated. “Because now that it’s our turn to need, you treat us like trash.”
“We are not treating anyone like trash. We are trying to find the best solution.” “The best solution for whom, Sandra?” Before Sandra could respond, Roberto appeared in the doorway. “Mom, the nursing home staff is waiting. They have appointments scheduled elsewhere.” Rosa looked at her two children in the doorway. Roberto was still avoiding her gaze, looking anywhere but at her. Sandra was drumming her fingers on the door, anxious to finish this situation.
“Where’s Bruno?” Rosa asked. “Him? He had to leave.” Roberto lied poorly. Rosa knew Bruno didn’t have the courage to show up. The coward had run away to avoid witnessing the moment of farewell. “I’ll call Dad,” she said, closing the suitcase with a click that sounded like a final sentence.
Antonio was in the living room, sitting in a chair like a defendant awaiting sentencing. Beside him, two uniformed women waited with trained professional smiles to disguise the sadness of the situation. “Mr. Antonio,” one of them spoke with a voice that was too sweet, too artificial. “You are going to love our home. It has a garden, there are other people your age, and there is medical assistance.” Antonio did not respond, only looked at his hands, as if they could give him an answer to this nightmare.
“He’s not feeling very well today,” Roberto explained to the women. “He’s a bit confused because of his age.” Rosa went down the stairs and saw the scene. Her husband being treated like a problematic child, the children anxious to rid themselves of the problem, the nursing home staff pretending that this was normal. “Come on, Antonio!” Rosa reached out her hand to her husband. “It seems our presence here is no longer desired.”
“Mom, don’t say that,” Sandra tried a conciliatory tone. “You know we love you.” Rosa stopped in the middle of the living room and turned to her three children. Roberto was still avoiding her gaze. Sandra was feigning a sadness she didn’t feel. Bruno remained absent like the coward he had always been. “If you really loved us,” Rosa said with a voice that cut through the air like a sharp blade, “you would never have let it get to this point.”
“Mom, if you really loved us, you would have talked to us before scheduling this removal.” “We are talking now,” Roberto tried to argue. “You are communicating a decision you have already made. This is not a conversation, son, this is eviction.” One of the staff members discreetly cleared her throat. “Excuse me for interrupting, but we really have other commitments today.”
Rosa took Antonio’s hand and squeezed it tightly. He was trembling and she knew it was not just from the cold. “Alright,” she finally said. “Let’s go.” The walk to the van was the longest of Rosa’s life. Each step on the sidewalk she had swept thousands of times, each glance at the garden that Antonio had tended with such care, each breath of the air in the house where they had been happy for so many years. Neighbors peered out from their windows, some with pity, others with morbid curiosity. Mrs. Lourdes, the 60-year-old neighbor, waved sadly. She knew what was happening. Everyone knew.
Roberto and Sandra accompanied them to the van, making an effort to appear sad in front of the nursing home staff, but Rosa saw through their cheap act. “We will visit you next week,” Sandra lied, kissing her mother’s cheek, which burned like hot iron. “We’ll call tomorrow to see how you are.” Roberto added another lie to the collection. Rosa and Antonio got into the van without looking back. When the vehicle started moving, Rosa saw through the rear window her two children rushing back home, as if they wanted to flee the scene of the crime they had just committed.
“Rosa,” Antonio whispered, squeezing her hand. “How did we get here?” “I don’t know, my love, I don’t know.” The van followed the street they knew by heart, passing the bakery where they bought bread every morning, the pharmacy where they picked up medications, the square where they took their grandchildren to play when they were still welcome in their children’s lives. Each block they moved away was a piece of life left behind forever.
Inside Antonio’s old wallet, kept among old documents, the yellowed envelope remained sealed. Inside it, news that would change everything, but that would only be discovered when it was already too late for the children who had discarded the purest love they would ever receive. Fate was preparing its own justice, and when it arrived, it would be relentless.
Two weeks in the nursing home. Rosa woke up once again to the deafening sound of fifteen old ladies talking at the same time in the communal dormitory. The smell of medication mixed with urine and disinfectant had become part of the air she breathed, stuck to her skin like a mark of abandonment that wouldn’t wash off even with a bath. Antonio was in the bed next to her, but he seemed to have shrunk to half his size since they arrived. His eyes, once bright even in sadness, were now dull like fogged glass. He hardly spoke, hardly ate, hardly moved. It was as if he were dying slowly, a little piece each day.
“Antonio,” she whispered, extending her hand across the small space between the beds. “How did you sleep?” He turned his head slowly, each movement seeming to require an effort. “I dreamed of our garden, Rosa.” “I dreamed I was watering the tomatoes.” Her eyes filled with tears. Two weeks and the children hadn’t called even once, not once to see if they were still alive.
Nurse Josefa, a 50-year-old woman with a face of someone who had lost all patience with life, entered the dormitory clapping her hands as if calling chickens. “Come on, come on. Time for coffee. Anyone who doesn’t get up now will go without food.” Rosa helped Antonio to get up. He trembled like a leaf in the wind, and she knew it wasn’t just because of age; it was because of the soul broken into a thousand pieces.
In the dining room, they sat at the same table as always, with Mrs. Conceição, who cried softly every morning, and Mr. Benedito, who kept calling for his children who never showed up. “My daughter said she would visit me yesterday,” Mrs. Conceição murmured while stirring a bowl of oatmeal that looked like glue. “Did she forget where I am?” Rosa and Antonio exchanged glances. They knew that Mrs. Conceição’s daughter hadn’t forgotten. She simply didn’t want to know about her mother anymore, like so many other families who discarded their elderly there and disappeared from the map.
“Rosa!” Antonio whispered, pushing the bowl of oatmeal away from him. “I can’t take this place anymore.” “I know, my love. I can’t either.” “If we left here, where would we go, Antonio? Our children don’t want us anymore. The house is no longer ours.” Antonio remained silent for a long moment, chewing on words that hurt too much to be spoken. Finally, he lifted his gaze, and Rosa saw a determination in his eyes that she hadn’t seen in weeks. “Rosa, if we are going to die, let it be in the street, breathing fresh air, not in this place that smells like death.”
She felt a shiver run down her spine. It was not fear; it was something akin to hope, a desperate hope. But still, hope. “Are you serious?” “I am. We can take our things and leave. We are not prisoners.” “But Antonio, where will we go?” “Anywhere that is far from here, anywhere we can die with dignity.”
Three days later, in the early morning, Rosa had been awake for hours. Staring at the peeling ceiling of the dormitory. Next to her, Antonio was breathing heavily, but she knew he wasn’t sleeping either. They had spent the last three days planning in whispers, like two prisoners scheming an escape. The night shift nurse had dozed off in the reception chair, as she always did around 5 a.m. It was the window of opportunity they were waiting for.
“Now,” Antonio whispered. They got up slowly, each movement calculated to avoid making noise. Rosa grabbed the plastic bag where she kept her few clothes. Antonio put on his worn coat, which was his only protection against the morning chill. They tiptoed down the corridor that smelled of despair and abandonment. They passed the reception where the nurse was softly snoring, her head thrown back in the chair.
The front door was locked, but Antonio knew a way. He had watched for days how the staff opened it in the morning. He turned the key slowly, the metal creaking like a muffled scream. The morning air hit them like a cold slap, but it was the freshest air they had breathed in weeks. Rosa held Antonio’s hand tightly, as if he would disappear if she let go. “Where to now?” she asked, looking at the empty street under the yellowed light of the streetlamps.
“Far away, Antonio,” she replied. “As far as possible.” They began to walk along the cracked sidewalk, two figures hunched by age and suffering, carrying everything that remained of their lives in an old plastic bag. Six hours later on the road, the sun was rising when they reached the highway that cut through the city. Rosa felt her legs trembling with fatigue, but she kept walking because she knew that stopping meant giving up, and she wasn’t ready to give up yet.
Antonio stopped every few meters, resting his hand on his chest and breathing heavily. His heart was crying for help, but he pretended to be fine so as not to worry Rosa even more. “Let’s rest a bit,” she said when she saw he was getting too pale. They sat on the dry grass by the side of the road. The traffic was intense. People rushing to work, to their organized lives, to their families that loved them. “Rosa,” Antonio said in a weak voice. “Do you regret leaving?” “Never.” She held his hand tightly. “I’d rather die free than live trapped in that place.” A truck passed by honking, raising a cloud of dust that made them cough. Rosa wiped her tear-filled eyes and saw that Antonio was breathing even more heavily. “My love, are you feeling ill? It’s just fatigue,” he lied.
But Rosa saw he was sweating profusely, despite the cool morning. They continued walking, each step a battle against fatigue and despair. The road stretched infinitely ahead, and Rosa began to wonder if they had made the right decision, but when she looked back and saw the city shrinking in the distance, she knew she would prefer a thousand times to be there, free and lost, than trapped in that home of horrors.
At noon, under the scorching sun. “Rosa, I can’t go on.” Antonio stopped in the middle of the road, his legs weak, his face white as paper, the midday sun beat down relentlessly on their heads and they had no water, no food, nowhere to go. “Antonio, just hold on a little longer. There must be somewhere nearby where we can rest.” But she knew she was lying. There was nothing there—hot asphalt, dry brush, and infinite loneliness.
Antonio leaned on her, all the weight of his 78 years pressing down on Rosa’s frail shoulders. She felt her own legs weakening, but she made an effort to support the man she had loved for 50 years. “Rosa, I think I’m going to faint.” “No, Antonio, no, we’re going to make it.” But even as she spoke, she felt he was becoming heavier in her arms. His heart was failing. She could see it in his lips that were starting to turn bluish. “Rosa, I love you.” “I love you too, my love. I have always loved you.”
They embraced right there in the middle of the deserted road while the relentless sun punished their fragile bodies. Rosa knew that this could be the last embrace of their lives. “My God,” she whispered, looking at the blue, empty sky. “If you have any mercy, send someone to help us.” As if the prayer had been heard, the roar of an approaching engine came closer. Rosa lifted her head and saw an old car coming down the road. It was nothing luxurious. It was a battered white Corsica, with paint chipped off from time. The car slowed down when the driver saw the two elderly people hugging by the side of the road.
Rosa waved desperately, like a castaway signaling a rescue ship. The car stopped. A young man in his 30s with simple worker’s clothes got out of the car. His eyes were kind, the kind of person who still believes it’s worth helping others. “My God, what are you doing here alone?” Marcos ran to them, immediately seeing that Antonio was very ill. “Please,” Rosa pleaded with a broken voice. “My husband has heart problems. He needs help.”
Marcos didn’t hesitate for a second. “Let’s go, I’ll take you to the hospital right now.” He helped Antonio into the car, Rosa on the other side, holding her husband’s hand as if it were a lifeline. Marcos accelerated toward the nearest city, looking in the rearview mirror to see how the elderly man was doing. “How did you end up there?” he asked while driving. Rosa didn’t know where to start. How to explain that they had been abandoned by their own children? How to tell that they fled from a nursing home because they preferred to die free? “It’s a long story,” she murmured.
“You don’t need to tell it now,” Marcos said kindly. “The important thing is to get to the hospital.” During the journey, Rosa observed the young man who had stopped to save them. He had calloused hands from hard work, simple but clean clothes, and most importantly, he had in his eyes that kindness that she had almost forgotten existed in the world. “What’s your name, son?” she asked. “Marcos. And you?” “I’m Rosa. This is Antonio.” “Nice to meet you. And don’t worry, everything will be alright.” Rosa didn’t know why, but she believed him. For the first time in months, she felt that maybe fate had not completely given up on them.
Inside Antonio’s old wallet, kept among old photographs, the yellowed envelope remained sealed. Inside it, a legacy that would change everything. But at that moment, the only inheritance that mattered was the kindness of a stranger who decided to stop to help two lost old people on the road. Sometimes, angels arrive driving old cars.
A week in the hospital, Antonio opened his eyes slowly, blinking against the white light of the hospital room. For a moment, he didn’t know where he was. The smell of disinfectant made him fear that he had returned to that cursed home. But when he turned his head, he saw Rosa sitting in a chair beside the bed, holding his hand tightly. “You came back to me?” she whispered. And Antonio saw that her eyes were red from crying. “Rosa, how long have I been out?” “A whole week, my love. You had a severe heart attack. The doctors said it was close.” Antonio tried to remember. The road, the scorching sun, the feeling that he was going to die right there, abandoned like an animal, and then an angel, a young man with kindness in his eyes who had saved them. “Where is he? Where is the boy who brought us here?”
“Marcos,” Rosa smiled for the first time in days. “He’s outside. He hasn’t left for a minute since we arrived. He’s slept in the hallway every night.” Antonio felt tears welling in his eyes. A stranger had done for them what their own children had not, cared whether they lived or died. The door opened gently, and Marcos entered carrying a steaming cup of coffee. His eyes lit up when he saw Antonio awake. “Mr. Antonio, thank God.” He set the coffee down on a table and approached the bed. “How are you feeling?” “Alive,” Antonio replied in a hoarse but grateful voice. “Thanks to the Lord.” “Imagine, I just did what anyone would do.” Rosa and Antonio looked at each other. No, it wasn’t what anyone would do. Their own children hadn’t done it.
“Rosa, why did you stop? Why did you help us?” the young man blushed, fiddling with his feet, looking at the ground. “Oh, Mrs. Rosa, it’s just that you reminded me of my grandparents. They died when I was little. And I always thought, if one day I saw some elderly people needing help…” He couldn’t finish the sentence.
Antonio extended his trembling hand, and Marcos took it gently, as if he were holding something precious and fragile. “Son, what did we do to deserve your kindness?” “You didn’t do anything. Sometimes we just find the right people at the right time.”
Three days later, during discharge, Dr. Silva, a 50-year-old man with a face that had seen much suffering, handed the discharge papers to Rosa with a worried expression. “Mrs. Rosa, I need to be frank with you. Your husband had a serious heart attack. His heart cannot handle strong emotions or physical effort anymore.” Rosa felt a tightening in her chest, even though inside she felt a pinch of hope. “Doctor, we… we don’t have anywhere to go.”
The doctor hesitated, looking at the papers, then at her. “Does your family know you are here?” “They don’t want to know about us anymore, doctor.” Dr. Silva sighed deeply. He had seen many cases like this—elderly people abandoned by their own children, thrown into hospitals like disposable trash. “Look, Mrs. Rosa, I can’t officially recommend this, but…” He lowered his voice. “I have a social worker here who knows a family that takes in elderly people in need. Good-hearted people.”
“Good-hearted people still exist in the world?” “Yes, they do. And you’ve already met one of them.” He pointed to Marcos, who was in the hallway talking to a blonde woman in her 40s. Rosa looked out the window of the room and saw Marcos gesturing animatedly, as if explaining something important. The blonde woman listened attentively, nodding her head. “Who is she?” “That’s Ana, his wife.”
Marcos approached Rosa with a shy smile, accompanied by the blonde woman she had seen through the window. “Mrs. Rosa, this is my wife, Ana.” Ana stepped forward and, to Rosa’s surprise, hugged her as if they were old friends. “Rosa, Marcos told me everything about you, about what your children did, about how you escaped that horrible place.” Rosa didn’t know what to say. Ana spoke with genuine indignation, as if their pain were hers too.
“Marcos and I have been married for 10 years and have never been able to have children. We always dreamed of having a big family, with grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins. And when I saw you on that road…” Marcos completed, “It was as if God had placed the grandparents we never had in our path.” Rosa felt tears streaming down her face. “What are you saying?” “We’re saying we want you to come live with us,” Ana said firmly, “as family, like the parents we never had.”
“But you don’t know us.” “We know enough,” Marcos interrupted. “We know you are good people who were treated poorly by your own family, and we know you deserve love and care.” Rosa cried so much she couldn’t speak. It was too good to be true. After so much suffering, so much rejection, two angels appeared offering not charity, but true love.
Two weeks later, at Marcos and Ana’s house, Rosa woke up in a small but cozy room that Marcos and Ana had prepared especially for them. The floral curtains let in soft light, and she could hear Antonio breathing peacefully in the bed next to hers. For the first time in months, she had slept an entire night without nightmares. In the kitchen, Ana was preparing breakfast, humming a cheerful tune. When she saw Rosa, her face lit up. “Good morning, Mom Rosa.” “Mom Rosa.” The two sweetest words she had heard in a long time. “Good morning, daughter. How did you sleep?” “I slept well.”
“And Dad Antonio?” Rosa smiled. “Dad Antonio?” Antonio had cried when Ana first called him that. “He’s still sleeping. The doctor said he needs plenty of rest.” “Of course. And he will have all the time in the world to rest here.” Marcos entered the kitchen, already dressed for work, and kissed Rosa on the cheek, as he did every morning. “Good morning, Mom. What are we having for lunch today?” “I thought of making that roasted chicken you liked so much yesterday.” “Perfect. But if you’re tired, Ana can cook.” “Don’t worry, son